Your Child’s First Fruits: Learning to Meet Imperfect Beginnings with Joy and Steadiness

Bringing the First Fruits – Receiving What Is

The parsha opens: “וְלָקַחְתָּ מֵרֵאשִׁית כָּל פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה… וְשַׂמְתָּ בַטֶּנֶא וְהָלַכְתָּ אֶל הַמָּקוֹם” — “You shall take of the first of all the fruit of the ground… place it in a basket, and go to the place” (Devarim 26:2).

The Torah does not ask for the most beautiful produce, but for the first. Whatever ripens first — even if rough, small, or blemished — is what Hashem desires. And the kohen receives it “מִיָּדֶךָ” — “from your hand” (26:4). The Sifrei notes that the very act of handing it directly is what sanctifies it: not its polish, but the giver’s heart.

The Chiddushei HaRim teaches that reshit represents the earliest stirrings of the heart — the unrefined beginnings of connection to Hashem. Hashem treasures not only our finished service, but our first, faltering steps. The Shem MiShmuel adds that the beauty of bikkurim lies in the humility of offering the “not yet,” trusting it will be received with love. The Sfas Emes deepens this: reshit is the hidden spark of holiness shining even in beginnings. The Baal Shem Tov taught that even the smallest movement of the heart is infinitely precious before Hashem, because it reveals the soul’s essence.

This is the essence of radical acceptance in parenting. Our children’s “first fruits” — their first attempts at honesty, their hesitant steps toward responsibility, their clumsy words of apology — may not look impressive. But for them, these beginnings carry their whole heart. Like the kohen, we are called to receive what is placed in our hands with joy, not judgment.

A child who shows us a messy drawing, mutters a late “thank you,” joins family dinner halfway through, or folds half the laundry before giving up is still bringing us their reshit. When we meet these gestures with warmth instead of critique — a smile instead of “You missed a spot” — we communicate: “I treasure your beginnings. What you bring matters because it comes from you.” That reception itself is soothing. It gives them courage to keep trying and teaches them that their worth is measured not by polish, but by presence.

Naming the Struggle – Holding the Whole Story

When placing the basket, the farmer declares: “אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי, וַיֵּרֶד מִצְרַיְמָה… וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים וַיְעַנּוּנוּ” — “My father was a wandering Aramean, and he went down to Egypt… the Egyptians mistreated us and afflicted us” (26:5–6).

The ritual of bikkurim requires not only bringing fruit, but also telling a story — and the story is not one of unbroken triumph. It includes wandering, exile, and affliction. Chazal (Pesachim 116a) note that this very passage forms the backbone of the Haggadah, teaching that redemption is always told against the backdrop of suffering. The Shem MiShmuel explains that the Torah insists we verbalize the darkness because silence breeds despair, while naming the struggle opens the door to geulah. The Noam Elimelech adds that every descent (yeridah) conceals a spark of ascent (aliyah). The Sfas Emes writes that when pain is spoken aloud, it releases hidden light from within the darkness itself.

This is radical acceptance in its deepest form: not covering over hardship, not rushing to tidy the narrative, but holding the whole truth. Parenting a struggling child often tempts us to minimize, deny, or quietly hide what feels too heavy. But just as the farmer stands before Hashem and names the affliction of Egypt without shame, parents are called to acknowledge their child’s hard places with steadiness.

A teenager’s story may include waves of anxiety, simmering anger, a friendship that collapsed, or the loneliness of sitting alone at lunch. Radical acceptance means we do not brush these chapters aside with “It’s nothing.” Instead we communicate: “Yes, you are carrying something heavy. Yes, this is real. And even so, you are no less precious to me.”

For the child, hearing their pain named aloud without panic or rejection is profoundly soothing. It tells them: “Your story can include struggle and still be sacred. You can be afflicted and still be beloved.” In that moment, the act of naming becomes an act of redemption.

Rejoicing in the Good – Even in Imperfection

The Torah adds: “וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְכָל הַטּוֹב” — “And you shall rejoice in all the good” (26:11).

The command to rejoice comes not after the land is fully settled or every challenge resolved, but in the midst of incompleteness. The Sforno notes that b’chol hatov means rejoicing in what is present, however small, without comparing it to what is lacking. The Chiddushei HaRim adds that true simcha is not the absence of flaws, but the ability to uncover Hashem’s light even in partial goodness. The Baal Shem Tov taught: simcha poretz geder — joy itself breaks down barriers. Rejoicing even in fragments of good has the power to shatter walls of despair and open new paths for growth. The Sfas Emes deepens this: joy is what reveals the hidden sparks of holiness buried within imperfection.

For parents, this is a radical shift. Joy cannot be postponed until every grade is raised, every behavior smooths out, or every prayer flows with kavana. Joy is found in the sparks of effort, the glimpses of resilience, the flashes of honesty. A teenager who mutters “I’m sorry” under their breath, who shows up five minutes earlier than usual, who admits “I don’t know what I feel” — each of these is b’chol hatov, a kernel of good to be noticed and cherished.

Radical acceptance means receiving these beginnings with celebration, not critique. If we dismiss them as “too little,” the child’s spirit retreats. But when we rejoice in them, we tell our child their efforts carry weight. Our joy becomes their reassurance: “Even your smallest steps matter. Even your hesitant gifts bring me delight.”

For the child, that joy is profoundly soothing. It reframes their struggle not as failure but as part of a story where every flicker of light counts. And in that joy — joy that refuses to wait for perfection — the possibility of redemption takes root.

Meeting Them Where They Are

Yet this rejoicing must be grounded in reality. We cannot rejoice from afar. The Torah says:“וְהָלַכְתָּ בִּדְרָכָיו” — “And you shall walk in His ways” (28:9). To walk in Hashem’s ways means to imitate His presence with us — not only when we rise, but also when we falter. The Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 2:5) teaches that Hashem revealed Himself to Moshe “from amidst the thornbush” to show that He dwells even in the tangled, painful places of our lives. The Baal Shem Tov adds: Wherever a person calls out to Hashem with sincerity — even from the lowest place — there the Shechinah rests. The Noam Elimelech explains that true leadership means descending into the struggles of another so they can be lifted from within.

So too in parenting. We must meet our children where they are. Only by walking beside them in their still-forming, uncertain places do we earn the right to guide them forward. To hover above, waiting for improvement before we draw near, is not love — it is distance. But to step into their reality, to remain steady in spaces that feel tangled or shaky, is to mirror Hashem’s way of being with His people.

Children do not need parents who can fix every problem. Often, the problem cannot be fixed right away. What they need is to feel genuinely cared for from within. A teen who finds a parent willing to sit quietly outside their closed door, who stays at the kitchen table until they wander in, who drives them silently when words would only push them away, or who simply says, “I can’t take this pain away, but I can be here with you” — experiences a love that is redemptive.

This kind of reception is soothing. It communicates: “Even here, in this fragile place, you are held and not abandoned.” That assurance allows a child to breathe more easily and slowly opens the door to growth.

Covenant of Belonging – All Are Included

As Moshe instructs the people in their covenantal mission, he proclaims: “הַסְכֵּת וּשְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל, הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה נִהְיֵיתָ לְעָם לַה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ” — “Be attentive and hear, Israel: Today you have become a people to Hashem your God” (27:9).

The commentators note the word “הַיּוֹם” — today. Belonging to Hashem is not a single event in history but a reality that is constantly renewed. Rashi explains that each time the covenant is reaffirmed, it is as though we are receiving the Torah anew. The Chiddushei HaRim adds that “you have become a people” includes every Jew, no matter their spiritual state, because covenant is not earned — it is bestowed. The Sfas Emes teaches that hayom is not just a date on the calendar but the truth of every moment: even in weakness, a Jew can be embraced again. And the Baal Shem Tov compared Hashem’s love to that of a parent for an only child — unshakable, indivisible, not contingent on merit.

This is a profound model for parenting. Every Israelite — leaders and laborers, strong and fragile alike — stood together as Hashem’s people. None were excluded. In the same way, a child’s place in their family is not conditional on behavior, grades, or moods. It is secure — ever-present, always accessible — regardless of what came before.

Radical acceptance means conveying this truth again and again: “You belong here. Even when you push me away, even when you test my limits, you are still part of us.”

For a child, this assurance is life-changing. It might mean keeping their chair set at the table, even when they don’t come. It might mean saving their spot in the family photo, or sending a “thinking of you” text after silence. These gestures quietly root a child in the safety of covenantal belonging, even when they feel most lost.

Serving with Heart – Not Only Deed

In the midst of the tokhecha, Moshe warns: “תַּחַת אֲשֶׁר לֹא עָבַדְתָּ אֶת ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ בְּשִׂמְחָה וּבְטוּב לֵבָב” — “Because you did not serve Hashem your God with joy and gladness of heart” (28:47).

Chazal explain that this pasuk teaches us that mitzvot performed without joy are incomplete. The Rambam writes (Hilchot Lulav 8:15) that simcha shel mitzvah is itself a form of avodah, a spiritual offering more precious than the act alone. The Chiddushei HaRim adds that tov levav means a generosity of spirit — the willingness to make room for another with gladness, not resentment. The Noam Elimelech deepens this: avodah done with joy has the power to sweeten harsh judgments. And the Sfas Emes teaches that joy transforms duty into closeness — it is what turns command into connection.

The Torah here reminds us that inner spirit matters as much as outward action. Parenting is no different. Acceptance is not simply enduring a child’s presence or performing the duties of caretaking. It is carrying out those duties with warmth, lightness, and the sense that being their parent is a privilege, not a weight.

For a struggling child, this difference is everything. A parent can wait in the pickup line with impatience, greet them in the morning with a sigh, or serve dinner with a frown — and the child will internalize: “I am a burden.” But when those same acts are accompanied by a smile at pickup, a warm “Good morning” despite lateness, or shared laughter while cleaning up spilled milk, the child absorbs a very different truth: “Even in my difficult moments, you take joy in being with me.”

Radical acceptance means that even in the hard moments, we strive to let that joy come through. Sometimes it is as small as softening our voice when we are tired, or choosing to express gratitude when the instinct is to criticize. These gestures tell the child: “You are not a source of resentment — you are a source of joy to me.” And that felt joy is deeply soothing.

Overcoming Inner Enemies – Love as Protection

Among the blessings, the Torah promises: “יִתֵּן ה׳ אֶת אֹיְבֶיךָ הַקָּמִים עָלֶיךָ נִגָּפִים לְפָנֶיךָ” — “Hashem will cause your enemies who rise against you to be struck down before you” (28:7).

On the surface, this speaks of physical enemies. But the Chassidic masters teach that the fiercest battles are often inward: voices of shame, fear, despair, or self-doubt. These rise up inside, whispering that we are unworthy, unloved, or beyond redemption. The Baal Shem Tov taught that the most dangerous tool of the yetzer hara is ye’ush — despair. Once a person believes they are lost, the battle feels already over. The Sfas Emes adds that the true enemy is anything that convinces us we are cut off from Hashem; to defeat it is to remember the bond that cannot be broken.

Hashem’s blessing is that these enemies, too, can fall. And the way they fall is not through harshness or denial, but through love. When a child is met with radical acceptance — when they are held even in their discouragement — the inner voices lose their grip. Shame retreats in the face of compassion. Fear quiets in the presence of steadiness. Despair begins to dissolve when hope is spoken aloud.

For parents, this is redemption at its most intimate. A teenager who is left out of a group chat may feel invisible. A child benched during a game may feel useless. A teen who scrolls social media and sees everyone else invited may feel unwanted. To look at them in those moments and convey, “Your value is not decided by this. You are seen, you matter, you are loved,” is to strike at the heart of those enemies.

In that moment, we mirror Hashem’s promise: the forces that rise against you — even the ones within — will not prevail, because love has the final word.

Why Soothed

This is why Ki Tavo belongs to Soothed in the 5-S framework. To be soothed is to be received. The mitzvah of bikkurim taught us that even rough, early fruits were accepted when placed before Hashem. What matters is not flawlessness, but the courage to bring them forward.

So too, our children need to know that whatever they hand us — their halting efforts, their unspoken fears, even their mistakes — will not be turned away. The very act of being accepted calms the storm inside.

Chazal call this simcha shel mitzvah: the joy that flows not from perfection but from offering ourselves as we are. The Chiddushei HaRim teaches that this joy itself is redemptive, because it silences the accusing voice that whispers, “You are not enough.” The Sfas Emes adds that when something is truly received, its inner spark of holiness is revealed. The Noam Elimelech explains that acceptance itself awakens the heart to renewal — being embraced is what gives us strength to rise.

Psychologists describe the same truth as radical acceptance: healing begins not when the struggle vanishes, but when we are embraced in the middle of it. For a child, this experience is profoundly soothing. It quiets fear, disarms shame, and allows the heart to rest. Picture a teenager who hands over a half-finished assignment, or who admits through tears, “I messed up,” or who shyly shares, “I’m scared I won’t fit in.” If that offering is met with steadiness instead of rejection, the child learns: “Even here, in this messy moment, I am still held.”

That is the soil where growth begins. And that is why Ki Tavo, with its call to rejoice b’chol hatov — in all the good, however partial — is mapped to Soothed. Redemption begins not with fixing, but with being received.

Parenting Application – Receive with Love

To receive with love is not permissiveness. It is strength. The Torah in Ki Tavo commands us to bring first fruits, however small or blemished, and to rejoice b’chol hatov — in all the good (26:11). Chassidic teachers explain that this joy is not in what is perfect, but in what is present. So too in parenting: our task is not to wait until our child is flawless, but to meet them where they are and to celebrate the good that is here now.

The Kotzker Rebbe taught that “there is nothing more whole than a broken heart.” The Baal Shem Tov added that Hashem’s presence dwells wherever a person turns to Him out of humility, even from a place of weakness. The Sfas Emes teaches that true love is dibuk chaverim — the decision to cleave even when brokenness is present. When a parent can stand beside a child in their struggles — without shame, without turning away — they mirror that Divine closeness and become a vessel of wholeness.

This is the heart of radical acceptance. It is choosing to remain long enough in your child’s vulnerable state for them to feel genuinely cared for from within. Sometimes it looks like listening to their anger without rushing to silence it. Sometimes it looks like smiling at their tentative effort instead of pointing out what is missing. Sometimes it looks like quietly saying, “I see how hard this is for you, and I am not going anywhere.” Other times it may mean leaving a light on until they come home late, placing dinner on the table even after harsh words, or welcoming them back with calm eye contact after a slammed door.

That reception itself becomes soothing. It communicates: “Your struggles do not define your value. Your hard moments do not make you less wanted. You are held in my love.”

When parents live this way, they echo Hashem’s promise of “וְגָאַלְתִּי” — redemption that begins not with fixing, but with presence. For a child, to be received in this way is already a taste of geulah: the discovery that even in their unpolished state, they are deeply worthy of love.

Closing Reflection

Ki Tavo reminds us that redemption begins not with perfection, but with presence. The Torah’s call to bring the first fruits, to name the painful parts of our story, to rejoice b’chol hatov, and to affirm covenantal belonging all circle back to one truth: Hashem receives us as we are. He does not wait for our lives to be polished before calling us His people. The Sfas Emes teaches that reshit — the first fruits — symbolize the spark of holiness hidden in every beginning. When we dare to bring ourselves forward as we are, that spark is revealed.

For parents, this is the essence of soothing. Our children do not need us to erase every difficulty or provide instant solutions. What they long for is to know that even in their still-ripening, uncertain state, they will be met with love. This kind of reception quiets the storm inside. It tells them: “Your struggles do not define you. You are not left alone. Here, you are held.”

The Torah warns that to serve without joy and tov levav drains life of its vitality. The same is true in the home. When children feel merely endured, they wither. When they feel received with warmth and gladness, they breathe. That breath itself is the beginning of geulah.

“וְגָאַלְתִּי” — I will redeem you. Redemption is not only Hashem lifting us out of Egypt; it is also His willingness to draw near in our lowliness. The Noam Elimelech teaches that geulah begins the very moment we realize that even in exile, Hashem is with us. The Baal Shem Tov adds that the Shechinah rests most strongly in places of humility and brokenness. Parents mirror that promise each time they choose reception over rejection, steadiness over shame, compassion

over critique.

This is why Ki Tavo belongs to Soothed. To soothe is not indulgence but avodah — a sacred discipline of presence. It is how redemption begins: in the quiet, steady act of receiving what is placed before us and answering it with love. When parents become that place of reception, the home itself becomes a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary of redemption.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar