When the Torah commands the farmer to bring his first fruits, it does not let him talk about his soil or his labor. Instead, the ritual begins: “My father was a wandering Aramean…” (Deuteronomy 26:5) The commentators note that gratitude is not complete without memory. To thank God for the harvest, one must first recall that the Jewish story began in exile and slavery. Only against that backdrop does the basket of figs become miraculous.

Later in the same parsha (Deuteronomy 28:4), the Torah turns to blessings and curses. If Israel listens to God, “Blessed shall be the fruit of your womb, the fruit of your soil, and the fruit of your livestock.” If not, those very fruits will wither. Here too, fruit is not agricultural output — it is covenantal currency.

Put together, the two passages form a cycle. The first fruits ceremony roots gratitude in memory: remember that you were once landless and fruitless. The blessings and curses tie the future of fertility to obedience: remember that your continued abundance is not guaranteed.

And notice where this all happens: Jerusalem. The farmer did not simply thank God in his vineyard or whisper gratitude in his kitchen. He carried his produce up to the city, presented it at the Temple, and declared his history publicly. Jerusalem was not just a capital; it was the beating heart of Jewish memory and faith. The fruits gained meaning when they were placed before God in the city chosen for His name.

This is why the prophets, the rabbis, and Jewish history itself encircle Jerusalem. The city is not peripheral to Judaism — it is central. It is where private labor becomes national testimony, where agriculture becomes covenant, where the wandering Jew becomes rooted in a people’s eternal home.

To this very day, Jews sing at their wedding the verses of Psalms 137:5-6: “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither; let my tongue stick to my palate if I cease to think of you, if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour.” Jerusalem is bound in memory, that same memory that reminds us of our history, our promise, our obligations.

Today, too, the Jewish people encircle Jerusalem. Jews bring their “first fruits” to the city not only in the form of produce, but through aliyah, prayer, innovation, and sovereignty. Just as in ancient days, the city transforms personal blessings into collective covenant.

And yet, the world still questions that rootedness. Governments refuse to recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital. Diplomats condemn the building of homes in areas like E1 — the very corridor that links Jerusalem to the rest of the land, enabling Jews from north, south, east, and west to come to their eternal city.

Ki Tavo reminds us that Jerusalem cannot be negotiable. To encircle it, to build in it and around it, is not a matter of politics but of foundational principle. Without Jerusalem at the center, our fruits risk becoming mere produce, and the people risk becoming wanderers once more.