THE GOLD STANDARD OF HOLINESS

In Parshat Eikev, the Torah gives us a lyrical description of Eretz Yisrael (Deut. 8:8): אֶרֶץ חִטָּה וּשְׂעוֹרָה וְגֶפֶן וּתְאֵנָה וְרִמּוֹן אֶרֶץ זֵית שֶׁמֶן וּדְבָשׁ. It sounds like it could be info from a travel brochure — “Do you know what the produce of Israel is? Wheat, barley, vines, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates!”

But is this list really the highest praise we can give to Israel? Some of you might be thinking — “Rabbi, I could make a list of seven far tastier fruits.” Why not mangoes, pineapples, cherries, or even coffee beans? And if we are listing foods, why not beef and lamb? Surely God’s “praise” of the Land has got to be more than the things on this list. Why is this “the” list for the greatest products of Eretz Yisrael?

The sages of the Talmud (Sukkah 5b) open a surprising, and interesting, door. Rav Chiyya bar Ashi says in the name of Rav: שִׁיעוּרִין, חֲצִיצִין, וּמְחִיצִין — הֲלָכָה לְמֹשֶׁה מִסִּינַי – Measurements in halacha, the precise quantities that define when a mitzvah is done or an aveirah committed, are not mentioned in the Torah, they are laws that were given to Moses at Sinai.

Then comes a voice — Rav Chanin — who says: No, no, actually these measurements are specified in our pasuk about the Seven Species. Wheat: for the time to contract tumah in a leprous house; barley: for a bone that conveys tumah; grapes: for a nazir’s wine; figs: for carrying on Shabbos; pomegranates: for the minimum size of a vessel; olives: for most halachic measures; dates: for eating on Yom Kippur.

The Gemara immediately pushes back: וְתִסְבְּרָא? שִׁיעוּרִין מִי כְּתִיבִי — Is the law of measurements actually written in the verse? No! So instead, we end up by filing Rav Chanin’s idea under the rule of “asmakhta,” a textual hint, but not a definitive “source.” Case closed.

Or is it? Because there’s something odd here. The question against Rav Chanin is obvious — of course the verse isn’t explicitly defining measurements.

But notice this: Rav Chanin doesn’t retract. He doesn’t say, “OK, you got me.” The Gemara moves on — and in Talmudic code, that often means there’s an answer, but it’s too deep to put into the black-and-white text.

And here’s where Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch sheds light on the whole situation, with a fascinating historical insight. In the ancient world, units of weight and volume were not “ounces” or “pounds,” “grams” or “liters.” They were defined by agricultural produce — kernels of barley or wheat, olives, dates.

And, says Rav Hirsch, the produce of Eretz Yisrael was the gold standard. If you wanted an accurate measure in the marketplace of the ancient Near East, you’d use an Eretz Yisrael olive or date. The whole world recognized their quality and consistency.

Now think about the poetry of that: the Torah’s praise of Eretz Yisrael is not only about taste or abundance. It’s about precision. The fruit of this land became the measure by which everything else was judged. Halachic shiurim are about knowing exactly where you stand — this much matzah is the mitzvah, less than this is as if you didn’t do it; this much treif meat is a violation, less than this is permitted.

In life, too, we need measures, boundaries, definitions. Otherwise we don’t know what we are doing. So these fruit were not just tasty food items, they doubled up as critical tools in how we run our life.

In the late 19th century, the Old Yishuv in Eretz Yisrael had what can only be described as the Great Olive War. The halachic spark was simple: what exactly is the size of a kezayit? The Lithuanian rabbanim — disciples of the Vilna Gaon — insisted that the olives of Chazal’s day were far larger than today’s scrawny specimens. Which meant, they said, that you had to eat at least double the amount of matzah on Seder night.

The Chassidic rabbanim of the Old City scoffed. “Nonsense! A kezayit is a kezayit — and the olives of Eretz Yisrael today are exactly the olives Chazal had in mind.”

This was no polite exchange of footnotes. Delegations went back and forth between neighborhoods. Heated letters flew — some hand-delivered by panting yeshiva boys running from Meah Shearim to the Hurva.

And in my favorite detail, they actually packed boxes of Eretz Yisrael olives in straw, sealed them with wax, and shipped them to Warsaw and Vilna so the great European poskim could weigh in.  Imagine a rabbi in Poland unwrapping an olive as if it were crown jewels, sniffing it, measuring it, then writing back across continents to decide how much matzah you’ve got to eat at the Seder.

It sounds funny, but it was deadly serious. Because for them, this wasn’t just agriculture — it was identity. If the Torah’s shiurim are tied to the fruits of this land, getting it wrong means getting the mitzvah wrong. And the produce of Eretz Yisrael isn’t just food. It’s the measure. The benchmark. The thing by which all else is judged.

The Meshech Chochma says that this why the Torah takes us straight from this list of produce to the verses instructing us about Birkat Hamazon. Because the danger after eating is not hunger — it’s forgetting. וְאָכַלְתָ וְשָׂבָעְתָ וְבֵרַכְתָ is not just thanks for food; it’s an antidote to arrogance. When you’re full, you feel independent — you stop measuring yourself against God. Birkat Hamazon forces you to recalibrate. To remember the true source.

Rav Chanin wasn’t just reading halachic measurements into the Seven Species. He was saying something deeper — the praise of the Land is that it gives you the tools to measure your life by God’s standards. In the Beit Hamikdash, in your kitchen, in your business dealings, in your spiritual self-checks — the yardsticks of halacha, like the fruits of Israel, are consistent, pure, and universally recognized.

And that’s the challenge: What is the “Eretz Yisrael olive” in your life? What’s the fixed, God-given measure you use to decide if you’ve done enough, given enough, learned enough, thanked enough? Without those measures, we drift. With them, our lives are calibrated to the will of the One who gave us this land and its fruits.

Because in the end, “Eretz chitah u’seorah…” isn’t just an agricultural postcard. It’s a manifesto. It says: Live your life by God’s measures — and you will be living in the Land, no matter where you are.