Our tradition grapples with this very question, especially when considering the immense gifts God has bestowed upon us.
Midrash Tehillim, specifically in its exploration of Psalm 132, delves into this very notion. It asks: What was given to us with conditions, and what was given freely, without reservation?
The Midrash begins with the evocative words of Psalm 132, a psalm of ascents, remembering David and all his afflictions. It then poses a profound idea: that certain gifts, like the Land of Israel, the Temple, and the Kingdom of the House of David, were given conditionally. “If your children will keep my covenant…” the text implies, echoing through generations.
So, how do we know these were conditional gifts? The Midrash draws upon other verses for proof. For the Land of Israel, it cites Deuteronomy, warning us to "take heed, lest your heart be deceived, and you turn aside and serve other gods…" (Deuteronomy 11:16-17). A clear condition: faithfulness. Fail to uphold the covenant, and the land itself could be forfeit.
The Temple, too, had its stipulations. As the verse says, "This house which you are building, if you will walk in My statutes… then will I establish My word with you…" (1 Kings 6:12). But if not? "This house shall become a heap of ruins..." A sobering thought.
And the Kingdom of David? Again, the condition rings out: "If your children will keep My covenant…" The line of David was promised kingship, but only if they remained true to the divine agreement. As we see in 2 Samuel 7:14, "Then will I visit their transgression with the rod…"
But then the Midrash offers a glimmer of hope, a counterpoint to all these conditions. What about the Torah, the sacred teachings? And the covenant of Aaron, establishing the priesthood? These, the Midrash asserts, were given unconditionally.
How do we know? Because the Torah is described as "an inheritance of the congregation of Jacob" (Deuteronomy 33:4). An inheritance isn't typically conditional, is it? It's a birthright.
Similarly, the covenant with Aaron is called "an everlasting covenant of salt before the Lord" (Numbers 18:19), and an "everlasting priesthood" (Numbers 25:13). The phrase "everlasting covenant" implies permanence, regardless of our actions.
The Midrash then shifts its focus, considering the concept of "rest" as it relates to different places: Shiloh and Jerusalem. The text quotes Deuteronomy 12:9, "For you have not yet come to the rest…" This, various rabbis suggest, refers to different stages in our history. Rabbi Yehuda associates "rest" with the inheritance of Jerusalem, while Rabbi Shimon connects it directly to Jerusalem, citing Isaiah 11:10, "And His resting place shall be in Zion." Rabbi Yishmael cleverly proposes that both Shiloh and Jerusalem hold the title of "rest."
Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai offers a fascinating perspective: before Jerusalem was chosen, the entire Land of Israel was suitable for altars. But once Jerusalem was designated, the rest of the land became less so. Similarly, before Aaron was chosen, all of Israel was potentially fit for the priesthood. And before David, all of Israel could theoretically have produced a king. But with each selection, a focus narrowed, a specific lineage was established.
The Midrash concludes with a powerful statement: Until the Land of Israel was chosen, all lands were fit for divine communication. It paints a picture of a world brimming with potential holiness, narrowed down to a specific place, a chosen people, a consecrated lineage.
So, what are we left with? A complex understanding of divine gifts. Some are conditional, demanding our constant vigilance and faithfulness. Others, like the Torah and the priesthood of Aaron, are unwavering, a constant source of blessing regardless of our merits. And perhaps, ultimately, this tension between conditionality and unconditional love is what makes our relationship with the divine so rich, so challenging, and so deeply rewarding.