"It is what it is". This ever-popular wisdom seems to have found its way into a Rashi in this week's parsha. Yet all of us who recognize the depth of every Rashi, will have to dig much deeper.
Long before Rashi, the sages of the Talmud were taken aback by the posuk that describes the kohein who receives the bikurim from the presenting Jew, as the "kohein who will be there at that time". The sages of the Talmud were bothered, "surely one cannot bring the fruits to a kohein who lived at any other time?" Rashi seems to infuse meaning into this phrase as he writes, "all you have is the kohen of your time", sounding somewhat similar to the resigned shrug of the millennial. He is who he is, it is what it is.
The Ramban has us imagine that this phrase intends to allay the disappointment of the Jew who runs with his bikurim basket to the mikdash, only to find that the attending real time kohein does not resemble the kohein of his memories. We can well imagine a Jew who accompanied his father as he brought his bikurim to mikdash. The kohein of his recollection is a genuinely spiritual kohein with a charismatic presence. Perhaps he is now greeted with a far younger kohein, perhaps even more learned and perhaps far more professional, but all the while not the kohein of his imagination of his early years. To this letdown, Rashi remarks that he is what you have.
The Ramban suggests that Rashi's words would in fact be reassuring, would the kohein's task require some wisdom, knowledge or judgement. Hashem would be reminding us that there is little value in looking backward, and that we are well suited to do what we are meant to do. However, receiving the basket seems unremarkable, and any kohein of any time should be well suited for this task without generating disappointment that requires reassurance.
Yet I believe that a story that took place many years ago in the Mirer Yeshiva in Yerushalayim expresses the insight of this Rashi. It was a Tuesday afternoon at 5:30 at the beginning of the zeman. The elder rosh yeshiva would deliver his weekly shiur to the entire bais hamedrash. Indeed, it was to the entire bais hamedrash with few talmidim as he was not a popular magid shiur. At 5:20 perhaps a hundred students would make their way down the stairs to avoid the shiur. One new American student who knew little about the yeshiva other than he did not want to be caught in a shiur that he never heard of joined the crowd heading downstairs. This unlucky American finds himself on the main floor face to face with a gentleman many years his senior but who was interested in a brief meeting.
"Where are you running?"
"Don't you know, Rav Ploni is about to give his shiur"
"Of course, but why must you run? Young man, I am Rav Ploni and I know that my shiur is nothing like Rav Chaim's shiur. But Hashem put me here and put you here. That means that you don't need Rav Chaim and I don't need Rav Chaim's talmidim. Hashem believes that we are good for each other."
Perhaps that is what Rashi begs us to understand. Apparently, one could be in the Mikdash itself and, with thoughts far away, one can genuinely miss the moment. And it is certainly true that one can be in a bais hamedrash or a shul and in all sincerity, feel that it's just not the ambience or not the feel, not like home, not like the cobwebs of one's memory. And one can miss great moments. And that is when the words of Rashi and the words of Rav Ploni can you bring you back, give you presence and give you your moments.