No figure is more closely associated with the festival of Shavuot than Ruth the Moabite. And yet, the connection between Ruth and Shavuot is not as self-evident as it might seem.
Among Ashkenazi communities, it is customary to read the Book of Ruth on Shavuot. Several explanations are offered in the Midrash and early halachic sources. The Sefer HaMinhagim (Shavuot, no. 52) notes that Ruth’s marriage to Boaz occurred during the harvest season—a time when Shavuot is designated in the Torah as the “Festival of the Harvest.” He writes: “Boaz married Ruth during his grain harvest, and the Torah portion Emor, in the section about the festivals, speaks of Shavuot, ‘when you reap…’”
A similar idea appears in the Abudraham (on the prayers of Pesach), who draws a connection between the harvest festival and the fact that the events of the Megillah unfold during the grain harvest. Indeed, the Megillah itself emphasizes this timing: “So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, with her, who returned from the fields of Moab, and they came to Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest” (Ruth 1:22). Later verses complete the picture: the events begin during the barley harvest and conclude with the wheat harvest—mirroring the Omer count: “She stayed close to Boaz’s maidens to glean until the end of the barley and wheat harvests; and she lived with her mother-in-law” (2:23).
Still, the rationale behind the custom remains somewhat unsatisfying. Are we truly invoking a form of gezerah shavah—deriving meaning from the repeated word “harvest”? Surely, a deeper connection is required between the inner content of the Book of Ruth and the designation of Shavuot as the “Festival of the Harvest.”
From Barley-Eaters to Wheat-Eaters
Perhaps the focus on the barley-to-wheat arc of the Megillah reflects a fundamental transformation—the same transformation that takes place over the course of the Omer period between Pesach and Shavuot. In this season, nature itself undergoes a dramatic change, and with it, so does the nation of Israel: we move from being a society of “barley-eaters” to a society of “wheat-eaters.”
What does this transition signify?
The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 307) reflects on the difference between the offerings brought on Pesach and those brought on Shavuot: on Pesach, we bring a barley offering; on Shavuot, we bring a wheat offering. He explains that the distinction highlights a progression from animal food to human food:
“My heart tells me further that this is why the Shavuot offering is of wheat loaves, while the barley offering is brought as flour: wheat is the food of humans, and should therefore be offered in the manner that provides human enjoyment and nourishment.”
According to this reading, the movement from Pesach to Shavuot—between physical freedom from Egyptian bondage and the spiritual encounter of Sinai—is symbolized by the move from barley, which is animal food, to wheat, which is human food. Physical freedom addresses the body; spiritual freedom, through receiving the Torah, addresses the human soul.
The story of the Megillah reflects not just a symbolic connection to the season but a deeper transformation—from a lower form of existence (barley) to a higher, human form (wheat)
And yet, this idea too seems insufficient. Even if the grain transformation has symbolic depth, it still does not explain why we read an entire scroll whose events merely happen to occur during this period. A stronger claim must be made: that the story of the Megillah reflects not just a symbolic connection to the season but a deeper transformation—from a lower form of existence (barley) to a higher, human form (wheat).
A Society of Chesed
The Midrash offers an answer to why the Book of Ruth was written at all. As Rabbi Zeira explains: “This scroll contains neither laws of purity nor impurity, neither prohibitions nor permissions. So why was it written? To teach you the great reward of those who act with kindness” (Ruth Rabbah 2).
Ruth is thus held up as the paragon of chesed, lovingkindness. Boaz himself says as much when he tells her: “Blessed are you of Hashem, my daughter. Your last kindness is greater than the first, in that you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich” (Ruth 3:10). But this raises the question: what is unique about Ruth’s kindness? Scripture contains many examples of good deeds. Why do we need Ruth’s story?
Even animals display compassion when they sense suffering. What makes us human is the capacity to understand the other and to see through their eyes. This, Ruth teaches us
Ruth teaches a fundamental principle of chesed. We all know how to act kindly when we understand that kindness is required. The deeper challenge is knowing when kindness is required. Genuine kindness is not only about giving; it is about perceiving. It requires the ability to sense the pain of the other and to enter their world. Chazal teach (Ketubot 67b) that society is obligated to provide a fallen aristocrat not only with food but with a horse to ride on. The rehabilitation must begin from the standpoint of the recipient, not that of the giver.
The true shift from the animalistic level of “barley-eating” to the human level of “wheat-eating” does not lie in the act of kindness itself. Even animals display compassion when they sense suffering. What makes us human is the capacity to understand the other and to see through their eyes. This, Ruth teaches us.
From the very start, Ruth intuits the gaping hole in Naomi’s heart: the loss of a husband and two sons, the return home as a lonely and impoverished widow. Ruth understands instinctively that she cannot let Naomi return alone. Perhaps if Ruth and Orpah had consulted us, we would have advised them to stay in Moab. But Ruth changed lenses: she saw that Naomi’s homecoming alone would be too painful. And in that moment, she chose the path of chesed.
Bethlehem: Before Ruth and After
This shift from barley to wheat is not only personal but societal. It manifests not only in individuals but in entire communities. A society of barley-eaters is self-centered and impulsive. It does not know how to show responsibility or care for the weak. A society of wheat-eaters is one of mutual concern and moral duty. This transformation occurs in the town of Bethlehem over the course of the Megillah.
When Naomi returns to Bethlehem at the beginning of the story, the local women ask, “Is this Naomi?” The question, on the surface, expresses surprise—but it contains a sting of ridicule, gossip, and social distancing. The widowed and bereaved Naomi is met with whispers, not with welcome.
Naomi responds with resignation. She does not even defend herself, but simply says: “Do not call me Naomi. Call me Mara.” She accepts her fate. Yes, she is a victim. Yes, she suffers.
By the end of the Megillah, the tone of the city has transformed. Bethlehem becomes a community of warmth and solidarity. Two events highlight this reversal. The first is the blessing given by the townspeople to Boaz and Ruth upon their marriage, despite the social distance between a respected judge and a Moabite convert:
“All the people who were at the gate, and the elders, said, ‘We are witnesses. May Hashem make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and like Leah… May your house be like the house of Peretz…’” (Ruth 4:11–12)
The second is the response of the women of the city to the birth of Ruth’s son:
“And the women said to Naomi: ‘Blessed be Hashem, who has not left you this day without a redeemer… He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law, who loves you and is better to you than seven sons, has borne him’” (Ruth 4:14–15)
This change in attitude reflects the city’s own transition from barley to wheat—from narrow materialism to moral attentiveness and human dignity.
Though we have no proof, it seems clear that it was Ruth herself who catalyzed this shift. Her presence opened the hearts of the town. From a society that whispered, “Is this Naomi?” we arrive at a community that embraces Naomi with the birth of Oved. They not only accept her but offer comfort: “He shall be a restorer of your soul.”
Through her actions, Ruth tells the residents of Bethlehem: the famine reduced us to an animalistic mode of survival, in which “man is a wolf to man.” We became barley-eaters. But by turning outward, by ascending toward the other, we can reclaim our human stature. We can become wheat-eaters once again—people capable of feeling and embracing the pain of others.
After the famine, which had driven the people of Bethlehem into self-absorption, Ruth arrives—a Moabite woman whose behavior teaches that it is possible to transcend personal interest, to don another’s lens, and to dedicate oneself to the other.
The Torah of Derech Eretz
Perhaps, then, we read the Book of Ruth on Shavuot because her personal story echoes the national transformation that Israel undergoes between Pesach and Shavuot. The story begins during the barley harvest, paralleling the festival of Pesach, which symbolizes physical liberation from bondage. It ends during the wheat harvest, on Shavuot, a day that represents the human ascent into the spiritual realm of Torah. Reading the Megillah on Shavuot is thus not only symbolic—it is deeply appropriate.
Yet more than that, the Megillah teaches us something profound about the very meaning of Torah itself.
In the Torah’s section on the festivals (Vayikra 23), we encounter an odd interruption. In the middle of the passage describing the festival of Shavuot, the Torah suddenly interjects with the mitzvot of leket and pe’ah, the obligation to leave parts of one’s harvest for the poor:
“When you reap the harvest of your land, do not completely reap the corner of your field, and do not gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger—I am Hashem your God.” (Vayikra 23:22)
The Meshech Chochmah comments on this anomaly, suggesting that the Torah wishes to teach us that the revelation at Sinai was not only about religious laws (chukkim) but also about ethical sensibilities and human decency:
“This teaches that the giving of the Torah on Shavuot was not only about statutes and laws, but also about refined ethical behavior—compassion for the poor and the stranger… Without faith in God, a person can become a heartless beast… Therefore, the Torah includes these laws to show that faith and mitzvot refine not only the mind but the heart.”
The Torah steps off its legal track in order to highlight a foundational truth: Torah is not only about commandments. It is about becoming human.
Torah educates us into a human society—one that listens to the other, one that intuits what is needed even when it is not explicitly stated, even when no law obligates it. And to convey this message, the Torah chooses a mitzvah connected to the harvest—this same transition from “barley-eaters” to “wheat-eaters”: the mitzvah of leket and pe’ah.
The Torah hints at the days when Ruth reached out to the entire city and said: Let us ascend. Let us rise from being “barley-eaters” to becoming “wheat-eaters.” Let us become human.
This, perhaps, is the reason we read the Book of Ruth on Shavuot. Ruth arrived in the days of the harvest, when these mitzvot are practiced—and by her acts of kindness, she embodied the inner meaning of Torah. From Ruth and her scroll, we learn the capacity to rise beyond self-interest, to take responsibility for the pain of others, as she did for Naomi.
Ruth understood that the giving of the Torah marks the transition from an animalistic existence to a human, social one—an existence where we turn to the other, put on their glasses, and feel what they feel. As Shavuot arrives, there is no greater message for us to hear.
