Not by Bread Alone

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

Dr. Daniel Nessim, Congregation Kehilat Tsion, Vancouver, BC

Ekev. It means “because” but shares the same spelling as “ekev” as in “heel,” the root of the name of our patriarch Yaakov. It is an odd word, or at least an odd use of the word. The Baal HaTurim by R. Yaakov (1270–1340) explains that the word עקב (ekev) is used because it has a numerical value of 172—the number of words in the Ten Commandments, which were given to Israel in the previous parasha. Perhaps that has merit.

What we do know about this parasha is that it is a veritable cornucopia of admonitions, encouragements, warnings, affirmations, blessings, exhortations, and promises. Here in Ekev God pours out his blessings and well-wishes upon Israel. Written at the end of forty years in the wilderness, throughout its chapters the parasha is rooted in the story of redemption from Egypt, and the subsequent events that Israel had experienced in the wilderness over the past four decades.

Some of the passages are memorable, even pivotal, and well-known.

There is the phrase “You shall be blessed above all peoples” (Deut 7:14). This the Lord says to the nascent nation, still in the process of being delivered. Perhaps today these words seem problematic as envy over Israel’s chosenness has stuck in the craw of supersessionists and antisemites; but the words are unavoidable.

Looking forward to the conquest of the Promised Land, Moses assures Israel of God’s faithfulness with the prophetic phrase “Adonai your God will expel those nations ahead of you little by little” (Deut 7:22). In fact, as the Tanakh records, this process would take many centuries until it was approximately completed in King Solomon’s reign (1 Kings 4:21).

Our parasha this week encourages introspection and self-awareness. The Lord knows our propensity to self-reliance, entitlement, and self-aggrandizement. So we are warned that when we are prosperous we ought to “remember Adonai your God, because it is he who is giving you the power to get wealth” (Deut 8:18).

In this parasha we are given the promise of inordinate success as Moses tells our ancestors: “You are to cross the Yarden today, to go in and dispossess nations greater and stronger than you, great cities fortified up to the sky” (Deut 9:1).

Nevertheless, in this parasha Moses recounts how he broke the first tablets, and then interceded for the people. Again and again, repeatedly, we are reminded to “remember you are a stiff-necked people.”

It is in this land, in the words that have become central to birkat hamazon (the blessing after meals) that Moses promised וְאָכַלְתָּ וְשָׂבָעְתָּ “and you shall eat and be satisfied” (Deut 11:15).

What is the context of all these messages? The context is memory.

Memory, in a reproof to those who say they have no use for history, is crucial for the people of Israel. It is a defining characteristic of our people to this day. It is because of the memory that we were strangers in Egypt that we are not merely to tolerate, but to love the stranger who is among us (Deut 10:19). This is a command which the Soncino Chumash asserts is “unparalleled in the legislation of any ancient people.”

The memories of what God has done and what has happened all culminate in what may be the most crucial exhortation of all:

And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God demand of you? Only this: to revere the Lord your God, to walk only in His paths, to love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and soul, keeping the Lord’s commandments and laws, which I enjoin upon you today, for your good. (Deut 10:12–13 JPS 1985)

The problem, as has already been noted, is that we are stiff-necked. This is why we are admonished to “Circumcise . . . the foreskin of your heart; and don’t be stiff-necked any longer” (Deut 10:16). Christian translations, at least the English ones, tend to downplay the graphic nature of this admonition. When that is done, presumably for the sake of 20th century modesty, some of its impact and significance is obscured. The idea is that just as the uncircumcised skin of the male member protects its most sensitive part, so do our stiff necks shield our most sensitive part—our hearts. Jewish translations into English sometimes word this more directly, using language such as “Cut away, therefore, the thickening about your hearts” or “You are to remove your heart’s blockage, not to make yourselves stubborn anymore.”

It is an understandable thing to shield one’s sensitive heart, but to shield our hearts from God is not sensible at all. It is a misdirected act of self-preservation if, when we suffer the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” we blame God and turn away from him. Perhaps a parent has lost a child. Perhaps a child has a parent held hostage in a Hamas tunnel. Perhaps life just isn’t turning out the way we have hoped. There is something painful about accepting these things. It hurts even to bring them to Hashem, and perhaps there is some solace in having someone, something, to blame for our pain. To resist the temptation to blame God and to accept his love and to love him with all of our hearts is painful: but it also puts us on the pathway of life, so that we may walk in his paths, for our own good. Perhaps—and this was the point of our suffering in the wilderness as the Lord says in Deut 8:3—even the hardships we endure are for our good.

Our hearts are to be his. It is all he asks—that we revere him, walk only in his paths, love him, and serve him with all our heart and soul, knowing that his commandments and laws are not dated, outmoded, capricious, or nonsensical, as we may be tempted to think. We may not understand the reasoning behind them, but they are for our good.

We are admonished to have an open heart to God, to walk in his ways—and as much as this might mean a painful exposing of our hearts, it is for our good. The rewards promised are outrageously extravagant. They are wondrous and profuse.

Concerning our parasha’s reminder of God’s provision for Israel in the wilderness, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was once asked by his disciples, “Why didn't the manna come down for Israel once a year?” After all, it would have been much easier to bring in the harvest annually, as is done for wheat and barley. Why have to go out to reap every single day?

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai replied:

I shall give a parable. This thing may be compared to a king of flesh and blood who had an only son, whom he provided with maintenance once a year, so that he would visit his father once a year only. Thereupon he provided for his maintenance every day, so that he called on him every day. The same with Israel. One who had four or five children would worry, saying: Perhaps no manna will come down tomorrow, and all will die of hunger? Thus, they were found to turn their attention to their Father in Heaven. (b. Yoma 76a)

It is as our Rabbi Yeshua taught by quoting from this very parasha while suffering the hardship of a forty-day fast in the wilderness. We were given hardship in the wilderness to teach us that “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of Adonai.”

Unless noted, biblical citations are from the Complete Jewish Bible.