By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — There’s a deep rhythm to life that Parsha Eikev helps us attune to, one where our moral choices and spiritual commitments shape the contours of our experience. When we walk with integrity and live in alignment with Hashem’s ways, we often find blessings trailing in our wake. And when we wander from that path, we may find ourselves facing struggle. This isn’t some cosmic punishment system, it’s a reflection of a deeply parental relationship, not a punitive one.
The Torah puts it plainly: “Know in your heart that just as a parent disciplines a child, so too does Hashem your G-d discipline you” (Devarim 8:5). This verse invites us to see life’s challenges not as rejection, but as Divine parenting. Loving discipline isn’t about control or anger, it’s about care. Ask any devoted parent. Saying “no,” setting boundaries, allowing a child to sit with discomfort, all of it comes from a desire to raise someone strong, wise, and deeply human.
That’s how Hashem engages with us. The difficulties we encounter aren’t signs of abandonment. They’re spiritual training. Like a coach who pushes athletes beyond their comfort zones, Hashem invites us to grow past where we thought our limits were. Without that friction, our souls would stay soft, our values underdeveloped.
There are moments in life so staggering, so deeply jarring, that the very idea of gratitude and love feel almost cruel. Take what happened to Julia Hyman, the vibrant 27-year-old working at Rudin Management, whose life was suddenly taken in a senseless act of violence on July 28, 2025.
She had simply stepped out of a bathroom on the 33rd floor of a midtown Manhattan office building, unaware of the chaos unfolding around her. Early accounts suggested she may have been hiding, but later reports indicate she likely did not hear gunshots and had no idea a gunman was nearby. She just opened a door after using the bathroom and walked into tragedy.
And in the face of such unfathomable loss, we’re taught to utter the ancient words: Baruch Dayan HaEmet, “Blessed is the true Judge.” We quickly write, BD”E after the name of a deceased. But how does one say and truly feel those words when the heart is shattered? When there’s no explanation, no clarity, no justice in sight?
This is where faith, emunah, and trust, bitachon, meet their most difficult test, not in times of peace and certainty, but precisely in the storms we’ll never understand. Parsha Eikev beautifully weaves together these themes, grounding in the lived experience of the Israelites.
Emunah is the foundation. The parsha links obedience to Hashem’s laws with tangible blessings, making clear that belief in Him isn’t just abstract, it’s about recognizing His hand in all of life. Moses warns the people not to forget Hashem once they prosper, highlighting that true emunah is steady, even in comfort and success.
Bitachon builds on that faith, emphasizing trust in G-d’s ongoing care. Hashem’s promises of abundance invite the people to rely on Him, not passively, but with confidence born of covenant. At the same time, the parsha stresses the importance of action. Trusting Hashem doesn’t replace responsibility; it works alongside it. Emunah is knowing Hashem runs the world, bitachon is trusting Him through it all…through it all.
In short: Eikev calls us to believe deeply, act faithfully, and trust fully. That is love.
Fittingly, in Eikev we’re given a unique commandment: to bless Hashem after we’ve eaten and are satisfied—“Ve’achalta, ve’savata, uverachta.” Once our physical hunger is met, we’re asked to remember the Source. It’s a call to gratitude, to not forget where the blessing came from even when we feel full and secure.
But modern culture often steers us away from that spiritual posture. Entitlement has replaced humility. We’re conditioned to expect quick fixes, instant rewards. And when life gets hard, many pull away from faith, mistaking hardship for Hashem’s absence instead of His presence. This may help explain the spiritual drift from shul membership and observance we see today, not necessarily fueled by disbelief, but by misunderstanding. When challenges come, instead of leaning into the relationship with Hashem, some turn away, assuming they’ve been forgotten. But Parsha Eikev teaches something else entirely. Those moments are invitations to draw closer. Once we truly get that everything is Hashem’s, and that being part of Am Yisrael is a gift, and if we can drop the cynicism and open our hearts, really see that Hashem, above all, cares for the vulnerable, then loving, fearing, and serving Him isn’t a stretch. It’s the most natural thing we could do.
We’re also on the cusp of Elul, the month that leads us gently and purposefully into the High Holy Days. It’s a time of reflection and return, captured so beautifully in the phrase “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li—I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” It’s not a time of fear, but of love. And not soft, romanticized love, but the gritty, real kind, the kind that disciplines, shapes, and calls us higher.
Love runs through this Torah portion, whether you see it or not. From the opening verses that promise blessing when we listen, to the deeper layers revealed through Moses’ words, we see Judaism not simply as a legal system, but as a covenantal relationship. A living, breathing bond.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once observed that the word “love” barely appears in the early books of the Torah. But here in Devarim, Moses’ farewell address, it surges to the forefront, appearing over 20 times. Moses, nearing the end, isn’t handing over a checklist. He’s entrusting a relationship. He’s giving us a language of devotion.
Even the name Eikev suggests something profound. On the surface, it means “if” or “because.” But Rashi points out that the root also means “heel” evoking the idea of those small, easily overlooked mitzvot we might metaphorically step on. And yet, those very acts can define our path. It’s often in the tiny details of daily living, how we speak, how we respond, how we notice others, that love becomes visible.
Which brings us to one of the most powerful ideas in the portion: “Love the stranger.” Not just tolerate. Not just be fair. Love. How do you command love? The Torah does, and it means it. Because to truly love Hashem is to love the stranger. To see Him in the “other,” even when the other does not love us back, is to live from a deeper well of faith. In this, love becomes less about emotion and more about action, about orientation. It becomes who we are.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares this d’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.