By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., in El Cajon, California
As Moshe Rabbeinu stands before Klal Yisrael in the final weeks of his life, you can almost feel the emotion in his words. He isn’t simply recounting the past 40 years in the wilderness. He’s preparing the Jewish people for a future he knows he won’t share with them. These are the words of a teacher, a leader, and a loving parent who wants his children to thrive long after he’s gone.
The parsha opens with the words, “V’hayah eikev tishme’un,” “If you will listen.” Rashi famously notes that the word eikev also means “heel,” teaching that the Torah is referring to those mitzvot people tend to step over, the ones that seem too small to matter. That idea has always struck me because it’s so true to life.
Our relationship with Hashem isn’t built only during Yom Kippur, moments of deep inspiration, or extraordinary acts of sacrifice. It’s built in the ordinary rhythms of everyday living. It’s reflected in saying a berachah with intention instead of rushing through it. It’s speaking gently when we’re tired, arriving on time for tefillah, returning something that isn’t ours, noticing someone standing alone after davening, or protecting another person’s dignity when no one else is watching.Those aren’t “small” mitzvot. They’re the moments that quietly shape who we become.
Eikev also reminds us that gratitude is at the heart of Jewish life. That’s especially meaningful today, when so much of the world seems focused on anger, division, and, sadly, growing antisemitism. Our response is different.
The Hebrew word for blessing, bracha, shares its root with berech, the Hebrew word for knee. It’s a beautiful image. When we make a berachah, we are, in a sense, bending the knee, not in submission to the world, but in gratitude to Hashem. Others may bend the knee as an act of protest. We bend ours in recognition of the One from whom every blessing flows.
It’s no accident that Leah named her fourth son Yehudah, saying, “This time I will thank Hashem.” From her comes the name by which we are known: Yehudim, a people whose very identity is rooted in gratitude.
That raises an important question. Are we truly thankful? Do we notice Hashem’s hand in our lives throughout the day? We thank someone who prepares us a wonderful meal, and we should. But do we thank Hashem for the appetite to enjoy it? For the breath we just took? For the heart that has faithfully beaten thousands of times today without asking anything of us?
The more carefully we read this week’s parsha, the clearer the answer becomes. Gratitude isn’t just another mitzvah. It’s a way of seeing the world.
The Mishnah teaches, “Hevei zahir b’mitzvah kalah k’vachamurah,” be just as careful with what appears to be a minor mitzvah as with one we consider major. The truth is that we don’t know how Hashem weighs mitzvot. That’s not our job. Our responsibility is simply to do His will faithfully, whether anyone notices or not.
Later, Moshe asks one of the Torah’s most searching questions: “V’atah Yisrael, mah Hashem Elokecha sho’el mei’imach?” “And now, Israel, what does Hashem your G-d ask of you?” His answer is familiar: to fear Hashem, walk in His ways, love Him, serve Him wholeheartedly, and observe His mitzvot.
Then comes a command that often doesn’t receive the attention it deserves: “Va’ahavtem et ha-ger“—”You shall love the ger.” Not simply treat the ger [stranger] fairly. Not merely avoid causing pain. Love. Why would the Torah ask that of us? Because Torah isn’t satisfied with regulating behavior. It wants to shape character.
The Sefer HaChinuch explains that the ger is especially vulnerable. Someone without deep roots, extended family, or an established place in the community can easily feel invisible. That’s why the Torah reminds us repeatedly that we were once strangers ourselves. Our own history should make us more sensitive, more compassionate, and more aware. And that lesson extends far beyond the ger.
Every community including ours here in San Diego has people carrying burdens that few of us see. The newcomer walking into shul for the first time. The widow. The convert. Someone struggling financially. A person battling loneliness. Someone sitting by themselves at a simcha, hoping someone will come over.
Torah asks us to notice. The strength of a Jewish community isn’t measured only by the quality of its learning or the beauty of its building. It’s measured by how people feel when they walk through its doors.
Before commanding us to love the ger, the Torah describes Hashem Himself as One who protects the orphan and widow and provides bread and clothing for the ger. Then it asks us to do the same. Chazal capture this beautifully: “Mah Hu rachum, af ata rachum.” Just as He is compassionate, so should we be. That’s what it means to walk in His ways.
It’s also striking that the Torah reserves the language of love for only a few relationships. We are commanded to love Hashem. We are commanded to love our fellow Jew. And we are commanded to love the ger. Those commandments belong together.
Our love for Hashem can’t remain inside the siddur or the beit midrash. If it doesn’t find expression in the way we treat other people, then something essential is missing. The person who genuinely serves Hashem becomes more patient, more humble, more generous, and more attentive to those around him. That, I believe, is the enduring message of Eikev.
A meaningful Jewish life isn’t usually built through dramatic moments. It’s built through consistency. Through the mitzvah no one applauds. Through the kindness no one remembers. Through the quiet decision to do what’s right simply because it’s the will of Hashem. When we become faithful in what seems small, we begin to understand that, in Torah, nothing is truly small.
May we merit to serve the Ribbono Shel Olam with gratitude, humility, and joy, to treasure every mitzvah, whether it seems great or small, and to reflect our love for Hashem in the compassion, kindness, and dignity we show every person we meet. In that merit, may we soon see the fulfillment of Hashem’s promises of blessing for Klal Yisrael and for Eretz Yisrael.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly 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.