Eikev
Deut. 7:12–11:25

by Jen Smith

Every morning, many of us cover our eyes to recite the familiar words of the Shema, proclaiming Adonai echad – God is One.

This week, however, Parashat Eikev draws our attention to an overlooked transition: the second paragraph of the Shema, which contains a profoundly surprising lesson about the very nature of divine love.

It speaks once again about loving God, observing the mitzvot, teaching our children, and placing these words upon our hearts. It almost seems as though the Torah accidentally copied the first paragraph, except the Torah (almost) never repeats itself without a reason. And it is here that our sages noticed something fascinating: the first paragraph commands us to love God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our might – b’chol levavcha, uv’chol nafshecha, uv’chol me’odecha. But the second paragraph, found in this week’s Torah reading, omits one key phrase: with all your might.

At first, it kind of sounds like the Torah is lowering the bar (so to speak), but the mystic rabbis understood it differently. They taught that me’od, a word typically translated as “might,” really means something closer to that which is beyond measure. It can be understood as the part of us that transcends intellect, emotion, personality, and even conscious choice; the deepest spark of the soul, the piece that the Tanya calls chelek Eloka mima’al mamash[1] – an actual part of God above.

This love is not earned, nor can it be manufactured. This love already exists, woven into the blueprint of our universe down to the tiniest atom. And it was placed inside of us from the very beginning. It is the living proof that we are b’tzelem Elohim, made in God’s own image. The mystics would say that this is the spark that remains inextricably connected to the Divine Source, transcending all our doubts, distractions, and imperfections.

So, if that perfect love is already alive, why does the Torah need to remind us again to love God with our hearts and our souls?  Jewish mystical tradition teaches that God planted the divine spark within, thus, it is not our accomplishment to claim.  Our work is something different: to train our hearts, educate our minds, discipline our habits, and slowly align our everyday lives with the holiness that already lives inside us. Judaism is not asking us to become someone or something else. It is asking us to become who we already are, to discover our true nature. Maybe this is why the Torah simply says: uncover yourself.

This understanding casts new light on the meaning of the title word of the portion: Eikev, or, heel. The sages famously connected it to the seemingly “less important” commandments, and the tendency to “stomp on them with their heels” because they appear so insignificant. The rabbis taught that the ordinary choices we make every day – to smile at a stranger, to call a friend, to give tzedakah, to help a neighbor – are exactly how we begin to unlock the divine love hidden within the soul so that we may share it with the world.

Kabbalah teaches that every mitzvah draws divine light every closer into creation. The Zohar imagines each act of goodness repairing another tiny tear in the fabric of existence. The world is not transformed solely through miracles, but instead through countless quiet acts of kindness performed by ordinary people. One heel-step at a time.

That image becomes even more powerful through another mystical insight.

The rabbis teach about ikveta d’Meshicha – in the footsteps of the Messiah – describing the era that comes just before redemption. The Hebrew word, ikeveta, shares the same root as Eikev, heel. We don’t usually include our heels among the body parts we care for most, but perhaps we should. Heels may not see like eyes nor feel like hands, but without them, we simply could not move forward.

Perhaps our generation is a little like this: We embrace modernity, but we wish we knew the ancient secrets of our ancestors. We love the connectivity of technology, but often lament that we are distracted, too busy, or spiritually inconsistent. It’s true that we don’t always possess the context, scholarship, or discipline of our ancestors. But we can choose to keep walking, to keep doing mitzvot, and to keep bringing holiness into our imperfect world one brave and faithful step at a time.

And maybe we possess within us something our ancestors could not: the willingness to continue stepping forward when faith feels uncertain, when the world feels fractured, and when holiness requires more courage than certainty. Eikev reminds us that redemption begins with our choices, not perfection. Redemption begins with people who choose to keep moving forward.

And this brings me back to God’s ultimate promise throughout Eikev: the land flowing with milk and honey.

I’ve been starting to wonder recently if the land flowing with milk and honey was intended as an invitation, rather than just a geographic location.  Milk nourishes new life, and honey is created through the patient labor of thousands of bees gathering sweetness from countless flowers. Both products require relationships, sacrifice, great effort, and care.

Through this lens, the Promised Land is not simply somewhere to find; it is wherever the hidden love of the soul finds us and transforms visibly through our thoughts, our words, and our deeds. The land flowing with milk and honey doesn’t just begin where heaven meets the earth; it is the place where God’s gift becomes our practice, and where the infinite love hidden within the soul finally reaches our hands, our words, and our heels.

Holiness is rarely revealed in a single extraordinary moment; more often, it is discovered one ordinary step at a time. May we become a generation that keeps walking toward the divine horizon, trusting that every small step taken with gratitude, kindness, and love brings the whole world one step closer to redemption.

Shabbat Shalom.

[1] Referenced from Job 31:2 (“the portion of God from above”), this phrasing was popularized by Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi in the foundational Chasidic text, the Tanya.