Shabbat Ekev: Down at the Heels

We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.

from Jack Gilbert, “A Brief for the Defense”

This week we read parashat Ekev, in which Moshe Rabbenu recounts aspects of the forty years of wandering in the wildnerness which are now ending. This week is the second of seven weeks in which we are traditionally expected to be recovering from our participation in our people’s grief over the destruction we suffered two thousand years ago at the hands of the Roman Empire, and the long and awful Exile that followed. 

This year it is especially difficult to feel that we are in any way rising out of despair toward hope, as Israeli captives languish for another day and we watch from a helpless distance as the obliteration of Gaza continues. Closer to our own homes, persecution of marginalized communities increases, and all around us is uncertainty and apprehension. The scale of horror is overwhelming, and we may well wonder: what is there to say that hasn’t already been said? Where is there a place to find relief from all this agony?

When reality is perplexingly awful, our ancestors dove into the words of Torah. Even in the ghettos of the Holocaust, Jews continued to find some comfort in the familiarity of regular rhythms. Noah was told בֹּֽא… אֶל־הַתֵּבָ֑ה “go… into the Ark” (Gen. 7.1) and the word teyvah also means letter, as in the letters of the alef-bet. Skipping across the surface of the words of our parashah is not at all satisfying, but when we need spiritual grounding for our lives we are rewarded – we always are – with a sense of doors opening onto profound meaning when we “go into the teyvah,” “inside” the letter, to seek the spirit.

When we do so we find that the first two words of our parashah have already spawned a wealth of interpretations. 

וְהָיָ֣ה ׀ עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם וְשָׁמַר֩ ה’ אֱלֹ-יךָ לְךָ֗ אֶֽת־הַבְּרִית֙ וְאֶת־הַחֶ֔סֶד אֲשֶׁ֥ר נִשְׁבַּ֖ע לַאֲבֹתֶֽיךָ׃ 

It will be that on the heels of your obedience of these rules and careful observation of them, your G!d ‘ה will maintain faithfully for you the covenant made on oath with your ancestors (Devarim 7.12)

Our Sages teach that והיה v’hayah, “it will be”, always indicates simkha, joy. In more than one commentary, it is also noted that עקב ekev, literally “on the heels of”, indicates humility. The message of v’hayah ekev must be understood as applying to our situation together, then: joy and humility must exist hand in hand.

The word ekev, “heel”, is the etymological source given for the Patriarch Jacob’s name, for when he was born, it is written that he was grasping the heel of his twin brother Esau. The back of the foot also figures in the curses of Eden, in which the human must forever fear the strike of the serpent at the heels. Feet are the lowest part of the standing human; dusty, dirty, stepping in HaShem knows what. It is only a step from here to “I am but dust and ashes” (Genesis 18.47), the idiom Abraham uses when standing before HaShem. 

The poem “A Brief for the Defense” by Jack Gilbert paradoxically urges us to be joyful despite the suffering in the world. Where is joy in this place, and how is it possible? those in recovery from addiction know a certain joy in reaching the end of illusions, so that the work of healing can begin. Those whose eyes and minds open from strongly held delusions know the joy of putting down the unnecessary burden of refusing to listen or look at truth. And there is, after all, a certain joy even in the struggle with fear, when one can share it with others and not feel alone, and isolated in one’s suffering.

In Jewish spiritual context this may be the crux of the matter: if you are able to continue to find joy in your spiritual practices – Torah study, community and individual prayer, observance of ritual in the communally designated time and space, and building meaningful community through observing the mitzvot of caring for each other – then, Moshe seems to be saying here, then the covenant of mutuality which sustains us will remain strong.

The specific mitzvot which our parashah tells us must be followed in joy in order to maintain our covenant are striking. They are not about believing in HaShem, nor in bringing the perfect sacrifice. The mitzvot that appear in here require humility: remember that by yourself  you cannot make yourself prosperous, nor safe, nor loved. Remember to reach out to others that they not be left by themselves: “uphold the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriend the stranger, providing food and clothing.” (Dev. 10.18)

This same humility can help us here and now. There is an insidious way in which those who are able to help others may develop what is called a “savior” complex; one’s ego can be mightily stroked by others thanking us for our help. Yet while we can take part in efforts toward goodness and security, and it is a mitzvah to do so, we cannot make ourselves or our loved ones safe; we cannot end suffering here or far from here. All we can do is to try to find joy in the fact that we have a community with which to worry and to weep, as well as to celebrate, when we are fortunate enough to do so.

May we find the way to celebrate even with a heart that is breaking for all that causes us despair. May our spiritual community and personal practice help us remember that down in the dust there can be joy, and may it strengthen us to rise toward the light where we find it.