Life is full of movement. We walk here, drive there, and fly our way to a thousand places in between. So what keeps us grounded wherever we go? What keeps us from sliding off the road?
This week’s portion begins: “And it shall come to pass, because (Eikev) you hearken to these laws, keep them, and do them; that the Lord your God shall keep unto you the covenant and the kindness which He swore to your fathers.” (Deut. 7:12)
Many a commentator dwell on the Hebrew word eikev, a most unusual synonym for “because.” They point out that if the same letters were vocalized differently—“aw-keiv”—it would mean “heel.” The 18th century Hassidic Master, Rebbe Elimelech of Lizhensk, suggested that the word alludes to the most basic element of divine service: humility. Just as the entire body is supported by the heel of one’s foot, so too, all of a person’s sacred life is supported by humility. Recognition of one’s limits, from the meekness of the intellect to the body’s fragility, opens the heart to love of God and love of one’s fellow.
Yet humility also has a way of opening the mind, spurring us to go forth and to discover. Our Sages inquire why the Ark of the Covenant was made of acacia-wood instead of silver or gold. The obvious answer is that a wooden Ark is lighter than one made entirely of gold, and therefore, it could be more easily carried by the Israelites as they traveled from place to place. (Hizkuni Ex. 25.10) Yet the Netziv writes that the Ark was made of wood to remind us that the knowledge it contained—the Tablets of the Law—is acquired through humility. (Emek HaDavar on Deut. 10.1) In a similar vein, Rabbi Bachayeh mentions a tradition that all the measurements of the Ark end in halves—2 ½ x 1 ½ x 1 ½ cubits—to remind us that wisdom is acquired when we think of our studies as being partial and incomplete. (Ex. 25.10) When we acknowledge what we lack and do not know, we begin to learn wherever we go.
Last summer, my wife and I drove across country with a great number of belongings stowed in the trunk. As we crossed into New Mexico, we saw some 50 miles ahead, a vast thunderhead lurking in the distance. Shaped like a dark portabella, its canopy stretched across the heavens, while its more narrow central column—absolutely opaque—led straight down to the heart of the earth. As we drew closer, we saw that the highway was heading directly into the storm. My wife insisted that we turn off the road, but there was no place to turn. We had no choice but to continue among a caravan of trucks.
Suddenly, rain, as thick as a cornfield, struck our car. I did my best to remain behind an 18-wheeler that managed to break through the torrent of water. For the next hour, the truck was the only thing I could see. As water began to pool on the highway, I thanked the Lord that my small car was weighted with several hundred pounds of belongings. The tires—the heels of our car—remained rooted to the ground; they did not slide or skid.
So little holds us here, and when we realize that, we begin to understand the measure of much greater things.
No comments:
Post a Comment