Parashat Eikev Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25
Dear TBE Community,
This is the second Week of Consolation – and on so many levels, consolation, the love and comfort invoked last week, seem far away, almost out of reach.
This week’s haftara from the book of Isaiah begins: “Zion says: God has forsaken me, my Sovereign has forgotten me,” echoing how many people feel, in our own social circles, in our country, in Israel and Gaza, around the world.
“I lift my eyes to the mountains; from where will my help come?” Psalm 121 asks and gives the answer in the next line: “My help comes from the Eternal, maker of heaven and earth.”
But does that answer really help and comfort us? How can we believe in help and comfort, when they seem so far away?
In “Dance me to the End of Love,” the singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen makes an appeal to believe that help and comfort can be as close as the mountains might seem distant: “Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn.”
Even a flimsy and torn tent can provide a certain shelter. The mountains might seem unreachable, but they are there, sturdy and majestic, a dwelling-place for the Divine.
In Torah Study yesterday, we spoke about gratitude, about recognizing and acknowledging the good in our lives, and how difficult that can be. How easy it is to veer toward the negative, to focus on what is NOT working. The Israelites in the desert had a similar issue: They were supposed to be grateful for the manna that was falling from the sky to sustain them in the wilderness, but they began taking it for granted, grew tired of it and eventually complained about the same food on the table. But it was food on the table, it was God sustaining them on the way to “a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and date honey.” (Deuteronomy 8:8)
Our circumstances today are different from those of the Israelites. But human nature hasn’t changed – often, even when we are satiated, we are not satisfied.
And granted, that ambition has brought forth progress and refinement: Why content ourselves with the first acceptably nice beach we see? There might be a better one just behind the next cliff. And while we might indeed be able to ultimately find our (almost) perfect stretch of beach, the hunt for the bigger, better deal can make us restless, discontent, feel inferior; cause us to end relationships or never commit to one, rob us of our good night’s sleep and our serenity.
Standing at the banks of the Jordan, Moses anticipated that even when the people would have reached that (never truly reachable) land, they wouldn’t be satisfied. And he tried to prepare them for the days without him:
“When you have eaten your fill, and have built fine houses to live in, and your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold have increased, and everything you own has prospered, beware lest your heart grow haughty and you forget your God Adonai—who freed you from the land of Egypt, the house of bondage.” (Deuteronomy 8:12-14)
When we feel on top, when we are satiated, we might forget that we once needed help to get where we are now, that we once uttered desperate prayers for precisely that help. A prayer that might have been directed to the mountains although they seemed far away, a prayer that asked for any kind of shelter. A prayer that promised we would be satisfied with a simple tent and not covet the fancier version. A prayer that believed that comfort would eventually come.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch
rabbiknobloch@bethelsp.org