Parshas Eikev: On Not Writing
I wasn’t feeling like writing anything this week.
Not because the parsha is bland.
Good Shabbos.
Not because the parsha is bland.
Not because life has been flavorless.
Ninety days in time, not (yet) of wrapping count.
I started on 13 Iyar, which this year happened to be Mother’s Day.
The kind of date that quietly tucks itself into the story and makes it feel like home.
That ninety-day mark landed on 14 Av, Friday Parshas Va’eschanan,
That ninety-day mark landed on 14 Av, Friday Parshas Va’eschanan,
with the Torah portion being the first paragraph of Shema:
Shema Yisrael… Ve’ahavta...
the call to hear, to love, to bind the words on your arm and between your eyes.
The dates lined up on the calendar in a way that made it feel like Someone had circled them long before I got here.
This Friday, Parshas Eikev, comes the next paragraph of Shema: והיה אם שמוע.
The dates lined up on the calendar in a way that made it feel like Someone had circled them long before I got here.
This Friday, Parshas Eikev, comes the next paragraph of Shema: והיה אם שמוע.
If you will really listen. The step after love.
The call to carry God’s words not only in the warmth of the moment, but in the daily choices that shape the world.
The choices that draw rain in its time, or close the heavens tight.
The Parsha opens with a hint for the process in order to get there.
The Parsha opens with a hint for the process in order to get there.
Right at the start of Eikev: ואכלת ושבעת וברכת.
Eat, be satisfied, bless.
Before asking us to really listen, God lets us taste what goodness feels like.
It’s the way I learned to treat my sourdough:
It’s the way I learned to treat my sourdough:
you feed it before you work it;
you let it breathe before you stretch it.
You plant strength before you ask for shape.
So I’m not writing anything this week, just baking bread, and pausing to thank God for what’s already on the table.
So I’m not writing anything this week, just baking bread, and pausing to thank God for what’s already on the table.
I’m carrying Shema into Vehaya.
Last week’s tefillin into this week’s tefillin.
Last week’s loving into this week’s living.
Sometimes the work isn’t to start over.
Sometimes the work isn’t to start over.
It’s to stretch and fold what’s already alive inside you, until it rises into something worth breaking bread over, and thanking God for.
Good Shabbos.
May what you’ve been feeding rise into bread on your table, rain in its time, and blessing in your days.
🩵 Berke
