Under the Heel - Parashat Eqev

The Torah often conceals its deepest teachings within the smallest words. Parashat Eqev begins with one such word: Eqev. The word can mean “because,” “as a consequence,” or “if,” describing the relationship between Israel’s faithfulness and the blessings that follow.

Yet the Midrash hears another dimension within this word, connecting eqev with aqeiv, the heel, the “lowliest” part of the body that nonetheless carries us forward.

From this connection, the Midrash turns to the words of Tehillim:

“Why should I fear in days of evil, when the iniquity of my footsteps (aqeivai) surrounds me?” (Tehillim 49:6)

The Psalmist fears the footsteps that have accumulated over time. He worries about the commandments that seemed too small to receive attention, the obligations that were not rejected with intention yet were neglected through habit. The Midrash teaches that spiritual failure can emerge through the things we pass over so frequently that we cease to recognize their significance.

The heel teaches a difficult lesson: human beings often reveal themselves through what they overlook.

A person may carefully guard the great principles of life while neglecting the quiet obligations that surround them every day. A community may celebrate ideals of justice while failing to recognize the daily experiences of those living at the margins of its awareness. A society may condemn open cruelty while becoming accustomed to the small patterns of exclusion that shape people’s lives.

The Torah’s concern with eqev therefore extends beyond individual commandments. It examines the human tendency to create categories of importance, placing some things at the center while pushing others toward the edges. The things beneath our attention often reveal the depth of our character.

This teaching speaks with particular force to the African American experience.

Throughout American history, African Americans have repeatedly encountered systems and attitudes that described their lives, struggles, and contributions as secondary. The language of insignificance has taken many forms: communities considered disposable, histories treated as optional, achievements treated as exceptions, and experiences dismissed as too minor to shape the larger story.

Yet Jewish tradition challenges the very idea that human beings can be measured according to the attention they receive from society. The Torah repeatedly calls upon us to remember those who are vulnerable, because the dignity of a person cannot depend upon whether others have chosen to notice them.

The Midrash’s image of the heel gives us a language for understanding microaggressions. Many acts of prejudice do not arrive as dramatic declarations of hatred. They appear through ordinary moments: an assumption that someone does not belong, a surprise at someone’s competence, a dismissal of someone’s lived experience, or a refusal to recognize a person’s full identity.

Each moment may appear small when viewed alone. Over time, however, repeated footsteps create a path. The accumulation of small actions forms the environment in which people are expected to live.

The question raised by aqeiv therefore reaches beyond the commandments we consciously choose to observe. It asks us to examine the experiences we have allowed ourselves to overlook.

What have we stepped over because we considered it insignificant? Whose voice have we treated as secondary because we did not expect to hear wisdom from that place? Whose pain have we minimized because it did not resemble our own?

These questions hold particular importance for African American Jews, whose history challenges assumptions about where Jewish identity is found and who carries Jewish memory.

African American Jews have often experienced a double form of being overlooked. The wider society has frequently failed to recognize the depth of African American Jewish life, while Jewish spaces have sometimes struggled to fully acknowledge African American Jews as an integral part of Jewish history and the Jewish present.

The Torah, however, repeatedly expands our understanding of who belongs within the story of Israel. The descendants of Abraham have always carried diverse histories, languages, cultures, and experiences. Jewish memory stretches across continents, and Jewish life has flourished wherever Jews have built communities, preserved tradition, and sought holiness.

The haftorah of Eqev carries this message through the voice of Zion herself.

During the seven weeks of consolation following Tisha B’Av, the prophet Isaiah describes Jerusalem speaking after destruction and exile:

“Hashem has forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me.” (Yeshayahu 49:14)

Jerusalem’s anguish comes from the fear of abandonment. The ruined city wonders whether suffering has caused her to disappear from divine attention. The response from G'd is expressed through the image of a mother and child:

“Can a woman forget her baby, refrain from having compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you.” (Yeshayahu 49:15)

The message of consolation is rooted in remembrance. Jerusalem remains beloved even while broken. The exiles remain connected even while scattered. The people who feel forgotten remain held within G'd’s awareness.

This image speaks to every community that has carried the weight of being overlooked. The experience of invisibility can become one of the deepest wounds a people carries. A person can endure hardship with greater strength when they know their existence is recognized, their history is acknowledged, and their humanity is seen.

Parashat Eqev joins with the haftorah to teach that G’d’s attention extends to the places human beings often ignore. The holiness of a person does not increase when society finally recognizes it. Rather, society becomes more righteous when it learns to recognize the holiness that was already present.

The heel represents the lowest part of the body, yet Torah places a lesson there. The smallest steps create the direction of a life. The overlooked details shape the character of a community. The people pushed aside by history remain within the reach of divine memory.

The question of eqev therefore remains before us: whether we will continue walking over what we have been taught to ignore, or whether we will learn to recognize the sacred presence beneath our feet.

Because every footprint tells a story.Every overlooked person carries a history.Every neglected voice contains a call for remembrance.

And the G'd who promises Zion, “I will not forget you,” calls upon us to build a world where fewer people must wonder whether they have been overlooked.

Shabbat Shalom.