One Mitzvah or All Mitzvot? The Singular Lesson of Parashat Eikev

In his devar Torah this week, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom focuses on a small, unexpected piece of phraseology in our Torah reading and shows how much we can learn from it. He writes:

In parashat Eikev, the Torah speaks about the benefits and consequences of living a life of Torah and mitzvot. One fascinating detail is the way Moshe Rabbeinu refers to “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” — the commandment — in the singular, rather than the expected plural form:

 (דברים ח:א) "כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם תִּשְׁמְרוּן לַעֲשׂוֹת"

Why use the singular when referring to the entire system of mitzvot? Many commentators ask this, and their answers reveal a profound key to our avodat Hashem.

All Mitzvot as One Unified System

The Ramban and others explain that “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” in the singular emphasizes that the mitzvot form one integrated, inseparable system. The Torah is not a menu from which one can select a few favorite commandments and consider oneself fulfilled.

They draw on the Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 18:21) which teaches that the 248 positive mitzvot and 365 prohibitions correspond to the 248 limbs and 365 sinews of the human body. If one finger is broken, the whole body is affected. Likewise, if one mitzvah is missing, the entire spiritual structure is impaired:

"אִם חִסֵּר אֵחָד מֵאֵבָרָיו — נִפְגָּם כֻּלּו"

This is a demanding — even daunting — interpretation. It means that partial observance misses the Torah’s goal. The mitzvot are designed to work together as a whole; only by fulfilling all of them does one achieve “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה,” the one great commandment in its entirety.

The Infinite Value of One Mitzvah

The Kli Yakar and Rashba reverse the focus entirely. They read “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” as meaning that even a single mitzvah contains within it the value of the whole. Every mitzvah is a direct connection to the Ribono Shel Olam.

The Mishnah teaches:

"רצה הקדוש ברוך הוא לזכות את ישראל לפיכך הרבה להם תורה ומצוות"
 (מכות ג:טז)

The Rashba explains: this is not to burden us, but to multiply opportunities. Even if a person does just one mitzvah with pure intent (לשמה), from beginning to end, it has infinite significance.That single achievable goal of doing one  mitzvah and once there, often brings  you to do many more. This is exactly the Kli Yakar’s point: even one mitzvah is worth worlds.

Two Paragraphs of Shema: Maximum and Minimum

This interplay between “all” and “one” appears again in our parashah, in the second paragraph of Shema. The first paragraph (דברים ו:ד–ט) is written in the singular, addressed to the individual:

"וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ בְּכָל־לְבָבְךָ וּבְכָל־נַפְשְׁךָ וּבְכָל־מְאֹדֶךָ"

This is the maximum ideal — serving Hashem with total love, unconditionally, with no mention of reward or punishment. It is pure, selfless devotion, as exemplified by Rabbi Akiva, who gave his life על קידוש השם.

The second paragraph (דברים יא:יג–כא), found in Parashat Eikev, shifts to the plural, addressing the nation:

"וְהָיָה אִם־שָׁמֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ... וְנָתַתִּי מְטַר־אַרְצְכֶם בְּעִתּו"

Here mitzvah observance is tied to tangible rewards — rain, produce, security, and long life for us and our children. This is the realistic framework for a community: the motivation of blessing alongside the responsibility of obedience. The first paragraph presents the aspirational summit; the second provides the practical, accessible baseline.

Living Between the Minimum and the Maximum

The Torah thus sets two guiding poles:

●       Aim for the maximum — see the mitzvot as one complete system, serve with unconditional love, and aspire to total observance.

●       Value the minimum — recognize that even one mitzvah done purely connects you to Hashem in an eternal way.

Both poles are essential. Without the maximum, we lack vision; without the minimum, we lose accessibility.

May we merit to live with both אהבה and יראה, to integrate all mitzvot as one whole, and to treasure even a single act of connection to our Creator.

One day -- and another

Why were we forty years in the desert before entering our Promised Land? We all know what the Torah tells us -- or do we? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger challenges our reflex answer to this well-known question

If you were to ask most anyone with basic knowledge of the narrative of the Five Books of Torah why the Children of Israel wandered in the desert for 40 years, they would most likely answer that it was because Hashem punished them for despairing over the negative report of the spies. Hashem condemned them to sojourn one year for each day that the spies scouted in the Holy Land.  This is written in black and white in the text. 

However, in Parshat Eikev Moshe provides a completely different and quite strange answer, one that is repeated, presumably for emphasis, twice in quick succession!  Hashem forced them to travel forty years in the desert:

לְמַ֨עַן עַנֹּֽתְךָ֜ לְנַסֹּֽתְךָ֗ לָדַ֜עַת אֶת־אֲשֶׁ֧ר בִּֽלְבָבְךָ֛ הֲתִשְׁמֹ֥ר מִצְוֺתָ֖ו אִם־לֹֽא׃

וַֽיְעַנְּךָ֮ וַיַּרְעִבֶ֒ךָ֒ וַיַּאֲכִֽלְךָ֤ אֶת־הַמָּן֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר לֹא־יָדַ֔עְתָּ וְלֹ֥א יָדְע֖וּן אֲבֹתֶ֑יךָ לְמַ֣עַן הוֹדִֽיעֲךָ֗ כִּ֠י לֹ֣א עַל־הַלֶּ֤חֶם לְבַדּוֹ֙ יִחְיֶ֣ה הָֽאָדָ֔ם כִּ֛י עַל־כׇּל־מוֹצָ֥א פִֽי־יְהֹוָ֖ה יִחְיֶ֥ה הָאָדָֽם׃

In order to test you by hardships to learn what was in your hearts: whether you would keep the divine commandments or not. [God] subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat, which neither you nor your ancestors had ever known, in order to teach you that a human being does not live on bread alone, but that one may live on anything that ה decrees.(Deut 8:2-3).

הַמַּאֲכִ֨לְךָ֥ מָן֙ בַּמִּדְבָּ֔ר אֲשֶׁ֥ר לֹא־יָדְע֖וּן אֲבֹתֶ֑יךָ לְמַ֣עַן עַנֹּֽתְךָ֗ וּלְמַ֙עַן֙ נַסֹּתֶ֔ךָ לְהֵיטִֽבְךָ֖ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶֽךָ׃

Who fed you in the wilderness with manna, which your ancestors had never known, in order to test you by hardships only to benefit you in the end (Deut 8:16).

In other words, they wandered in the desert for forty years not because of a sin but so Hashem could test them by feeding them manna!  This almost sounds absurd.

For a question that seems so big, there is a dearth of commentary. Only Ramban provides a detailed explanation of this test of the Manna.

כִּי הָיָה נִסָּיוֹן גָּדוֹל לָהֶם שֶׁלֹּא יָדְעוּ עֵצָה לְנַפְשָׁם וַיִּכָּנְסוּ בַּמִּדְבָּר הַגָּדוֹל לֹא מְקוֹם לֶחֶם וְאֵין בְּיָדָם כְּלוּם מִן הַמָּן, אֲבָל יָרַד דְּבַר יוֹם בְּיוֹמוֹ וְחַם הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְנָמָס וַיִּרְעֲבוּ אֵלָיו מְאֹד. וְכָל זֶה עָשׂוּ לִשְׁמֹר מִצְוַת הַשֵּׁם לָלֶכֶת כַּאֲשֶׁר יְצַוֶּה. וְהַשֵּׁם הָיָה יָכוֹל לְהוֹלִיכָם בְּדֶרֶךְ הֶעָרִים אֲשֶׁר סְבִיבוֹתֵיהֶם, אֲבָל הֱבִיאָם בַּנִּסָּיוֹן הַזֶּה כִּי מִמֶּנּוּ יִוָּדַע שֶׁיִּשְׁמְרוּ מִצְוֹתָיו לְעוֹלָם:

 [The manna itself] was a great trial to them. They did not know what counsel to adopt for themselves when they entered the great wilderness, a place of no food, and they had none of the manna [in reserve because it could not be stored from day to day] but each day’s portion came down on its day, and as the sun waxed hot, it melted, although they hungered mightily after it. All this they did to keep the commandment of G-d, to follow as He commanded. Now G-d could have led them through the [populated] cities that were around them, but instead He brought them into this trial [of never having any food in reserve] for He knew that as a result [of this experience] they would keep His commandments forever.

Let us return to that “black and white” text that implies the forty years was punishment for the sin of the spies. The language used (Numbers 14:34) י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֞ה י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֗ה is a bit unusual. It is repetitive, doubled. Writing the phrase once would have been enough.  A number of commentaries (i.e., the Kli Yakar) explain that one is for that moment – that generation – and one to prophesize that there will be one day of suffering, Tisha B’Av eternally set aside for crying and pain because of their sin.

However, in light of how Moshe connects the forty-year wandering in the midbar to the manna, perhaps the repetition of י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֞ה foreshadows that their task was not to earn forgiveness for their sin but to exhibit steadfastness in faith in the face of ongoing adversity.

If we interpret this correctly, Moshe is saying that the forty years was preordained.  It had less to do with their despairing over the spies and much more to do with Hashem wanting to be assured that the Jewish nation could withstand daily hardship and remain committed to His commandments. Extrapolating from this, the fact that we have been afflicted with (and continue to experience) so many calamities and intense hatred and have nevertheless endured is simply a continuation of this trial – through the centuries we have merited Divine protection (our manna) but must continuously prove steadfast in our worthiness to remain his Chosen People.

Ultimately, there is another “day” that is a constant test that we not simply hope, but are promised, will be לְהֵיטִֽבְךָ֖ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶֽךָ for our benefit in the end. Every day, like the test of the manna falling, as a fundamental element of our belief as Jews we must proclaim regarding the Mashiach: “We await him that he may come any single day.”  אֲחַכֶּה לּוֹ בְּכָל יוֹם שֶׁיָּבוֹא. May today be that day!

It's the small things that count: Eikev 5784

Eikev—the word itself and the parsha generally—stresses the cause-and-effect equation that governs not just Jewish history but the history of all human civilization. Both the happy events in our lives and the sad ones are conditioned on previous human attitudes and actions. Life eventually teaches us that there is no free lunch. The rabbis stated it succinctly in Avot: “According to the effort (or hardship), so too will be the reward.” 

There really are no shortcuts in life. All attempts to tailor eternal Jewish practices and values to fit current fads and societal norms have ended in abysmal failure. The path of Jewish history is littered with the remains of people and movements who looked to reform Judaism and improve it—but instead only succeeded in making it irrelevant to their followers. 

The Torah emphasizes that Moshe raised the people up so that they would be closer to Heaven; he did not degrade Heaven by dragging it down to the level of the people. The tragedy of much of American Jewry and of many secular Jews today is not that Judaism is too hard. Rather, it was rendered too easy, too convenient—and thus void of any meaning in their everyday existence. As Moshe generally does in the book of Devarim, so too in this week’s parsha does he emphasize the difficult times that the people endured in their forty-year sojourn in the desert of Sinai. 

Moshe does not promise his people a rose garden in the Middle East when they enter the Land of Israel and conquer it. He warns them instead of the consequences of abandoning God and Torah. God is exacting: He does not tolerate the easy path that leads to spiritual weakness and eventual physical destruction. Rashi comments in our parsha that this message is particularly true regarding the “small” things in life that one easily crushes under one’s ekev (“heel”). It is the small things that truly characterize our personality in our relationships with others and with our Creator as well. 

I have noticed a trend in contemporary society that, when eulogies are delivered, they concentrate on the small things in life—stories, anecdotes, memories and personal relationships—rather than on the deceased’s public or commercial achievements, no matter how impressive they might have been. It is the small things in life that engender within us likes and dislikes, feelings of affection and love, emotions of annoyance and frustration. Our Torah too is comprised of myriad details and minutiae. The God of the vast universe reveals Himself to us, so to speak, in the atom and the tiny mite. For upon reflection and analysis there are really no small things in life. 

Everything that we say and do bears consequences for our personal and national future. It is this sense of almost cosmic influence, which every individual exercises in their everyday life, that lies at the heart of Torah and Judaism. We build the world through our own lives’ seemingly mundane behavior. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein