Because you hearken to these laws (Deuteronomy 7:12)
The commentaries dwell on the Hebrew word eikev in this verse—an uncommon synonym for “because.” Many see a connection with the word akeiv (same spelling, different pronunciation), which means “heel.” Rashi interprets this as an allusion to those mitzvot which a person tramples with his heels—the Torah is telling us to be equally diligent with all of G‑d’s commandments, no less with those that seem less significant to our finite minds.Ibn Ezra and Nachmanides interpret it in the sense of “in the end” (i.e., “in the heels of,” or in the sense that the heel is at the extremity of the body)—the reward being something that follows the action. A similar interpretation is given by Ohr HaChaim, who explains that true satisfaction and fulfillment comes at the “end”—the complete fulfillment of all the mitzvot, and by Rabbeinu Bechayei, who sees it as an allusion that the reward we do receive in this world is but a lowly and marginal (the “heel”) aspect of the true worth of the mitzvot. Baal HaTurim gives a gematriatic explanation: the word eikev is used because it has a numerical value of 172—the number of words in the Ten Commandments. Tzemach Tzedek sees it as a reference to ikveta d’meshicha, the generation of “the heels of Moshiach” (the last generation of the exile is called “the heels of Moshiach” by our sages because: a) they are the spiritually lowest generation, due to the “descent of the generations”; b) it is the generation in which the footsteps of Moshiach can already be heard). This is the genetarion that will “hearken to these laws,” as Maimonides writes: “The Torah has already promised that the people of Israel will return to G‑d at the end of their exile, and will be immediately redeemed.” The Lubavitcher Rebbe says: Our commitment to Torah should be such that it permeates us entirely, so that also our heel—the lowest and the least sensitive part of the person—“hearkens to these laws, observes them and does them.” In other words, our relationship with G‑d should not be confined to the holy days of the year, or to certain “holy” hours we devote to prayer and study, but should also embrace our everyday activities. Indeed, this “lowly” and “spiritually insensitive” part of our life is the foundation of our relationship with G‑d, in the same way that the heel is the base upon which the entire body stands and moves.
In Deuteronomy 10:19 the Torah commands: “Ve-ahavtem et hager ki gerim hayitem be-eretz mitzrayim” (“Love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt”). We find very similar statements elsewhere in the Torah, of course, but with a crucial difference. Consider Exodus 22:20, for example: “Veger lo toneh velo tilhatzenu” (“Do not wrong a stranger, do not oppress him”). The end of this verse—which provides the reason for the law, or perhaps the reason why the people should take care to follow it—is the same as that in Deuteronomy: for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt. But in Exodus, and in most of the other biblical verses that address this issue, the command is: Do not harm, do not oppress. In Deuteronomy 10:19, we are told: Love. One is a negative injunction—do not act in such a way toward a stranger—while in this week’s parashah we have an affirmative requirement: Seek a ger out and show favor to him or her. Rabbi Ethan Linden explains: ” It is perhaps the oddity of this that leads Rashi to his interesting comment on this verse. He quotes from the Talmud (BT Bava Metzia 59b): “Do not taunt your fellow with the blemish you yourself have.” This is an unexpected take on the verse—and one that affects the level of difficulty of this mitzvah. After all, not oppressing someone is easier, and takes far less effort, than acting affirmatively to befriend them, to try to understand and love them. While the Exodus version of the command can be followed simply by staying out of the way of a ger, this Deuteronomic version in our parashah seems to require the exact opposite: to get in their way such that we can see the ger, and the ger can see us. Rashi, perhaps sensing this difference, reads the verse as being less about public policy and more about public comity. We all have blemishes, Rashi seems to be saying, and perhaps we should remember that when we are interacting with our neighbors. Rashi’s reading of the verse seems to indicate that this command is not just about the ger but about the way we interact in general with those around us. And indeed, the Talmudic context for the comment that Rashi brings to bear on this verse is noteworthy in that it is all about the power of wounded feelings to bring great harm into the world. The narrative immediately preceding the Talmudic discussion of hurt feelings is the famous story of the oven of Akhnai, the rabbinic debate about the ritual purity of a particular oven that ends with a voice coming forth from heaven to declare, ‘These and these are the words of the living God.’ ”
