Eikev: Remember The Journey

As Moshe Rabbeinu prepares us for our entry into Eretz Yisrael, he is gripped by a series of profound fears. He worries that we will be drawn to the worship of lifeless idols. He fears that prosperity in Israel will breed arrogance and erode our awareness of Hashem. He worries that we will become self-righteous, attributing our military victories to our own might rather than to Hashem’s promise and kindness.

Most poignantly, Moshe knows that he will not be there to guide us through this uncharted territory.

Facing these concerns, Moshe Rabbeinu repeatedly turns the nation’s attention to the past. He reminds them that the Ribbono shel Olam who shattered the might of Egypt will also deliver the kings of Canaan into their hands. Yet memories of Egypt alone will not suffice. Three times in Parashat Eikev, he returns to the wilderness, urging us to remember the Divine providence that sustained us. At one point he becomes remarkably specific: the manna, the clothing that never wore out, and the feet that never swelled despite forty years in the desert. As Moshe commands: “You shall remember the entire journey along which Hashem your G-d led you during these forty years in the wilderness.”

{Ambivalent Memories

This was a bold gamble. The wilderness experience was by and large a tragic one. The first year and a half after leaving Egypt was marked by a series of rebellions, culminating in the sin of the spies, which doomed that generation to wander the desert until it died out. Thirty-eight years later, after nearly the entire generation had perished, the tragedies still had not ended. Twenty-four thousand more died in the aftermath of the sin of Peor.

The wilderness was not simply a story of miracles, but of miracles and failures, of extraordinary faith alongside devastating spiritual collapse.

A midrash in Shir Hashirim Rabbah (3:1) sums up the mixed legacy of those forty years: Her ascent came from the wilderness… her death came from the wilderness. Her Torah came from the wilderness; the Mishkan came from the wilderness … Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: In the wilderness they became burdened, and in the wilderness, they cast it off.

Undoubtedly, we were eager to turn the page on the frustration and futility of those difficult forty years. Yet Moshe refuses to allow us to forget. Instead, he insists that we remember the entire journey.

Although entry into Eretz Yisrael marks a new era, Moshe is determined to preserve continuity with the past. He does not want this generation to think they are starting over.

The desert sojourn taught enduring lessons about faith, loyalty, and Divine providence. The spectacular miracles of the wilderness would not be repeated in the same overt fashion in Eretz Yisrael. There, Hashem’s hand would be hidden behind nature, history, and politics. Remembering the desert would help us recognize Him even when He was less visible.

The wilderness also taught painful lessons about the fragility of faith. Before we grow too confident in the permanence of the Beit Hamikdash or Jewish sovereignty, we are meant to remember how quickly spiritual greatness can unravel. Mere weeks after hearing Hashem’s voice at Sinai, we fashioned a golden calf. Only months later, standing at the threshold of destiny, we rejected the very gift of Israel. The desert reminds us that even extraordinary religious experiences do not guarantee enduring faith.

That generation had been granted the extraordinary privilege of entering and settling Eretz Yisrael. Life in the Land would demand new ways of thinking, new responsibilities, and new opportunities to serve Hashem. They would cultivate fields, defend their borders, build a government, and create a society guided by Torah. Yet despite these profound changes, they must never imagine that they were starting over.

Our generation faces a similar challenge. Life in the modern State of Israel presents the same challenge of blending the old with the new, of combining tradition with innovation. We believe that we have entered a new stage of Jewish history, one that will, im yirtzeh Hashem, ultimately lead to the end of history. We are confronting questions Jews could only dream about for nearly two thousand years: How to govern a Jewish state, how to build a society shaped by Jewish values, and how to bring Torah into every area of national life.

Many mitzvot that lay dormant throughout exile have returned to the center of Jewish life. Jewish sovereignty has reopened entire areas of halachah that had remained largely theoretical throughout the centuries of exile. Returning to our homeland created religious opportunities previous generations could only imagine.

We are trying to reverse one of exile’s deepest legacies: its splintering effect on the Jewish people. Centuries of dispersion gave rise to different communities, customs, and traditions. In Israel, we are challenged to weave these diverse strands back into a shared national fabric. At the same time, we are building a common future with fellow Jews who do not yet share the same level of religious commitment. Since 1948, Jewish history has entered unfamiliar territory.

Moshe’s warning feels especially relevant in Israel today. So much has changed, and it’s easy to feel as though we are living through a complete break with the past. We aren’t. We are adding a new chapter to a story that began long before us.

The challenge is to cultivate a pioneering spirit while remaining deeply faithful to our past. This is what makes religious life in Israel so different from religious life in the Diaspora. In Chutz La’Aretz, the primary religious instinct is self-preservation: safeguarding the mesorah and faithfully transmitting it from one generation to the next. Continuity remains the defining principle.

In Israel, the primary impulse is one of renewal and change. Every day presents new religious and national challenges. This is exactly why Moshe’s warning is so important. We are building something new, but it must grow out of everything that came before it.

This tension between continuity and renewal did not begin in our generation. This temptation has deep historical and cultural roots. The image of the weak, powerless Jew wandering through exile stood in sharp contrast to the proud, self-reliant Jew defending his homeland. Exile was often portrayed as a long interruption in Jewish history, with the true story of the Jewish people resuming only with the rebirth of the State of Israel.

We must not accept that narrative. Galut was a punishment, and many of the fullest expressions of Jewish life could not be realized without a homeland. Yet those centuries weren’t empty. Across the globe, we built vibrant communities, produced towering Torah scholarship, and fashioned a rich religious world that endured despite persecution and displacement. Within the walls of the Beit Midrash, we created an eternal spiritual universe that no hostile society could destroy. Without the faith, sacrifice, and resilience of those generations, in 1948, there would have been no Jewish people to return home.

Perhaps that is why I sometimes think we need to create a Jewish legacy trip for young Israelis, one that takes them to the communities from which their parents and grandparents came. Let them see the courage and commitment that sustained Jewish life in exile. Let them see how deeply Jews throughout the world cherished Eretz Yisrael, prayed for it, sacrificed for it, and eventually helped rebuild it. Let them see that the road home did not begin in 1948. It was not merely a story of darkness, frustration, and helplessness. It was also a story of faith, creativity, endurance, and hope.

Standing once again in our own Eretz Yisrael, Moshe’s charge remains as relevant as ever: “You shall remember the entire journey.” 

Rabbi Michael Taragin is a rabbi and educator at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush). His latest book, Reclaiming Redemption, Vol. II: Faith, Identity, Peoplehood, and the Storms of War, is available at MTaraginBooks.com.