By Rabbi Lara Rodin:
When my husband and I were living in Jerusalem, one of the first Jewish ritual objects we bought together was a wooden challah board. We etched into it a verse from this week’s parashah, Ekev:
כִּי לֹא עַל־הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם, כִּי עַל־כָּל־מוֹצָא פִי ה’ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם
“For human beings do not live on bread alone, but by everything that comes forth from the mouth of God.” (Deuteronomy 8:3)
Every Friday night, as we place our challah on that board and prepare to recite HaMotzi, those words remind us that while bread nourishes our bodies, it is not enough. We need nourishment of another kind as well.
That verse came to mind often this past week as I spent time at Camp Ramah in Canada. To be fair, the food wasn’t bad at all! Our campers were well fed. But what struck me most was the abundance of another kind of sustenance: the emotional, spiritual, and communal nourishment that filled every day.
I watched our children and teens encounter Torah not as something confined to the pages of a book, but as something they could hold in their hands and carry into their lives. Together, we tied our own tzitzit, reflecting on how physical objects can remind us of the values we hope to embody. Those strings became more than threads. They became tangible invitations to kindness, responsibility, gratitude, and holiness long after camp comes to an end.
I saw that same nourishment in quieter moments as well. Sitting by the shores of Skeleton Lake, surrounded by towering pines and still water, taking in the beauty of God’s creation. There is something profoundly Jewish about allowing nature to awaken awe and wonder, reminding us that the world itself can become a teacher if we are willing to pay attention.
Parashat Ekev reminds us that bread matters. Our physical needs matter. Judaism has never asked us to deny that. But it also insists that a life sustained only by bread is an incomplete one. We hunger for meaning, for connection, for learning, for community, and for moments that lift us beyond ourselves.
Each time I set our challah on that cutting board, I am reminded that every Shabbat invites us to nourish both body and soul. As summer continues, may each of us find opportunities to be fed in both ways: with good food around our tables and with Torah, community, wonder, and moments of holiness that sustain our spirits.
Shabbat Shalom.