Guarding the Bubble: Ekev and the Greenhouse of Jewish Life

Our Torah portion opens this week with a really beautiful verse: 

וְהָיָ֣ה ׀ עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם 

And if you do obey these rules and observe them carefully,

וְשָׁמַר֩ יְהוָ֨ה אֱלֹהֶ֜יךָ לְךָ֗ אֶֽת־הַבְּרִית֙ וְאֶת־הַחֶ֔סֶד אֲשֶׁ֥ר נִשְׁבַּ֖ע לַאֲבֹתֶֽיךָ׃

 the LORD your God will maintain faithfully for you the covenant that God made on oath with your fathers (Deut. 7:12) 

It’s such a fascinating verse of Torah--- 

This opening verse hones in on the specificity with which we are commanded to follow God’s mitzvot— and throughout the parasha we hear a word repeated again and again: ushmartem — “you shall guard.”

Torah doesn’t mince or waste words— repetition implies significance. 

Here in the confluence of Torah and Jewish time, I can’t help but attach myself to this idea of guarding, and protection. Torah directs us to a life of meaning and covenant by guarding the life that God envisions for our people. And here, across time and space, we find ourselves as the guarantors of that covenant, charged with guarding the ideals that have sustained us for thousands of years.  Guarding is active. It’s intentional. You guard what you love, what you can’t imagine losing. And perhaps because the world feels fiery and precarious right now, and perhaps because I know just how much so many of you are carrying right now: on this Shabbat, at this moment- the guarding feels personal. At the end of the day, we all just want to protect the things– the people, the communities, the ideals, that mean most to us. 

Figuring out how to do that may well be the evolving challenge of our time. 

וְהָיָ֣ה ׀ עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם 

And if you do obey these rules and observe them carefully…

Torah is specific in telling us to guard not just the big, dramatic mitzvot — but the little ones, the ones so ordinary we could easily step right over them. The rabbis of the Midrash Tanchuma play with the word ekev — which means both “because” and “heel” — and they imagine God saying: Be careful not to trample on the commandments that seem small– don’t ignore them and cast them under your heels”. Because it’s often those “heel mitzvot” that carry the covenant forward. Mitzvah goreret Mitzvah—one mitzvah leads to another, even the small ones. Even those we could easily trample. 

This past week, a friend of mine shared an episode of the podcast “Call Me Back with Dan Senor”. Dan Senor is a Jewish political analyst, author, and lecturer. Each year, Dan Senor delivers a “State of World Jewry” address at the 92nd Street Y, offering insights on global Jewish communities, contemporary challenges, and opportunities, while connecting current events to Jewish history, identity, and values.

I will admit a certain bias against the idea of a “State of World Jewry” address, but he won me over from the beginning, saying that he was going to change the question he had been asked; rather than talk about the “State of World Jewry”, he was going to talk about the “State of World Jewries”; of the two largest global Jewish communities: Israel, and the United States— of the deep challenges we face in both places: war, hopelessness, violence. From college campuses to the streets of cities around our country, he shares powerful examples of all of the challenges that “world Jewries” face today. 

But for tonight- the part of his address that feels worthy of highlighting was the part where he talked about what we might actually do about it. 

Senor states: The one thing we can control is whether we choose to lead Jewish lives. We can invest in Jewish peoplehood, and in Jewish communal life that has both depth and breadth. More to the point, he says, what we need most desperately is immersion.

“Bubble Judaism” as he calls it, or places where Jewish life is so full, so immersive, that you don’t have to fight for it to exist.

Some people hear “bubble” and think  “out of touch” or “cloistered”--- disconnected from the reality of the world in ways that are detrimental.  But what if we thought of bubbles more like a greenhouse — a protected space where something precious can grow strong enough to survive outside?

Tonight, that metaphor feels especially real, because just on the other side of that mountain over there, there are hundreds of young people celebrating the last Shabbat of the summer at camp. In the spirit of summertime and childhood, and all of the sweetness, I hope you’ll allow me to linger on the value and meaning of it as our Torah for this Shabbat. 

This past summer, I had the joy of being on camp faculty for a week. It’s one of my favorite weeks of the whole summer — back in the bubble, this time as a rabbi.

On paper, my task was to teach: to lead interactive, experiential Jewish education during Limud, to tutor B’nai Mitzvah students, and to help lead ma’ariv for my assigned units. This year, that meant the K’tanim (little ones)  the youngest, newest campers — and the Olim (the ones who go up)— the oldest campers. 

But on my first night, I realized my real job was something else entirely: my real job was to be there, in their bubble, to affirm it as the very best place they could possibly be this summer. My job was  to be another loving Jewish adult in their lives. To show them, simply by showing up, what a joyful, meaningful Jewish adulthood — seeded years ago at Eisner — could look like. And, not for nothing, to offer the kind of para-parental presence kids need in a world that doesn’t always feel steady.

That truth came into sharp focus at K’tanim t’fillah. We were gathered around the Jewish-star–shaped fire pit for their evening bonfire. One of our Hevreh Religious School students — brand new to camp — sat down next to me. Just as I was about to begin the service, he looked up and asked, “Rabbi Jodie, could you help me tie my shoes?”

So I did. And then I began to sing.

It was small. Forgettable, even. But it was also everything — a “heel mitzvah” if ever there was one. At that moment, Jewish life was not an abstract idea. It was a little boy, away from his parents for the first time, sitting next to his rabbi, and his new friends, who just needed some help tying his shoes. 

In 2025, that image of a Jewish bubble as a greenhouse feels more crucial than ever. The world outside is a mess. 

But in the bubble? Jewish joy is normal. Belonging is assumed. Learning and singing and celebrating are the default, not the exception. Kids get to be kids, and adults get to experience the joy of seeing it all unfold. It is a place where Jewish star necklaces are proudly worn, where blessings are taught and offered freely, and where (especially for kids like ours in the Berkshires) suddenly they feel like one of many, not one of the few. 

When my kids leave camp on Sunday, they’ll carry that with them — the melodies, the friendships, the certainty that being Jewish is not a burden but a gift. This summer, as every summer (but perhaps even a bit moreso), it feels like a gift worth protecting and guarding: for the sake of our children, and for the sake of the Jewish people. 

Guarding the bubble isn’t about keeping people out. It’s about making the space inside so strong and nourishing that everyone who passes through carries a piece of it into the world. This is true for any communal space that aims to be immersive and inclusive: this is true for how I imagine Hevreh at its best. A greenhouse for beauty, growth and justice. 

When I imagine those words first spoken by Moses, I am reminded that the Jewish people were still very much a people in process: they were not “there” yet. Still making their way to the Promised Land; still stumbling, still trying to find their way. What they receive in that moment is a reminder that what they have as a people, in community with one another and in relationship with God, is something worth protecting and guarding. 

וְהָיָ֣ה ׀ עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם וְשָׁמַר֩ יְהֹוָ֨ה אֱלֹהֶ֜יךָ לְךָ֗ אֶֽת־הַבְּרִית֙ וְאֶת־הַחֶ֔סֶד אֲשֶׁ֥ר נִשְׁבַּ֖ע לַאֲבֹתֶֽיךָ׃

And if you do obey these rules and observe them carefully, your God יהוה will maintain faithfully for you the covenant made on oath with your fathers [God] will favor you and bless you.

But only— v’haya ekev: only when we guard and protect. Only when we are careful to attend to the joyful, life affirming laws and rites of our people, do we create sacred spaces: greenhouses that seed and nourish our lives and the lives of our children. 

That’s our task as a community: to guard the “heel mitzvot” — the everyday blessings, the melodies, the acts of kindness that might seem small, but that are the scaffolding of Jewish life.

Because what we guard, grows. 

And what grows inside the bubble can change the world outside of it.

Shabbat Shalom.