Rabbi's Message for April
We have entered the period in the Jewish year cycle known as S’firat haOmer (the counting of the omer), so named for a daily practice at this time that is rich with spiritual possibility. I need to humbly report some misunderstandings I have held about the origins of this observance, and share with you my process of clarification.
First, some background: The Torah presents two separate but related commandments, the first of which relates to the actual omer. An omer is a dry measurement, and it refers to a bundle (usually translated as a “sheaf”) of barley that appointed judges would bring to the priest in the Temple in Jerusalem on the 16th day of Nissan (the second day of Pesach). The Torah introduces this practice in Leviticus 23:10. “When you have come into the land which I have given to you, and shall reap the harvest thereof, then you shall bring the sheaf of the first-fruits of your harvest to the priest.” (It is worth noting that “you” in this verse is, in Hebrew, in the plural.) The priest would wave the sheaf, initiating the season of eating the newly harvested crop. “And you shall eat neither bread, nor parched corn, nor fresh ears, until this selfsame day, until you have brought the offering of your God” (Lev. 23:14).
The second relevant commandment prescribes the counting: “And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day [i.e. the day after the yom tov at the start of Pesach] – from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering – seven weeks; they shall be complete” (Lev. 23:15). Thus begins a counting of 49 days that culminates, on the 50th day, with the festival Shavuot.
Today, we have no Temple and no functioning priesthood, so the first of the above commandments is no longer performed. One easily could have interpreted the second commandment – the counting – to be dependent upon an actual delivery of that omer of barley. If there is no omer, then, perhaps, there should be no counting. I had always thought it was obvious that the counting has a unique and separate role from the offering and thus clearly would continue without the Temple. At a closer glance, I see that survival of this mitzvah is by no means guaranteed by the Torah text itself. Rather, it was a deliberate choice that the Rabbis rescued the counting from its apparent Temple context, so that we can continue it today. What has seemed obvious to me is really the result of a bold, conscious effort to preserve some of the ancient spiritual mystery from being left at the sacrificial altar.
I had also always thought that each Israelite performed this delivery of the barley and that it was repeated each day of the counting. No to both: The bringing of the first fruit of the barley crop can only occur once a year – on one day and in one occurrence on that day, i.e. brought by a small group on behalf of all those waiting for permission to eat from their new crop.
The counting that accompanies this agricultural milestone thus fulfills some other important functions: It democratizes the people’s wait during this transition between harvests. Even though the harvest is recognized through an elite activity in the Temple, everyone gets an equal opportunity to engage the counting.
It is also important to note that these activities – the offering of barley and the counting – do not take place until the Temple is standing. They are not rituals for the Exodus generation to perform in the desert. One simple explanation for this is that the Israelites in the desert did not grow barley, let alone consume it. They received their sustenance each day from the Divine gift of manna. This manna was gathered up by each person, each day, to total an omer, the exact amount of the barley offering brought to the priest. This connection allows us to see that not only is there a tradition to honor every individual among the Israelites for engaging in an identical act, but that this act is a strong reminder of another equalizing experience that occurred on a daily basis during the Israelites’ forty years of wandering. The generation in the Land would then always be connected through meaning to the experience of their ancestors and their receiving of God’s great love and care.
As we count each day equally – each one of us adding to the counting symphony – may we find that connection to God and ourselves, using these days for contemplation and spiritual renewal.
Happy Counting,
Rabbi Rick