Dear TBZ Community,
Since the second night of Passover, we have been in the process of counting the forty-nine days of the Omer. An omer was a unit of measurement in the ancient Temple, most associated with the offering of a sheaf of grain. “Counting the Omer” refers to a period of daily counting, between Passover and Shavuot, that marks the journey from Egypt to Sinai and the receiving of Torah. We read about the Omer in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Emor, as part of the section that describes the cycle of holidays.
The Torah teaches, in Leviticus 23:15-16:
וּסְפַרְתֶּם לָכֶם… שֶׁבַע שַׁבָּתוֹת תְּמִימֹת תִּהְיֶינָה
You shall count for yourselves… seven complete weeks
and then continues,
תִּסְפְּרוּ חֲמִשִּׁים יוֹם
you shall count fifty days.
The term omer itself refers to a sheaf of barley that was brought as an offering in the ancient Temple. This detail grounds the practice not only in ritual time, but also in the agricultural reality of the ancient world. For our ancestors, this period of the year was not only spiritually significant but also materially uncertain. The barley harvest had begun, but the wheat crop, which would provide sustenance for the months ahead, was still ripening. The success of that harvest could not be taken for granted; it depended on weather, on timing, and on forces beyond human control. In other words, it was a time marked by vulnerability and by waiting.
In that context, the act of counting can be understood as a response to uncertainty. Rather than being paralyzed by what was not yet known (will the harvest come in? will there be enough?), the tradition directs our attention to what can be marked, what can be held: this day, and then the next. Each day is acknowledged, named, and counted. Time becomes something we engage with actively, rather than something that simply passes over us.
The rabbis of the Talmud were attentive to the details of this practice.
In Tractate Menachot 66a, there is a discussion about how exactly one fulfills the commandment to count:
אָמַר אַבָּיֵי: מִצְוָה לְמִימְנֵי יוֹמֵי, וּמִצְוָה לְמִימְנֵי שָׁבוּעֵי.
רַבָּנַן דְּבֵי רַב אָשֵׁי מָנוּ יוֹמֵי וּמָנוּ שָׁבוּעֵי, אַמֵּימָר מָנֵי יוֹמֵי וְלָא מָנֵי שָׁבוּעֵי
Abaye said: It is a mitzvah [commandment] to count days, and it is also a mitzvah to count weeks. The Gemara notes that in fact the Sages of the study hall of Rav Ashi counted days and they also counted weeks. Ameimar counted days but not weeks.
The practice that became normative for us reflects a kind of fullness: we count both. We say not only “today is twenty-eight days,” but also “which are four weeks of the Omer.” This dual counting subtly shapes our awareness of time. It invites us to notice both the incremental movement of each day and the broader structure that emerges over time. We are not only moving forward, we are also building something, week by week. Time is not a blur, it has texture and form.
The Sefer HaChinuch (“Book of Education”), an anonymous work written in 13th-century Spain that details the 613 commandments and explores their meanings, explains (Mitzvah 306:3) that the purpose of counting is to express longing and anticipation for the giving of the Torah:
שֶׁתְּקַבְּלוּ הַתּוֹרָה שֶׁהִיא הָעִקָּר הַגָּדוֹל שֶׁבִּשְׁבִיל זֶה הֵם נִגְאָלִים וְהִיא תַּכְלִית הַטּוֹבָה שֶׁלָּהֶם
וּמִפְּנֵי כֵן, כִּי הִיא כָּל עִקָּרָן שֶׁל יִשְׂרָאֵל וּבַעֲבוּרָהּ נִגְאֲלוּ וְעָלוּ לְכָל הַגְּדֻלָּה שֶׁעָלוּ אֵלֶיהָ, נִצְטַוִּינוּ לִמְנוֹת מִמָּחֳרַת יוֹם טוֹב שֶׁל פֶּסַח עַד יוֹם נְתִינַת הַתּוֹרָה לְהַרְאוֹת בְּנַפְשֵׁנוּ הַחֵפֶץ הַגָּדוֹל אֶל הַיּוֹם הַנִּכְבָּד הַנִּכְסָף לְלִבֵּנוּ כְּעֶבֶד יִשְׁאַף צֵל, וְיִמְנֶה תָּמִיד מָתַי יָבוֹא הָעֵת הַנִּכְסָף אֵלָיו שֶׁיֵּצֵא לְחֵרוּת
כִּי הַמִּנְיָן מַרְאֶה לְאָדָם כִּי כָל יִשְׁעוֹ וְכָל חֶפְצוֹ לְהַגִּיעַ אֶל הַזְּמַן הַהוּא
“Since the Torah is the essence of Israel and because of it they were redeemed from Egypt and were raised to the elevated plateau that they reached, we were commanded to count from the morrow of the Festival of [Passover] until the day on which the Torah was given, to evidence our great yearning to reach that important day, like a slave [laboring in the burning sun] who yearns for the shade and say to himself: ‘When will that moment finally arrive?’ When a person counts toward a known time, he shows that all of his hope and anticipation are directed toward that time.”
According to this reading, the redemption from Egypt was not an end in itself, but a beginning – a step toward a more profound moment of covenant and meaning at Sinai. By counting each day, we demonstrate that we are oriented toward that destination.
The Sefer HaChinuch also makes a striking observation about the direction of our counting. We count upward – from one day, to two, to three – rather than counting down toward zero. In doing so, we focus on what has already been traversed rather than what still lies ahead. There is a kind of wisdom in this orientation. To dwell on how much time remains can feel heavy, even overwhelming. But to mark what has already been lived, what has already passed through our hands, can create a sense of movement and even quiet strength.
Lately, when asked how I am doing, I find myself answering: one day at a time. The world around us, both on a personal level and in our collective experience, can feel overwhelming. There is so much uncertainty, so much that we are waiting for, and at times it is not clear what lies ahead or when we will arrive at a place of greater clarity or peace. We may find ourselves in periods that feel “in between,” after one moment has ended but before the next has fully arrived. These are times marked by anxiety, by waiting, and by not knowing if or when we will reach what we are hoping for.
The practice of counting the Omer does not remove that uncertainty, but it offers a way of inhabiting it. It reminds us that even when we do not control the larger arc, we can still mark the days, still pay attention to where we are, still move forward… one day at a time.
This week, as we read Emor and continue our counting, we are invited to reflect on how we relate to time in our own lives: whether we allow it to pass unnoticed, or whether we find ways to engage it with intention; whether we are overwhelmed by what lies ahead, or able to recognize the significance of what has already unfolded.
May we find the strength to live one day at a time.
May we learn to notice and honor each step of the journey, even in times of uncertainty.
And may our counting carry within it not only patience, but also hope—for ourselves, for one another, and for the world we are still moving toward.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia