Counting the Omer

During the time of the Beit HaMikdash, on the second night of Pesach, the 16^th of Nisan, three representatives appointed before Pesach by the Sanhedrin, would go out to the fields near Jerusalem — amid joyous celebration and accompanied by many residents and pilgrims — to reap an omer[1] of barley. After the grain was winnowed, roasted, ground, and finely sifted through thirteen sieves, it was mixed with olive oil and frankincense, and offered the next day in the Beit HaMikdash, as a waving and Minchah offering on behalf of all of the Jewish People.

Regarding this mitzvah, the Torah states:

 You shall count for yourselves — from the morrow of the rest day, from the day when you bring the Omer of the waving — seven weeks, they shall be complete. Until the morrow of the seventh week, you shall count fifty days.[2]

 To this day, we are commanded to count how many days have passed since the waving of the Omer offering, for forty-nine days, until the festival of Shavuot.

At first glance, this seems a strange mitzvah: to count. What for?

On Pesach we celebrate our freedom — freedom from the slavery of Egypt, from being enslaved to the Egyptians’ corrupt views and idolatrous way of life. Now, after we’ve been liberated, the Torah teaches us a fundamental lesson through the mitzvah of Counting the Omer: It’s not sufficient to be liberated from evil; the purpose is to attain good.

The redemption from Egypt wasn’t just the end of our slavery, it was also, and mainly, the beginning of our creation as a People — a People that would accept the Divine Torah and live according to it, forever. 

Pesach is thus the starting point that leads, at the end of forty-nine days, to the ultimate goal: Receiving the Torah. 

The same is true of each individual’s personal redemption. Liberation from our personal “Egypts” [Mitzrayim] — our straitened places [meitzarim] and suffering — is not an end in itself. The true goal is to acquire a more refined, elevated lifestyle: to become closer to God, and rise above the routine of daily life.

However, between the stage of liberation from physical slavery and acquiring spirituality there is a “test period.” 

An entire year elapsed between when the Egyptians began to experience the Ten Plagues until the Jews left Egypt. During that time, our forefathers were no longer lowly slaves — who would dare harm those for whom God did such wonders? Consequently, many found it difficult to heed the call that came a year later: to go out into the desert and receive God’s Torah.

Those Jews failed the test, opting to remain in Egypt, enjoying their newfound status, instead of braving the threatening desert, where they didn’t know what to expect. Of course, we know what happened: those who remained behind were lost forever, while those who ventured out into the desert were redeemed. 

Now, as then, God calls on us to “leave Egypt” — to free ourselves from our modern-day idol worship — the obsession with money and materialism, and its accompanying indifference toward true spirituality — and to venture out into the unknown to receive the Torah.

 The Mitzvah of Hope

Counting the Omer is thus an expression of longing and hope. A person who eagerly anticipates something is said to be “counting the days.” Thus, we count the days, eagerly waiting to reach our goal: to receive the Torah anew, to become pure vessels capable of containing it, and to merit an awesome, Divine revelation, as when God gave the Torah to His beloved People on Mount Sinai. 

Rabbi Natan writes:

The essence of Counting the Omer is the intense longing one feels for holiness, the anticipation and desire to receive the Torah on Shavuot, to the point where one counts each day.[3]

*   *   *

Through the daily Counting of the Omer, we merit to exit one of the gates of impurity and enter the corresponding gate of holiness. Each day, we increase our holy da’at, our wisdom, until we merit to receive the Torah.

A person who feels that he is far from holiness, that he is continually being turned away from the acquisition of Godliness, but who remains strong and brave in his resolve constantly to strive after God and to seek Him, must know that his efforts are never in vain. Even though he may endure the pain of searching for many years without finding God or drawing closer to Him, he must know and believe that with every expression of longing and yearning for holiness, he breaks down another bronze door and iron wall.

The smallest movement that is directed toward God is never lost. No matter what happens, if a person is persistent, he will ultimately surely find God.

This is the lesson of Counting the Omer. Even if on each individual day that we count we still haven’t completely made the requisite transition from impurity to purity for Receiving the Torah — nevertheless, on Shavuot, we all merit to receive the Torah on the strength of having counted forty-nine days. For on each and every day that we count, we receive new understanding and da’at, until the fiftieth day, when that da’at is complete and we are ready to receive the Torah.

This applies to all people at all times. We must withstand a great deal, passing through a number of deserts full of huge snakes and scorpions, until we merit to enter the gates of holiness. It’s impossible to describe to what extent we must strengthen ourselves in this regard.

The Rebbe revealed many sublime teachings, from which we can glean a little about strengthening ourselves even after falling into the abyss.

Each person is under the impression that what has been written doesn’t apply to him, since he has overwhelming obstacles and is so caught up in the trap of his physical desires that someone like him could never return to God. The Rebbe challenges this way of thinking, saying that anyone can return to God, even if he adopts only this one counsel: i.e., to seek, yearn, and strive to the best of his ability to find God.

Ultimately, he will succeed. Then he’ll see that no effort was ever lost and that, through every single movement and prayer for the sake of God, he merited to achieve rectification, until he was able to elevate himself completely. This is the secret of Counting the Omer and Receiving the Torah.[4]

The significance of Counting the Omer, then, is to hope for rectification. The Torah hints that hope is the mitzvah itself. Regardless of how far we may still be from our goal, we must have hope. As King David writes in Tehillim, “Be strong and let your hearts take courage, all who hope in God.”[5] He specifically writes, “all who hope” — even if hope is all they have to their credit.

It’s often asked: If the point of Counting the Omer is to mark our progress toward Receiving the Torah, why don’t we count down how may days we have left until we receive the Torah? For example, “Today is forty-nine days until the Giving of the Torah,” then “Today is forty-eight days,” and so on. This would seem to make more sense, focusing on and anticipating our great goal. In practice, however, we do the reverse, marking how many days have passed since the Exodus from Egypt and the Omer offering: “Today is one day in the Omer,” then “Today is two days in the Omer,” etc. In other words, we mark how far we’ve come from the first day.

Rabbi Natan explains that concentrating on our longed-for goal will inevitably arouse the negative thought of how far we still are from achieving it. This will cause us to lose hope and fall into despair. Therefore, we don’t count how far we are from the Receiving of the Torah but how much we’ve progressed since the Exodus.

While a person must be aware of the true goal, greatly long for it, and realize how distant he is from it, his main focus, in order to succeed, must be on how far he’s come since he began his journey. When he sees the great good within himself that has led him to where he is, he’ll be filled with strength and desire to continue “counting” —i.e., advancing on his individual ladder to spiritual perfection.

*   *  * 

On the second day of Pesach, the Jews made an offering of barley meal, whereas the Shavuot offering consisted of two loaves of wheat bread. These two offerings represent the two extremes on the spiritual scale. In ancient times, barley was used only for animal fodder. Thus, the barley offering represents a complete, animalistic, lack of da’at; while the wheat bread offering, being specifically human food, represents the embodiment of da’at. The more a person internalizes da’at — the understanding of why he was created and what the ultimate goal of life is — the more he progresses toward that meeting point between human and Godly knowledge: the Receiving of the Torah.

By Counting the Omer, then, we’re meant to contemplate not how far we still are from perfection, but how far we’ve advanced on the scale of da’at.

The Torah specifies: “You shall count for yourselves,” and as it states in halachah, “It is a mitzvah for each person to count for himself.”[6] This teaches that we mustn’t compare ourselves to other people. If my friend is more talented or more successful than I am, that has nothing to do with me. We’re apt to waste a great deal of precious time and energy attempting to emulate others and their achievements, when in fact, each person has a completely different mission in life. What one person acquires might be completely extraneous or even detrimental for another person.

“You shall count for yourselves” implies making a private, spiritual inventory of our achievements and our progress — without comparing them to others.

“Seven Complete Weeks”

Counting the Omer contains an additional, crucial message: our days are finite, numbered; our time on this earth is limited. We like to think that we have all of our lives before us, or even that we’ll live forever — what we didn’t accomplish today, we’ll do tomorrow! In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Each day is a precious and unique creation that will never be duplicated. Each day, if used properly, can spur us on to new growth, specific to the unique opportunities and challenges of that day, which will never ever recur.

Rabbi Natan writes:
The simple lesson of the Counting of the Omer is that each of a person’s days is numbered, and we will be called upon to give an accounting for each and every day. Because no day, hour, or minute is ever for nothing. This is the meaning of “seven weeks, they shall be complete” — all seven weeks of the Omer must be whole and full of service of God, with not a moment wasted.

“Seven weeks” alludes to a person’s lifetime. By counting each day of the Omer, we remember that all the days of our life are similarly counted. Therefore, we should never postpone service of God until tomorrow. Today, and its unique opportunities, will never return; tomorrow will be a completely new creation. We should strive to “pay our debts” on time, today, so that tomorrow we will be free to fulfill all of that day’s commitments.

Counting the Omer prepares us for Receiving the Torah by teaching us that we can receive the Torah only if we know that we have only this present day.[7]

“Akiva, You Have Comforted Us!”

It was in 2448 BCE, after the Jewish People left Egypt, that they were commanded to count the Omer. On its plain level, as explained above, this mitzvah is for preparation and purification in advance of Receiving the Torah.

Some 1,400 years later, Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 disciples passed away during a plague, which struck during the days of Counting the Omer. According to the Sages, the reason for their deaths was that “they didn’t treat one another with respect.”[8] Consequently, the Sages ruled that during these days we are to observe certain practices of mourning. For example: We don’t make weddings, don’t take haircuts, don’t buy new garments that make us happy.

Several decades later, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai passed away on the 33^rd day of the Omer (Lag B’Omer). A disciple of Rabbi Akiva, he wrote the holy Zohar, the classic text of Kabbalah. He called it “the day of my rejoicing” and asked that his disciples rejoice on that day. The Sages then instituted Lag B’Omer as a day of rejoicing, so much so that the laws of mourning are suspended on this day.  

Why was it during the Omer that Rabbi Akiva’s students passed away? Why does the anniversary of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s passing cancel out this period’s laws of mourning? What’s the connection between:

 1. the Counting of the Omer in anticipation of Receiving the Torah;

2. mourning the untimely deaths of Rabbi Akiva’s students; and

3. celebrating the greatness of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai?

To answer these questions, we must first discuss Rabbi Akiva, and come to understand a little about who he was. Until age forty, Rabbi Akiva was an ignorant, illiterate shepherd, with no Torah knowledge. Moreover, he had an antipathy to Torah scholars that ran so deep that he used to say, “Give me a Torah scholar and I’ll bite him like a donkey!”[9]

With the great encouragement of his wife, Rachel, he came to the courageous decision to begin studying Torah. How much hope and faith were exhibited by this man who began learning to read and write at age forty! The belief that he and his wife exhibited was completely irrational — many thought it absurd! Yet, it proved itself above and beyond all imagination.

After twenty-four years of tremendous, uninterrupted Torah study amid toil, determination, and self-sacrifice, this former ignoramus became the great leader of his generation and of the Jewish People. Our Sages are lavish in their praise of him: “Rabbi Tarfon said of [Rabbi Akiva], ‘Whoever forsakes  you forsakes his very life! Happy are you, Avraham our Father, that Rabbi Akiva came forth from you!’ “[10] “Blessed is the God of Israel, Who revealed His secret to Rabbi Akiva ben Yosef.”[11]

It was during an extremely bitter period for the Jewish People that Rabbi Akiva’s light began to shine. The Romans had just destroyed the Second Beit HaMikdash and had plundered the holy city of Jerusalem. The Jews had been cast down from the heights of greatness and holiness to subjugation, soon to be sent into the long, bitter Exile, which we suffer to this day.

It was no coincidence that Rabbi Akiva was chosen to be the receiver and transmitter of the Torah in his generation. The tests that Rabbi Akiva withstood and the ways in which he dealt with them taught crucial lessons to his own and all succeeding generations, enabling them and us to survive and overcome the darkness and despair of Exile.

A story in the Gemara illustrates Rabbi Akiva’s deep understanding, which had helped him transcend his own circumstances, as well as his sure conviction in the future Redemption:

Raban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Akiva were walking toward Jerusalem. When they reached Mount Scopus [from which the Temple Mount can be seen], they tore their clothing. … They saw a fox running out of the area where the Holy of Holies had been, and they began to cry.

 Rabbi Akiva laughed.

They said to him, “Why are you laughing?”
He said to them, “Why are you crying?”

They said: “A place [so holy] that it is said of it, ‘The stranger that approaches it shall die,’ and now foxes traverse it — and we shouldn’t weep?”

Rabbi Akiva replied, “The prophet Yeshayahu said, ‘I will bring two reliable witnesses regarding my people: Uriah the Kohen and Zechariah ben Yeverechyahu. …’[12] This verse in Yeshayahu makes Zechariah’s prophecy dependent on Uriah’s. In Uriah’s case, it is written, ‘Therefore, because of you, Tzion will be plowed under like a field.’[13] In the case of Zechariah, we find, ‘There shall yet dwell elderly men and elderly women in the streets of Jerusalem [… and the broad places of the city will be filled with boys and girls].’[14] Now that I have seen Uriah’s prophecy fulfilled in full detail, I know that Zecharia’s prophecy will also be fulfilled.”

Hearing that, they said to him, “Akiva, you have comforted us. Akiva, you have comforted us.”[15]

 “In the Evening, Do Not Be Idle”

The Gemara teaches:

Rabbi Yehoshua says: “If a man married a woman in his youth [and she died], let him marry a woman in his old age. He had children in his youth; let him have children in his old age, as it states (Kohelet 11:6): ‘In the morning, sow your seed. And in the evening, do not be idle. For you cannot know which will succeed — this or that — or whether both are equally good.’ ”

Rabbi Akiva says: “One who has studied Torah in his youth, should study Torah in his old age. One who had students in his youth should have students in his old age. As it states, ‘In the morning, sow your seed …’.”

It was said: “Rabbi Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students from Gabat to Antipatris, and they all died during the same period [between Pesach and Shavuot] because they did not treat one another with respect. The world remained desolate until Rabbi Akiva came to our teachers in the south and taught Torah to them. They were Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yosei, Rabbi Shimon, and Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua. And it was they who reinstated the Torah.”[16]

At sixty-four, Rabbi Akiva had reached the pinnacle of spiritual success. He had raised up many thousands of disciples, and was the leader of his people. It was then that all his disciples, without exception, were wiped out. Can we fathom a greater calamity for a Jewish Sage and leader? Can we even begin to conceive the loss and devastation? These extended far beyond what he personally sustained; they seemed to constitute a death blow to the Torah world — and precisely when the Jews’ enemies were ascendant! As the Gemara states: “The world was desolate.” 

However, Rabbi Akiva did not allow himself to be defeated by despair. He dug deep within himself and extracted a new hope — one that seemed even more irrational and absurd than that of an illiterate shepherd starting to study Torah at age forty: Though the Torah world was in ruins, though his best years were behind him, Rabbi Akiva still found the strength to start again from the very beginning. He went searching for new disciples to whom he could transmit his wealth of Torah knowledge. In the merit of his hope and faith, against all odds, Torah survived and emerged from its desolation: “Rabbi Akiva came to our teachers in the south and taught Torah to them. They were Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yosei, Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua. And it was they who reinstated the Torah.”

Rabbi Akiva practiced what he preached, fulfilling his own words: “One who had students in his youth should have students in his old age. As it states, ‘In the morning sow your seed … ’ ” 

Appropriately, it was also Rabbi Akiva who was famous for constantly saying, “Everything that God does is for the best,”[17] a dictum that has become Jewish law: “One should habitually say: ‘Everything that God does is for the best.’ ”[18]

Just before the beginning of our present, protracted Exile, Rabbi Akiva left us a timeless legacy: to strengthen ourselves with hope — in all situations, no matter what, even when all seems lost. 

There is no time more appropriate for internalizing this message than during these days of the Counting of the Omer. Wherever we may find ourselves on the path leading from the degradation of Egypt to the elevation of Receiving the Torah, no matter how far we are from our spiritual goals and the holiness to which our souls aspire — we must continue to count and anticipate, beginning each time anew, just as Rabbi Akiva did. We must never lose faith in our eventual redemption, even if it seems absurdly unlikely, impossible, or remote.

We too must strive to be disciples of Rabbi Akiva and to do whatever we can, even if it appears futile or impossible: “In the morning, sow your seed. And in the evening, do not be idle.” Even at the “twilight” of history, at the End of Days preceding the Final Redemption, when it seems that our end is near and our strength is waning, it’s up to us to fulfill the counsel of the wisest of all men: “Whatever you are able to do with your might — do it.”[19] 

The mitzvah of Counting the Omer, a mitzvah of hope and anticipation of redemption, prepares us and leads us to that very redemption. 

As One Man, With One Heart

Rabbi Akiva was also known for constantly saying: “Love your fellowman as yourself — this is a major principle of Torah.”[20] This was another vital component that the Jewish People needed as they ventured into Exile: unity. Mutual connection and love would ensure them the solace of solidarity and brotherhood. How tragic that the students of Rabbi Akiva, who were to have spread this seminal message to the Jewish People, were precisely those who were found somehow lacking (by the exacting standards that Heaven applies to the most righteous) in upholding it. 

As we mourn their deaths, we are called upon to mourn our own sorry situation as well: our lack of unity, the baseless animosity we exhibit toward one another, and the strife which is so pervasive among us. As our Sages explicitly explain, these were the causes of the Destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, and these are the reasons for its continued desolation. 

Hence, the main work of preparing and perfecting ourselves for Receiving the Torah, is vis-à-vis our fellowman. In order to be able to contain the light of the Torah — God’s infinite light — and to be deserving of redemption, all Jewish souls must be bound together. That light is too powerful to be contained individually. Only when all our hearts are united as one do we become the fitting vessels to receive that light. 

In the time of our forebears at Mount Sinai, after forty-nine days of counting and preparing, the hearts of the Jewish People were indeed completely united. As it states, “Israel encamped there, opposite the mountain.”[21] The Sages explain why the word for “encamped,” used earlier in the verse in the plural (vayachanu) is now in the singular (vayichan): “At that time, they were all like one person, with one heart.”

Rabbi Natan writes: 

In order to achieve rectification and to disseminate God’s infinite light in the necessary measure, the souls of the Jewish People must join together in love. Many vessels are needed [to contain this light], and they can be created only through the binding together of many thousands of souls with love, as one person. This is why the Torah wasn’t given until 600,000 Jewish men had assembled together with love. 

It’s impossible for the Divine Presence to be revealed unless there is a gathering together of many Jewish souls.[22] 

This is why the Counting of the Omer is the most ideal time to rectify the sin of Rabbi Akiva’s disciples, the sin of which we are likewise guilty: not treating one another with (enough) respect. Our Sages prescribed practices associated with mourning specifically so that we should bear in mind the severity and harm of this fault. Instead of looking at our friends judgmentally or with disdain, we must give them the benefit of the doubt and arouse within ourselves feelings of love for them.

We certainly have plenty of enemies from without. Let’s not further empower them with our own groundless and misplaced animosity. 

Precisely because these are days when we’re working on character perfection, and especially on improving interpersonal relations, the evil inclination goes to great lengths to spark anger and provoke clashes. We need to remain focused and aware of this, so that we will be doubly vigilant to avoid strife.

Only by finding it in our hearts to love our fellow Jews will we be worthy, on the fiftieth day, of Receiving the Torah, the infinite light — and of the Final Redemption. 

The connection with Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is discussed in the next chapter.