Parshat Emor

AS THE SEASONS MOVE from the holiday of Pessach to the holiday of Shavuot, we find nature rising in song to welcome a new year of growth. Among the birds’ nests and green trees, I feel out of place with my weekly stubble growth. I am in mourning as nature raises its wings in celebration. It is difficult to mourn when all around us is joy.

T.S. Elliot, at the beginning of “The Wasteland,” underlines the pain that derives from this contradiction. “April is the cruelest month.” When that which is outside shouts growth and development, and that which is within cries only destruction and decay—the sum is not just cruelty; it is the cruelest.

This period between Pessach and Shavuot was not always a time for mourning. Parshat Emor records the command to count from “the Shabbat’s morrow” seven weeks. At the end of these seven weeks, unique offerings would be brought and the holiday of Shavuot celebrated. A midrash describes this time as a period of significant spiritual strides as the Jewish people threw off the psychological baggage of slavery and prepared themselves to receive the Torah as independent actors. Each day was a full step from the lowest points of impurity to the highest levels of sanctity, forty-nine steps.

Yet after the early spring attacks of the Crusades on Jewish communities of the Rhineland, this period changed radically. It has become the time during which the Halacha commemorates the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva’s followers—in what was likely the Bar Kochva revolts of 127 CE. The Talmud records the reason for their death, shelo nahagu kavod zeh bezeh, “they did not act towards one another with respect.” I used to picture these followers as students in a huge beit midrash each pursuing the depth of the law—yelling wildly at a study partner, not just criticizing an explanation but insulting a person. With time—a growing knowledge of ancient Jewish history, exposure to modern Israeli politics, and a sprinkling of synagogue infighting—this image has developed. The end of the Second Temple period was a time of intense rivalry between religious and political groups. A time of power plays and civil war—the Romans never defeated the Jews. The Jews defeated themselves. I picture ad hominem attacks, the dehumanizing of ideological competitors, and senseless acts of violence.

Perhaps, the Pharisee and Sadducee dispute concerning the interpretation of the very source for the counting of the Omer may symbolize the transformation of these days from joy to mourning. Vayikra 23:15 states the requirement to count from the “Shabbat’s morrow,” the day the Omer was brought, seven complete weeks. Two interpretations are possible for the vague term “the Shabbat’s morrow.” The Omer may have been brought on a Sunday following the holiday of Pessach, or the Shabbat referred to in these verses could be the first day of Pessach itself, and the counting would have begun the following day. This argument became a basis for intense rivalry in the temple, as groups believing they were doing God’s work bribed and pressured witnesses so that the Omer would be offered according to their interpretation of the verse.

Dispute radically changed both the character of this counting period and the character of the Temple itself. History defines time for Halacha and what was once a period of joy became a period of mourning. The establishment of the State of Israel and the unification of Jerusalem both took place during these seven weeks as well. The Omer as a period has been defined and redefined by the character of the Jewish people. A new trend is emerging in which the Omer again becomes a period of joy amidst the celebration of spiritual and physical renewal in the land of Israel. Let us pray that by finding what unites us, we can grow spiritually to merit the pinnacle of unity, to stand at Sinai as one people with one heart, once again.