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On the verse, "But if you say, 'What will we eat in the seventh year...' " (Lev. 25:20) ... the One who gave life will give food!
Sefat Emet
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This week's parasha, Behar Sinai, deals mostly with the principles of land ownership, specifically the laws of the Sabbatical year and the Jubilee. The first verse, therefore, "And Adonai spoke to Moshe on Mount Sinai" comes as a surprise, because the book of Leviticus begins with God speaking to the Israelites from the Ohel Mo'ed (Tabernacle). (It seems unusual that only this portion begin this way, if all the Torah were spoken at Sinai.) Ibn Ezra quoting the rabbis in this classic example explains: Ein Mukdam U'me'ukhar baTorah, there is no chronology in the Torah. In other words, just because the Torah now tells us something in Leviticus, chapter 25, doesn't necessarily mean it happened after chapter 24 (or chapter 1, for that matter). This is a classic example of the Torah being out of order. For whatever reason, this conversation was at Sinai, but only got recorded here in Leviticus.
But if the Torah seems to be emphasizing that this conversation indeed happened at Sinai, why does the passage contain the laws of the land of Israel in the seventh year, (elsewhere called Sh'mitah) which are not exactly relevant to the current situation? This prompts Rashi to ask his most famous question, "Mah inyan sh'mitah eitzel Har Sinai?. Why is this matter of Sh'mitah mentioned here in connection with Sinai?" In colloquial Hebrew, (and in the mouths of totally secular Israelis) this now has the force of the English expression, "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" But maybe Rashi (and Sifra, the Midrash he is quoting from) are on to something. What is the connection between Sh'mitah, the rules of agriculture and Sinai?
What is Sh'mitah, anyways? Sh'mitah, the name found in Deuteronomy, refers to the sabbatical year, where nothing would be planted, and the land would be considered ownerless. In Deuteronomy the notion of releasing debt is added, which would make sense if there were no agricultural productivity. (Parenthetically, I should mention that in a classic example of rabbinic creativity, Hillel instituted something call the Prosbul- a way of getting around the restrictions of Sh'mitah, since it created economic hardship (Gittin 36b).) Since these rules apply only to produce grown in Israel, for almost 2000 years, discussions about this topic had been largely theoretical. But by the 1800s, with the return of settlers to the land of Israel it had become a practical problem. The common (more lenient) practice (opposed by some) has been to sell the land to non-Jews (much like chametz on Pesach). Other kibbutzim have experimented with hydroponics, or growing plants in greenhouses (ie. under tents).
The portion continues to describe a further year of release after 7 times 7, in the fiftieth year: the Yovel, usually translated (or simply transliterated) as Jubilee (though not related to the similar sounding Latin based word of jubilation). This verse, by the way, (mistranslated) is on the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, "Proclaim release (liberty) throughout the land." Last week we read about counting seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot; this week the Torah commands us to count seven times seven years. One subscriber pointed out the connection between these two countings (see here).
Although this practice of letting the land rest would be of some benefit to the land, its purpose was not ecological. (This was not 'crop rotation.') It was an attempt to have the land return to its original 'state.' Slaves too, were to be released after six years. The rest of the time, we prune, and we sow and we trim. Once every seven years we allow the land to return to its original state. We let the world 'be.' The sabbatical year parallels our week: just like every seven days we stop to remember and observe Shabbat, the land too, must rest every seven years. The connection is obvious; Sh'mitah is to the land like Shabbat is to time. Our passage even calls this seventh year 'a shabbat' (hence the English term: sabbatical). On Shabbat too, we let the world 'be' a little more than we do during the week. We stop relying on cell phones and e-mail. Shabbat comes to remind us that once a week, we shouldn't be controlled by the world, by externals, by possessions. Shabbat is the prototype for spiritual renewal- the day we are more attuned to our spiritual needs. No matter where we are on the continuum, the point is that on Shabbat we are more 'Jewish,' more spiritual. But there is a difference between Shabbat and Sh'mitah, too. On Shabbat we take time out, we recharge our batteries, we are refreshed, but we only allow Shabbat to be a very temporary interruption to the 'real' world. After Havdalah, we jump right back into the same rat race. Shabbat is about stopping (temporarily); Sh'mitah is about returning the world to its original state. Shabbat helps keeps us sane. Sh'mitah asks us to re-prioritize. It's not enough to rest once a week from the treadmill. Once in while we should ask ourselves why we're on the treadmill. Or are we on the right treadmill? Or do we want to be on a treadmill at all? I think there really is something about the connection between Sh'mitah and Sinai. Working (or not working) the land is about physical needs/gratification. Sinai, like Shabbat, is about God's presence and spirituality. And the two are in conflict. You can't be working for one of them if you are worrying about the other. However we try and get around it, the notion that we stop 'working the land' and just trust that God will provide is an especially problematic one for modern-urbanized Jews. It doesn't have to be understood exclusively in an Israel land-based, agricultural setting. We all live with the tension: our physical gratification/secular needs on one side and our spiritual/Jewish needs on the other. The best we can manage is a one day a week truce.
The rabbis ask why the command to 'harvest one's crops?' (After all, it seems unnecessary to have to tell us to harvest our crops. Wouldn't we do it without being told?!) But, it also says, 'And this word of Torah should never leave your mouth' (ie. study continuously)? "I'm too busy" is usually the answer to why we don't study Torah (or take a Kolel class!). Rabbi Yishmael's opinion is: Each has its time. There is a time for harvest, a time to study Torah. And while we say, 'Ein kemach, ein Torah' (If there is no flour, there is no Torah), on the other hand, Harold Kushner's book asks, 'When All You've Ever Wanted Isn't Enough.' Spiritual meaning is not found in material possessions. The solution is that there has to be a balance between physical pleasures and connecting with the spiritual life. But Shimon Bar Yochai disagrees. The pursuit of our livelihood (especially in the ancient world) can be all consuming. How do we find time for spiritual sustenance? The trick is how to find the balance. Having Shabbat is one way of finding the balance, of re-connecting to Torah, to Sinai and of putting the world of work on hold. But is that sufficient? Stopping once a week is a good strategy, but sometimes it isn't enough just to rest to 'recharge' our batteries. That is what this Sh'mitah business is about. Not only resting, but letting go.
Lessons for Today
Most of us probably spend too much of our lives worrying about our physical sustenance, our 'bread' and not enough energy worrying about our spiritual nourishment. The blessing for bread is "Hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz." The first problem with "who brings forth bread from the earth," is that poppyseed rolls don't generally grow from our gardens! According to the Midrash, in the Garden of Eden, bread actually did grow from the earth, hence the wording of our blessing. But there is another problem I had never noticed until recently: Why does it say 'aretz'; shouldn't it be adamah, like we say for vegetables: borei pri ha'adamah? Because bread, ie. our nourishment needs to be connected to our spiritual life, and ultimately comes from ha'aretz, ie. from Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel. Last week the world celebrated Yom Ha'atzma'ut, Israel's Independence Day; the land of Israel is one source of this spiritual 'recharging' and sustenance.
Besides being careful about buying fruit imported from Israel every seven years, the idea of a sabbatical year (unless we are a rabbi or a professor) seems to be a remote idea. But we too have to stop pruning and sowing every now and then. Occasionally we have to pause from our hard work and reflect on where our 'bread' really comes from. What is our connection to Sinai? or to Zion? What is really important? What are our priorities going to be? What would our lives look like if we were to take stock every seven years and stop doing- to just be? Besides Shabbat, are we happy with the amount of spirit in our lives? Do we allow too much chol (every-day profaneness) in our life? I think this week's parasha challenges each of us to reflect on how every seven years we can re-examine our work, our relationships, our spirituality and let nature follow its course more, and in doing that, let in a little more of the Divine. Let's all take some time to reflect on how we might 'let go' (just once every seven years) of some of the pruning and sowing we do in the rest of our lives as a way of acknowledging this week's concept of 'sh'mitah'.
Shabbat Shalom
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