The Parsha starts out “Behar Sinai” — on the mountain of Sinai, where Am Yisrael received the Torah. So one would think that this Parsha would cover very spiritual things. Maybe it would cover Yom Kippur, one of the holiest days of the Jewish calendar, or maybe it would cover sacrifices, or things of the utmost importance when it comes to Jewish religious life.
And shockingly enough, there are a lot of things going on here that seem to have nothing to do with the actual experience at Mount Sinai. The experience at Mount Sinai was the only national revelation that happened in the history of the world. The Jewish nation is the only religion in the world where we speak of a national revelation — not that one prophet heard it and passed it down, but that God spoke and an entire nation heard His voice and His commandments.
The Parsha begins: “Behar Sinai” — and then it says right away, “When you come to the land of Israel that I give you, let the land rest in honor of God.” So it goes right into this very strange law: for six years, you work your field and everything grows, and then on the seventh year, the land must rest. The land rests for God.
It seems a little strange. On Shabbat, on the Sabbath, we rest. But the commandments are on us, not on objects. If I’m not allowed to drive my car on Shabbat, the car itself is not affected. But when it comes to this strange law of Shemitah — the seventh year — the land becomes wild. It looks almost like a jungle. And not only that, but on the seventh year, the field becomes hefker, which in Hebrew means it does not belong to anyone. Anybody can come into your field and take whatever they want.
Now, beyond Shemitah, the Parsha goes even further. Not only is there Shemitah once every seven years, there is also Yovel — the Jubilee — once every fifty years. Seven cycles of seven years, forty-nine years, and then comes the year of Yovel. What happens in Yovel? In the land of Israel, the land was divided among the tribes. If I bought land from someone belonging to the tribe of Yehudah, I do not get full permanent ownership over that land, because the Torah wanted to keep the land in the hands of the tribes. So what I am really buying is the use of the land for up to fifty years, and then it returns to the person it originally belonged to.
Then the Parsha continues: “When you sell something to your fellow, or buy it from him, do not be dishonest.” If a fellow Jew cannot pay for his land, he should not lose it — help him get it back. There are conditions set out for who is allowed to sell land to whom, and under what circumstances.
Then the Parsha speaks about the Ger Toshav. A Ger Toshav is a non-Jew who lives in the land of Israel, who accepts that the land of Israel is the Jewish homeland and keeps the Seven Commandments of Noah. The Ger Toshav is given a very special status. In fact, according to halacha, if you have a Ger Toshav living with you, and you have only one pillow in the house, you must give it to the Ger Toshav. This is quite something — people who say that Jews, as the chosen people, do not care about anyone else. But here is a specific law: if a non-Jew is living with you and there is one pillow left, you give it to him.
The Parsha then continues with laws of honest business and gives serious warnings about what happens if these laws are not kept.
Now, what we see from the beginning of this Parsha to the end is something very striking. On the one hand, it says: “For six years, work your field.” Why does it need to say that? We are talking about Har Sinai — the apex of God’s presence in the world. Why bring in the idea of man working in his field? Just say: you have a field, on the seventh year don’t touch it. Why mention the first six years at all?
The same thing with Shabbat. The pasuk says: “For six days, work and do all the work that you have to do, and then on the seventh day, rest.” Why is it important to mention that you should be working the first six days? Just say: on the seventh day, stop.
I think there is a very strong message here from the Torah. There are people who believe that they are so spiritually elevated that they do not want to be involved in this world. They go live in a cave somewhere, on a mountain, completely removed from society. They won’t talk to you, won’t look at you, won’t do business with you. Judaism says: absolutely not.
For six years, work your field. Do business. Grow fruits. Sell the fruits. Live like a human being in this world. Put effort into your work. Have motivation for what you do. Whether you are a lawyer, a doctor, a businessperson, a nurse — do your job to excellence. It is part of being, according to the Torah, a good Jew. Whatever your job is, work hard, be motivated, be successful. Be part of this world.
But if that is so important — success, excellence, being part of this world — then what is the seventh year about? It seems to prove the exact opposite. You worked so hard? You take off a seventh year and do nothing. You don’t work on Shabbat? People say: “We make the most money on Saturday.” And others say: “You don’t work on Saturday — you’re lazy.”
No. The idea of resting on the seventh year and resting on the seventh day has nothing to do with personal traits — whether someone is lazy or motivated. It has to do with understanding that no matter how much effort I put in, no matter how motivated I am, I should never be egotistical enough to say it is mine.
The entire Parsha is talking about the fact that it is not yours. Work for six years, sell, make money — everything is great. On the seventh year, don’t touch the field at all. And what does the pasuk say? “It will be a Shabbat for God.” Rest for God. God does not need rest, obviously. But your resting on that field gives testimony that you understand the world belongs to HaKadosh Baruch Hu — the world belongs to God, not to you.
The Torah says: You shall not plant in your vineyard, you shall not do anything in your field. Zero. Don’t work.
Now, one might ask: Judaism does not believe in relying on miracles. You are not allowed to put yourself in danger and say, “God will save me.” So what about the seventh year? If I am not working the whole seventh year, how am I going to support my family?
Here is one of the only places in the Torah where God essentially says: you can test Me on this. The eighth year, after Shemitah, will be so abundant that you will not lose a thing. This is one of the only times where it says that the eighth year after Shemitah will be a very wealthy year.
Now, obviously, when Shemitah is observed — and in Israel today it is observed by rabbinic decree, because we do not yet have the full halachic status required for the biblical Shemitah (which will apply when the majority of the Jewish nation is living in Israel — so come home, people) — but the point is: this is one of the only times in the Torah where you can actually test God.
It seems totally illogical. When you do not work for a full year, how do you live? That is exactly the point. Our logic, our brains say: “I am in charge. If I work hard, I make money; if I don’t work, I make nothing.” And we forget that God is in the picture. You have people who go to Harvard Law School and cannot find work. You have people who drop out of college and become multimillionaires. Man plans and God laughs. This is a Jewish concept: there is a lot of thought in a person’s heart, but what God wants — that is what comes to pass.
So we have the commandment to put in our effort, but never lose sight of the fact that everything belongs to God. The Gemara says that God holds three keys: life, rain, and livelihood. What do you mean livelihood is in God’s hands? I work hard, I make money. Really? Because does everyone who works hard make money? We all know people who work very hard and are not making anything, and people who fill out a lottery ticket and hit it. So yes, we must do our part, work and make effort — but never lose sight of God.
This is the reason behind Shemitah. The seventh year: leave the land alone. God is in the world. And Shabbat is the same idea. If you live in an area where Saturday is the day you make the most money, then the question is: who are you as a Jew? Money is important — there is nothing wrong with money, as long as you are using it for the right reasons. But what is the legacy you want to leave?
At the end of the day, a Jew says: it is not about me. It is not about what car I drive or what house I live in. It is about what kind of person I am. And a Jew who defines himself by the moral code of the Torah does give up comfort for what the Torah defines as morality.
That is the definition of a good person. If someone is always running after comfort, even when morality is on the line, that is animal-like behavior. Animals have no moral conscience. An animal wants food, it kills the other animal and takes it. We, as human beings, have moral conscience. We push aside our comfort in order to remain a moral person. You really want that car — but you cannot steal it, you cannot harm anyone for it. That is: setting aside your comfort level in order to preserve morality.
The world today, unfortunately, is going in a direction where comfort and feelings have taken over everything. “I feel like this is okay, so I can do it.” No. My comfort level should never define morality or what is right and wrong. That would be a terrible society. When the definitions of good and evil are on the line, I should always suppress my personal comfort in order to live according to the moral code of the Torah.
And so this Parsha, when it speaks about the resting period — Shemitah, Yovel, Shabbat — is saying: try as hard as you can, but keep your eye on the ball. Put in your effort, but never forget who is really in charge. That is what Parshat Behar is all about.
Shabbat Shalom to all from the beautiful, stunning rolling hills of Judea, Israel.