Omer and Me: My Experience with This Unusual Custom

This week marks the third in a period of the Jewish calendar called "The Omer".

That was one of the hardest sentences that I've ever written for The Whitly-Verse. Not because it's a lie, but because it's true. Not because I lack an attachment to The Omer, but because I have too strong an attachment to it. And not because I don't know what to say, but because I want to say too much. However, since I don't wanna bore my readers, I'll try being as succinct as possible.

Get ready, this'll be a doozy.

What's The Omer?

One of the major Jewish holidays is Passover. Passover, which marks the exodus from Egypt, is celebrated for 8 days (or 7 days, assuming you live in Israel.) Passover marks a change in the Hebrew identity, going from 12 tribes of ragtag slaves to a people, and it contains rules and instructions, like every Jewish holiday, for how to be celebrated. In the times of the First and Second Temples, however, there was an additional rule involving offerings, a rule that's no longer practiced literally.

Said rule involved bringing a barley offering on Day 2 to mark the beginning of Spring.

Judaism is an agricultural religion at its core. While most of its modern practices and rituals seem distant from that, especially in a capitalist setting, it's important to note that the early days were tied to the land. This included marking the days by the Sun and Moon, marking specific criteria for plowing the harvest, and, of course, offering the first of your crops as thanks to God. The barley offering, usually the first, marked the beginning of Spring, and it was mandated for every farmer to bring.

I haven't mentioned The Omer yet, and that's because the barley offering was a catalyst that began the countdown to the Omer, or wheat, offering 49 days later. If the barley offering marked the beginning of Spring, then the Omer offering marked the beginning of the harvest. And since both are equally important, that's exactly why the Omer offering came 7 weeks later. This was the practice all throughout the ancient periods of Judaism, halting only once The Second Temple was destroyed in 70CE.

You still with me? Good, it gets more complicated.

Despite Jews no longer having a temple, The Omer, being a Biblical commandment, is still in effect. The Omer's also a period of self-discovery, rejuvenation and transformation. You know how people make New Year's vows? The ones that they break constantly because they lack discipline? That's what The Omer is for Jews. Except that, instead of being for 1-day, it's for 49-days. And instead of being immediate, it's gradual. Jewish tradition states that The Israelites, upon leaving Egypt, were at the bottom rung of the spiritual ladder, the 49th rung, and the journey to Mount Sinai enabled them to slowly climb up said ladder.

Jews make note of The Omer by counting the 49 days between the 2nd day of Passover and the holiday of Shavuot. The holiday of Shavuot's fascinating, and arguably less-known than Passover, but all you need to know now is that the days leading up to it are counted individually. But it's not a simple countdown, because we're not supposed to anticipate the end of it. Instead, we count upwards, because every day means something. Still with me? Because it gets even more complicated.

In addition to counting upwards, there are rules for counting. For one, the counting process requires a blessing, which includes a formula. Said formula has a preamble, a blessing, the mention of the day, the mention of the week/the week and the day (assuming it's not a complete week), the mention that it's part of The Omer and a closing statement. And two, The Omer can only be counted at night following Ma'ariv (or the evening prayer). Factor in that you only have until sunrise of the following day to count with a blessing, and your window of time is slim.

Here's where the nuances come in. Depending on which stream of thought you follow, The Omer has additional rules. If you consider The Omer communal, then you must count it with 10 or more men over the age of 13. If you consider The Omer personal, however, you can also count it by yourself. I go by the latter, due to a combination of OCD and wanting to appreciate the experience. This makes it more difficult, but I don't mind the challenge.

One more point: you can always count without the blessing if you miss an evening, provided you catch yourself in-time, with one exception: the first night. Why? Because why continue something if you never started? The first piece is always the catalyst for the rest, so it's only fair. It also makes it so that you have an obligation to start from the beginning, as opposed to waiting. It makes it so that you can prove that even if you got out at, say, Day 21, you still made it past Day 1.

Additional Details About The Omer.

I remember first learning about The Omer in high school, possibly when I started counting in Grade 11. Granted, I knew it existed as early as Senior Kindergarten, when we counted the days between Passover and Shavuot on a plastic board, but it always remained elusive: what was the deal with The Omer? Why was it a big deal? And how did it impact me?

When I learned about The Omer in class, I remember hearing additional customs about not shaving, not cutting your hair, or not doing basic tasks that you'd do during the year. And they didn't make sense intially: why can't I listen to music during The Omer? Why can't I watch movies during The Omer? Why can't I cut my hair during The Omer? Why, essentially, is The Omer so restricting?

As I went on, the reality became clearer. It turned out that, during the last days of The Second Temple, the Jews suffered a tragedy. The big rabbi was Rabbi Akiva, a man who, at his peak, had 24000 students. It sounds crazy, but that was how well-respected he was. The problem was that none of the students had respect for one another. As legend has it, a plague struck that wiped them all out. Some modern interpreters suggest that the "plague" was actually a rebellion against Rome, but given that Rome was unusually censoring to the Jews at the time…

We mark the first 33 days of The Omer as a semi-mourning period in commemoration. Since mourning in Judaism means not cutting your hair, or listening to music, or doing anything fun, many Jews will abstain from these basic activities. Personally, I only refrain partially: I won't go to live concerts, but because I need music to help with my anxiety I'll play stuff on the radio or listen to recordings. I won't go to movies in theatres, but I'll watch old films already out on streaming or video. And while I won't shave during the week, I'll shave for Shabbat.

There are also exceptions on certain days. Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the Jewish month, nullifies these rules, provided it falls on a weekend. Yom Ha'atzmaut, Israel's birthday, is also an exception (depending on who you ask), because you sing Hallel (or special praises to God) in services. I don't think it was accidental that Israeli Independence Day coincides with The Omer, although I can't prove why without going into mysticism.

Perhaps the most-important day of The Omer is the 33rd day, or Lag BaOmer. This is a day of celebration, even for those who count the 33 days of mourning in the second-half, because it's when Rabbi Akiva received 7 new students. On Lag BaOmer, people dress up in white and feast. In Biblical times, this was also a designated dating day. Once the 33rd day comes, the counting continues, but the mourning stops.

How Do I Internalize This Period?

I bet the question you're asking is: "Why does this matter?"

When I first started counting The Omer in 2007, this question was on the back of my mind: why should I do this? What do I have to gain? And why continue all the way through? To be fair, counting The Omer isn't easy. It requires intense discipline and commitment to memory. So while I do it, I had to struggle with these questions.

The last one was easy: I have OCD. That I can commit to tasks most people find arduous without much difficulty is because of that. After all, why leave something incomplete? My OCD wouldn't let me.

As for the first two questions? That was harder. I was 16-turning-17 when I first started counting, so I was at the age of experimentation anyway. Counting The Omer seemed neat, so I tried it. After all, what did I have to lose?

Unfortunately, The Omer proved a lot more difficult than I'd originally anticipated. I'd quickly adjust with advice and guidance from peers, religious leaders and mentors, but the idea of counting something every day before bed was foreign. I was afraid that, like my short-lived trauma surrounding Limewire, it'd become obsessive. It never ended up being that, but the anxiety was still there.

I credit three supports for helping me: the first was one of my favourite teachers in high school, a rabbi who taught Rabbinics. He was my go-to source before my brother became a rabbi, and any questions I had could be instantly vetted by him. If I wanted to know how to count The Omer, for example, I'd ask via email. And if email didn't work, I'd talk to him directly. Either way, I thank him for his help.

My second support was my older brother. Even before he became a rabbi, he was incredibly learned. He was the reason my family became more observant, so I figured he'd probably know the ins-and-outs of The Omer. It was harder to talk to him than the first source, since we lived in two different countries at the time, but whenever I had the chance to email or call him, I'd take it. Like my teacher, I thank him for his help.

My final support wasn't a person, but a website. Chabad's website, to be exact. Chabad has plenty of crash courses and "Judaism 101" pages for the uninitiated, and The Omer's one of their biggest hits. So for me to look up their rules and suggestions, well…it was great. I thank them for filling the gaps where the previous supports couldn't.

The Omer represents a yearly transition stage. It's the mid-point between Winter and Summer, one where my pollen allergies are at their worst, so it keeps me grounded amidst all the sneezing and itchy throats. It's also when I'm at my most-energetic, so it gives me an outlet to express myself. But it also helps me properly reorient myself after a long, cold Winter and a tough, sometimes gruelling Passover. It's the anchor in my Judaism, which is why I practice it.

And there you have it: The Omer. Assuming I haven't bored you to death, here's a little reward:

I love this track. (Courtesy of DisneyMusicVEVO.)