Sermon – Finding comfort when our fields lie fallow
Written by Rabbi Hannah Kingston — 16 May 2022
Over the past couple of months we have seen a huge surge in our energy prices. Many of us have begun to act conservatively, to turn off our heating, to truly only boil the amount of water we need for a cup of tea.
But the effects of rising energy prices are soon to be more extreme. Industry experts are now warning that the higher prices could lead to shortages of items that require a lot of energy to produce, including toilet paper. This bathroom essential is incredibly energy intensive to make, with the manufacture of a tonne of toilet paper taking the equivalent amount of energy of around 12 thousand pots of coffee.
Now this is not your cue to begin panic buying. We have survived the great toilet paper shortage of 2020, and we will survive this. But the ever increasing demand on supplies begs the question, how much could we survive? When would a shortage move from being an inconvenience, to something more?
As Daisy told us earlier, our Torah portion this week teaches us about the idea of a Sabbatical year, to allow the land to recover. And following that, a jubilee year, an additional year of recovery for the land.
Walking into many of our homes, a year of allowing the land to lie fallow would not cause much of an issue. We have cupboards full of tins, grains, and of course, the much coveted essential toilet paper. Many of us would likely have enough to sustain us for a year without stepping foot inside a supermarket, let alone a farm. So whilst leaving the land fallow for a year may be an inconvenience, it would not be life threatening.
Yet for our Israelite ancestors, who did not have the modern conveniences, this was a time of trepidation.
The Jubilee year meant that the harvest had to last 3 years, the current year, the sabbatical year and the jubilee year that followed. The crops are at the mercy of nature, and of God, for despite all best interests and practice, a bout of bad weather could destroy the yield, leaving our Israelite ancestors barren for three years. In this period, the Israelites worried about far more than a shortage of toilet paper on the shelves.
A Midrash (Tanchuma) relates the concept of the Jubilee year to a verse from psalm 30, a verse speaking of mighty angels doing God’s work. The verse goes as follows:
‘Bless the Eternal, O God’s angels,
mighty creatures who do God’s bidding,
ever obedient to God’s bidding;
The Midrash asks the question, who are the mighty creatures, and what obedient work are they doing?
It answers us:
‘R. Isaac the Smith said, “These are those who observe the sabbatical year.’
So why, our Midrash asks, were they called mighty in strength?
The Midrash answers:
When a person sees their field abandoned, their trees abandoned, their fences breached, and sees their fruit trees eaten, they supress their passions and do not speak.” And we are taught in in Pirkei Avot (4:1): Who is mighty? One who subdues their passion.
The Midrash is making a point, on seeing the field lie fallow, it would only be natural for the Israelites to cry out in fear, to work against God’s orders to cultivate the land, to have no faith that they would survive the period of hardship. It took great strength for them to trust, to believe that they would survive this.
Although we are not farmers, this feeling is one that we may be able to relate to. The need to cry out in panic, in pain, when in a moment of crisis. The struggle with faith when we are in our darkest moments. Our need to cling to control when it feels like the world is spiralling away from us.
It takes true strength, true might to take a step back, to pause before we act, to supress the passions that swell inside us.
Rabbi Billy Dreskin, formerly of Woodlands Community Temple in New York, commented on the concept of the Jubilee year and its meaning to him when during a time of personal crisis, the death of his son. He wrote:
‘When Jonah died, my family and I were thrown into a period of distress during which the land lay fallow. For a while, nothing was planted and nothing grew. We woke up each day, dressed ourselves and fed ourselves, but did little more. We met the day, but produced nothing. We lived off what was already there. We had to survive this vast emptiness that had been cast across the landscape of our hearts, and we could only try to accept on faith that a day would arrive when we would be able to resume our plantings, enabling new crops, new projects, and new love to once again begin to grow.’
Whilst not all of us have faced this particular crisis, we have and will all face crises in our lives, moments when we feel barren, unable to grow.
This Shabbat draws to a close Mental health awareness week. All of us have mental health that will fluctuate in response to life events. When we are in a moment of positivity, it is easy to forget that mental health problems affect millions of us, in our families, our communities and our workplaces.
This year the theme of Mental Health Awareness week is loneliness. 1 in 4 adults identify as feeling lonely some or all of the time. Often, despite being surrounded by people, we can feel alone whilst trying to navigate our own challenges and our own paths. These feelings of loneliness can lead to anxiety and depression.
Despite these feelings, it can be hard to admit that we are lonely, that we need help and friendship. We may feel as if no one understands, that no one is able to hold us through. But when we are willing to expose our vulnerability, to reach out for help, we can begin to combat these feelings of isolation together.
For our ancient Israelite ancestors, the Jubilee year may have been challenging, but it was not something they faced alone. They were in it together. To survive, they had to share and they had to rally together. It is this act of being together that made them strong, that gave them faith.
Still today, that is the role of community. Community is a gift that stops us from being alone, that holds us through moments of hardship and that walks alongside us as we navigate the challenges we face. Community should be a non-judgemental, welcoming space. A space full of listening ears and open arms.
For two years the pandemic kept us apart, we were isolated. And now, we must be together, we must make sure that people no longer feel alone in their own moments of crisis. We must make sure they are held, that we sit alongside them, that we are there with them.
And in those moments of togetherness, we will find friendship. And in those moments of friendship, we will know that we are not alone. So that even in our moments of weakness, we will not cry out in pain, for we will draw on the strength of others, and they will help to restore our faith, even as our fields lie fallow.