Dear Yeshiva Family:
In this week’s parshah, we are introduced to the mitzvah of counting the Omer, and as we find ourselves right in the midst of this count, it is the perfect opportunity to step back and gain a deeper understanding of what this mitzvah is all about.
However, these very days carry a very different tone as well. It is well known that the period of Sefiras HaOmer is observed as a time of ‘aveilus’, a period of mourning. The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 493:1) records the minhag not to conduct weddings until Lag BaOmer, and the Tur explains that we limit expressions of simchah during this time. This practice traces back to the Geonim and has become firmly established in Klal Yisrael because of the tragic loss of 24 thousand students of Rabbi Akiva in the times of the Mishnayos.
But this presents an obvious difficulty.
If these are the days during which we are preparing ourselves to receive the Torah, shouldn’t they be filled with joy? These are not ordinary days. The Chinuch (Mitzvah 306) famously explains the concept of the Mitzvah of counting the Omer because we are counting toward Matan Torah, toward the very purpose of our existence. Chazal teach that the Jewish people were taken out of Mitzrayim for one ultimate goal — to receive the Torah. The counting itself reflects that anticipation, that yearning, building day by day toward that moment.
Even more, the seforim explain that the forty-nine days correspond to a process of personal growth, each day another step toward acquiring the qualities necessary to become a true Ben Torah. Chazal enumerate forty-eight kinyanim, forty-eight attributes through which Torah is acquired, and among them is simchah — a sense of joy. Which makes the question even stronger.
If this entire period is one of growth, anticipation, and preparation for the greatest moment in our history, and if simchah itself is one of the essential qualities needed to acquire Torah, then why is it specifically during these days that we limit expressions of joy? Why is the path to receiving the Torah marked by mourning?
The question becomes even stronger when we consider the Ramban in our parshah (23:36), who offers a remarkable perspective. The Ramban explains that Shavuos is not simply a standalone Yom Tov, but rather a continuation of Pesach. The days of Sefirah are what connect the two, forming a bridge from the redemption of Pesach to the giving of the Torah on Shavuos.
In fact, he writes that these days carry a certain status similar to Chol HaMoed — not full Yom Tov, but certainly not ordinary days either. They are, in essence, an extended period linking the two Yamim Tovim, almost like a long, drawn-out festival with a brief pause in between.
If that is the case, the question becomes much more difficult.
If these days are, in some sense, like Chol HaMoed — days that are connected to Yom Tov, days that should carry a certain element of simchah and elevation — then why are they observed with practices of aveilus? Why is this bridge between Pesach and Shavuos marked by mourning rather than celebration?
Perhaps we can begin to answer this based on the way the mefarshim understand the very nature of these days.
As many point out, if we are simply waiting for Shavuos, we should be counting down, not up. When a person is waiting for a moment to arrive, he counts the days remaining. Yet when it comes to Sefiras HaOmer, we do the opposite — we count upward.
The Meforshim explain that this reflects a fundamentally different type of anticipation. When a person is waiting for a prize at the end, he counts down. But when each day itself carries independent value, when each day adds something meaningful, then he counts up. R’ Shimshon Pinkus Zatzal gives an analogy of someone who is promised a large sum of money, but receives a portion of it each day. In such a case a person counts up every day, ‘today I have a thousand, tomorrow, two’ etc. Each day is not just a step closer to the end — it is a gain in its own right.
So too, when we count the Omer, we are not simply waiting for the Torah to arrive at the end of forty-nine days. These are days of acquisition, days of growth, days in which we are actively preparing ourselves to receive the Torah. Each day is another layer, another step, another opportunity to refine ourselves.
Rav Shimon Schwab develops this idea further by pointing to the korbanos that frame this entire period. On Pesach, we bring the Omer offering, which is made from barley — typically considered animal food. By contrast, on Shavuos, we bring an offering of wheat, which represents human sustenance.
The message is that at the time of Yetziyas Mitzrayim, we were, in a sense, at the very beginning of our formation as a people. Raw, undeveloped, almost like a newborn. The process of Sefirah is the process of growth — a gradual refinement, a movement from a more basic, instinct-driven existence toward a more elevated, thoughtful, and Torah-centered one.
Imagine, for a moment, if it were possible to watch such a transformation in real time. Imagine a zoo had an exhibit where they would transform a cow into a person over 2 months. If one could observe, day by day, the creature slowly changing, developing, refining itself — each day a little more formed, a little more elevated than the last. That is what these days are meant to be. Not a passive waiting period, but an active process of becoming. We are not counting down to Shavuos, we are building up to it.
And with this, perhaps we can begin to understand our question.
Perhaps we can now understand that the entire premise of our question was slightly off. We have been referring to these days as days of aveilus, of mourning, but if one looks carefully, that is not actually how they are defined. The Tur, Shulchan Aruch, the Meforshim etc. do not say the words ‘aveilus’ – mourning. The halachah does not tell us to be sad. It does not describe these days as days of mourning in the classic sense. Rather, they say limit certain expressions of excessive simchah. There is a world of difference between the two.
These are not meant to be sad days at all.
Unlike other periods on the calendar, such as the Three Weeks, where the tone is clearly one of mourning and loss, the days of Sefirah carry a very different character. They are not days of sadness, but rather days of reflection and focus. We do not attend weddings, not because we are in a mild state of grief, but because we are trying to avoid being swept up in an environment of outward celebration that could distract from the inner work these days demand. These days are like being in a library – focus, quiet, not sad.
These are days of Chol HaMoed in the sense that they connect two great Yamim Tovim, but they are a Chol HaMoed of growth, not of festivity.
And within that framework, the mention of the students of Rebbi Akiva takes on a new role. It is not something we mourn, but something we learn from. They were great individuals, but they were lacking in the middos necessary to properly transmit Torah. That failure is not being focused on as a historical tragedy, but rather it is a directive. If we are preparing ourselves to receive the Torah, if we see ourselves as part of its transmission, then these are the areas we must refine. Their loss gives us clarity about our mission.
So the practices of these days are not about sadness; they are about sharpening our focus. They pull us away from distraction and direct us inward, toward growth, toward refinement, toward becoming people who are truly capable of receiving and carrying Torah.
These are not days of mourning. They are days of becoming.
May we use each of these days with clarity and purpose, refining ourselves step by step as we prepare to receive the Torah on the upcoming Yom Tov of Shavuos.
Have an amazing Shabbos! Rabbi Moshe Revah Mrevah2@touro.edu
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