The sad reality is that human nature remembers difficulties well, but forgets blessings quickly

“If you’ll say, ‘What will we eat in the seventh year’… I’ll command My blessing in the sixth year, to yield enough for three years.” (Vayikra 25:20-21)

Why’s the farmer worried during shemittah at all? Didn’t he just experience the blessing of overabundance the previous year? Shouldn’t this have reassured him?

Rav Bernard Weinberger, in Shemen HaTov, says that during the sixth year, the farmer did undoubtedly thank Hashem for this blessing of unusual prosperity. But when shemittah began, he saw his fallow fields, and forgot his past blessings in his worry for the future. The sad reality is that human nature remembers difficulties well, but forgets blessings quickly. The real test of life isn’t just to appreciate Hashem’s blessings, but to continue to appreciate them long after they’ve been given. (Rabbi Doniel Staum, Stam Torah)

“I

just looove everything about Israel!” My student stretched her arms out over my couch to demonstrate her expansiveness. “It’s all sooo spiritual!”

I often get this type of euphoric idealism from students at different points during their seminary year.

As a matter of fact, I, too, had this haze of spirituality that colored everything in my seminary year. I tried to go to the Kosel as often as possible. I remember once riding the #1 bus, and as we stopped at a traffic light, I was suddenly seized with a wave of amazement. I was staring out the window at land where Avraham Avinu walked and Dovid Hamelech played his harp, a place Moshe Rabbeinu wished he could enter, and the Vilna Gaon tried to reach. And here I was, little ol’ me, transported to the heart of the world — this place of kedushah.

When a baby’s born, we’re full of gratitude, and praise Hashem for granting us this new life. But by the time the baby’s a few months old, the wonder and deep appreciation for the miracle of its birth is lost. What was once miraculous now becomes commonplace.

The message of shemittah is not only to appreciate the gift Hashem bestowed in the sixth year, but to continue to appreciate the gift even after it’s ceased.

We’re granted the greatest miracle and gift — life itself. But it takes effort to remember and to recognize the value of that gift. Every day that we wake up is no less a miracle than the day we were born.

But, boom fast forward, oh way too many years, and the bubble of spirituality has been obscured by dentist appointments, bureaucratic frustrations, and traffic. My life is busy, and baruch Hashem full, but… how often do I make time to go to the Kosel? While driving Yerushalayim’s streets, how often do I stare out my window and see, not the traffic ahead of me, but the dusty paths where perhaps Rabbi Akiva walked? Have I lost all ideals in the crucible of life?

This coming week marks the anniversary of the end of the Six Day War and the reunification of Yerushalayim. When the miraculous events occurred in 1967, there was a feeling of incredible euphoria. We suddenly had access to ancient Jewish sites for the first time in many years. There was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, and a plethora of Jews who began to observe Torah after witnessing such miraculous salvation.

But since then, tragically, that emotional blissful euphoria has mostly faded. We get caught up in the nitty-gritty of daily life and forget the larger picture of what we’re privy to on a daily basis.

The message of shemittah is that even when blessing becomes constant in our lives, we should never take such gifts for granted.

In 1967, right after the Six Day War, my father jumped on a plane for a whirlwind trip across Eretz Yisrael. This was so out of character, both for him and for the times; people just didn’t hop on planes to Israel for fun. I remember asking him why he wanted to go right then so badly. He answered, “I now have the opportunity to see so much of Eretz Yisrael, and I’m scared they’ll give it all back.” Prophetic fears.

I’ve been given the gift of life in Eretz Yisrael. One day I’ll have to “give back” that life.

So I remember that great quote: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 944)