Counting of the Omer mustn’t only be quantitatively complete, but also qualitatively complete

“You should count for yourselves… seven weeks. These weeks must be complete.” (Vayikra 23:15)

In his sefer Iyun Tefillah, Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg points out two cases of atypical wording employed by the Torah in conveying this mitzvah, which he suggests are intended to give us direction during this period.

The pasuk begins, “You should count for yourselves.” This expression is difficult to understand, as every mitzvah we do is for ourselves, yet the Torah doesn’t usually specify that it’s “for you.”

Rav Mecklenburg explains that the normal purpose of counting is to reach the end, to calculate the total number. Lest we think that all we’re doing during Sefiras Ha’omer is attempting to count from 1 to 49, the Torah hints that our counting shouldn’t merely reflect the passage of time, but should highlight our daily spiritual growth during this period as we get closer to Matan Torah. When the Torah instructs us “count for you,” it’s directing us not to merely tally the passing days, but to make them meaningful and count them in a way that’ll elicit spiritual growth and benefits. (Rabbi Ozer Alport, Parsha Potpourri)

"N

u, are you still counting? With a brachah? Without a brachah?”

It’s become the standard meet-and-greet during Sefirah. I’m not going to ask you the brachah drill. But, nu, are you counting?

We do a lot of counting. Minutes, hours, days, years. Birthdays, anniversaries, labor pains, kids’ heads in the park. You name it, we count it.

I have a relative who made a one-month birthday party for her oldest child. She even has a picture framed to commemorate it. The baby is sitting in his seat and on his tray is a cupcake with one (unlit) candle. Oh, and baby is howling his head off. Okay, we know that 30-day-celebration wasn’t for baby, but for proud mom.

The pasuk concludes by commanding us to count “seven complete weeks.” However, the Hebrew word more commonly used to mean complete is shaleim — complete and not missing. Here, the pasuk says “temimos.” Rav Mecklenburg posits that the Torah intentionally used this word because “tamim” indicates a different type of completeness.

I was introduced to a new counting minhag when my oldest daughter got engaged. It’s called the Kallah Countdown Calendar. (I may be dating myself — pun intended — but they didn’t have this in my day, did they?) Her friends presented her with a huge wall-sized calendar listing every day between the l’chayim and the chasunah. (Mother’s insertion: There was a total of eight weeks, which included the Three Weeks, Tishah B’Av and summer bein hazmanim. I was panic counting.) There were pictures of important days, gown fitting, ring receiving, etc., and each day was crossed off with great ceremony.

We’re commanded to be tamim — complete with Hashem (Devarim 18:13). Noach is described as a tzaddik who was “tamim” in his generation (Bereishis 6:9). The term “tamim” connotes completion in the sense of being whole and sincere. Thus, the Torah tells us that our counting of the Omer mustn’t only be quantitatively complete in the sense that we may not skip a day, but must also be qualitatively complete. By using this word “tamim” it complements the beginning of the pasuk that this counting is “for us” to become more “tamim” — whole and complete with Hashem.

So I know the importance of careful counting. Which is why I get so frustrated during Sefirah. I like counting! I’m a time-obsessed Yekkeh. But I do so much better at counting down and not so much at counting Up. Each night as I say the new number, I feel a sense of panic. Another day. Am I any better than yesterday?

As a kid, I had Edgar Guest’s poem hanging on the wall in my room. The last two lines read: “As you close your eyes in slumber, do you think that G-d would say, ‘You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?’ ”

Have I? This is the crux of my frustration. I don’t want the days of my life to speedily slip by. I want to make a difference in Hashem’s world. So I add a thought as I say the new number every night, “Please Hashem, I want You to be able to count on me.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 943)