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THE TEMPTATION TO resist freedom is almost irresistible. As I write these words, I find myself facing two blue eyes that fix themselves on mine pleading for release from the confines of her own seven year old consciousness. She has been back from her pre-Pesach playgroup for about ten minutes. In that time, she ate lunch and gave me a brief rundown of Life in Playgroup. Now there is "nothing to do." All eternity looms before her as the eternal cry of "What should I do now?" passes her lips. What she is in need of is structure.

Living with no clear boundaries is complex. The marriage of body and soul is not always an easy one. Since the time of Adam and Chavah, who experienced their bodies and souls as separate and distinct entities, we have lived in a state of disharmony. The soul is compared to a wick that holds the flame, grounding it to the world, offering the soul tangible means of self-expression. However, it simultaneously holds the flight of the soul down with its never-ending needs and desires. The question we all face is, which one do we choose to be - the flame that ascends or the wick that anchors it?

The only possible resolution is using the body to give the soul the possibility of physical self-expression. When we lack structured means of doing so, we find ourselves face to face with this conflict.

Channels of actualization are opened to us continually by Hashem, but it takes imagination and resolution to make use of them. Otherwise, the question of what to do looms as one of the least comfortable and most significant that we will ever ask. It is also a question that we almost never ask consciously.

When the body is silenced by satiation, the restlessness of the soul is felt rather than understood. An all-absorbing discontent can be as genuine as the discontent felt by the body when it is neglected or hungry. This could have been the reality facing the Jews as they left Egypt.

It wasn't. When we focus on the mitzvah of sefiras ha'omer, counting the days of the omer between Pesach and Shavuos, we gain a different perspective on who we are. It throws light onto the nature of our inherent capacity for discontent and the resolution of disharmony by allowing us to walk the path of our forefathers as they left Egypt. We learn the steps that made their journey successful. We learn to engage our bodies and souls simultaneously and thereby make sense of our yearning.

Opening the Fifty Doors to Freedom

THE BAAL AKEIDAH TELLS US that yearning has two components. One is pain; the other is hope. We felt both as we left Egypt. The recognition of Hashem's involvement with us and His love for us provided us with the hope that the inarticulate more would be satisfied in the course of the journey upon which we embarked. It is a journey that is relevant to us today, as it is made by each one of us moment by moment. We are commanded to constantly remember the Exodus. This reflects the fact that we are continually emerging from both the limitations we have created for ourselves and those that are inherent to the nature of living in a world which is defined by its disharmony.

Doors that open the possibility of meaningful integration of all our capacities are constantly being presented to us. We can open them or we can ignore them. The most horrific of all possibilities is that our fear of failure will cause us to close them so tightly that we can begin to believe that there is no meaning to be discovered. We then despair and despise ourselves as we endeavor to retreat from life.

The Shelah haKodesh tells us that the fifty times the Exodus is mentioned in the Torah is meaningful. Each mention is a hint at a door we had closed at one point and later opened.

The number fifty is an allusion to man's capacity to express himself harmoniously. How so? Let us focus for a moment on the significance of numbers. The Maharal maintains that when something is true, it is by its definition true on every level. Thus if an idea is "true" philosophically but not mathematically, it is not true at all. Therefore, when the Torah gives us a number upon which we can focus, it is never just an interesting diversion. Rather, it is part of a greater truth. In fact, Hashem gives us the ability to use numbers not only to facilitate the physical conquest of the world, but primarily as a tool that allows us to divide massive concepts into digestible fragments. The number fifty, like all numbers, reflects a specific part of the greater whole. It is used to symbolize the ways by which Hashem's image is expressed by Him and mirrored by our souls, which are in His image. What does this mean?

The part of us that is a direct counterpart of the Creator is what we mean when we use the word soul. When we emulate Him, when we imitate His attributes, we are expressing this Godly image. These attributes, called middos or sefiras, were revealed during the seven days of Creation. The word sefirah is related to the verb le-saper, "to tell." The Creation, in a certain sense, is Hashem's story of Himself to the degree that we humans can grasp it. Each of the seven middos He revealed interact with each other and lead us to a picture of reality that is greater than the forty-nine components that result from combining these middos. Thus the number fifty symbolizes Godliness. It represents the whole picture. And it is found in miniature within us as well. We discover our souls as we respond to life. When we use our insight to examine the external realities that face us, and act on them in a Godly way, we can give expression to these middos.

The fifty mentions of the Exodus hint at fifty ways that Hashem liberates us. He gives us the opportunity to live lives that express our middos and use our bodies. This is how we can develop an integrated and harmonious lifestyle.

We can, however, deceive ourselves into wallowing in illusory freedom and silencing the soul into submission. When there are no limitations placed the body's expression, it takes up the entire stage. The Maharal points out that denying either the body or the soul is not our purpose. Integration and concordant symmetry of the forces within us is the goal. An affirmation of this connection is found in the fact that we count the days between our physical redemption, Pesach, and the ultimate channel by which the soul finds its goal, Shavuos. By counting, we join the two potentially opposing forces.

The Midrash tells us, "If there is no flour, there is no Torah; if there is no Torah, there is no flour." The act of counting elevates the "flour," the physical, and gives the Torah a bond to the physical world. The doors are revealed, and it is now up to us to open them.

The Sefas Emes tells us that the key to opening the doors is rectifying the middos we have in common with Hashem. This is the deeper meaning of the Mishnah, "Derech Eretz precedes the Torah." Each day of sefirah presents us with illumination from Above that gives us the strength to move forward more than at any other time. Even so, the Shem MiShmuel comments, we cannot hope in one day to rectify a flaw in our middos that is so deep and damaging that it may take a lifetime to heal. What we can do is reach a point in which we have enough pain and enough hope that we retain within us the spirit of yearning for directions and clarity. It is then that we can submit ourselves to Hashem and let Him heal us.

The Sefirah Connection

The physical and spiritual sides of redemption take place through structure. The mitzvos provide us with this structure and give us the ability to redirect our middos. The first middah in the order of the sefiras is the middah of chesed, loving-kindness. How can we do the inner work that enables us to move ourselves with greater shleimus to the halachos of chesed?

The more we value our ability to become people who are significant and bearers of Hashem's image, the more we will love ourselves and others. This is not the love that is a cause and manifestation of self-indulgence. It is the common link we share with Hashem - a materialization of our love for Him.

The death of the disciples of Rabbi Akiva s a tragic reflection of how any breakage in the process of this linkage affects all its components. They did not honor each other to the degree that their ability to see both the divinity and the Torah within them should have merited.

Their level is so far beyond ours that what we refer to as their lack of mutual respect is far from the way that phrase translates into our daily lives. They did not push each other on the bus nor marginalize each other because of their individuality. Their mistakes were infinitely more subtle, but invariably sources in the same lack of inner equanimity. The two examples given above of mutual lack of respect in our society are far more extreme buy have the same cause as that which affected Rabbi Akiva's disciples: both they and we suffer from disharmony.

The Torah they learned ideally would give them absolute balance within themselves. The natural indication of this balance would be their responding to everyone with the kind of respect that could only be born of integration and harmony.

The Hebrew word for "honor," kavod, has the same numerical value as the Hebrew word lev, "heart." True recognition of the emotional integrity of our fellow man will ensure that the kavod we give them is authentic. The fact that the death of Rabbi Akiva's students took place within the first thirty-two days of the omer brings this truth home to us. Thirty-two is the numerical value of both kavod and lev.

Let us use the power of the days that are before us to be more alive, more connected, more harmonious. Let us bring this to our relationships with Hashem and with ourselves and with everyone we encounter. Let us teach ourselves to be less afraid of freedom. Let us learn to regard it as an open door. Let us use the time of sefirah to find the opportunity to make the kind of connections with others that are selfless and are not reflections of the endless pursuit of our own needs. Let us reach a higher place, to Hashem Himself. Let us never fear the open door.

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