I’m grateful you’re here, and I hope you benefit from our time together.
Welcome to Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day with me, Josh Feigelson.
There’s an old Japanese folk tale about a stonecutter who was dissatisfied with his life. He was poor, his back ached, and as he chipped away at the stone, he looked at the wealthy merchants passing by and thought, “If only I were rich, I would be happy.” (He might have even added in a little yeidel deedle deidel dum in there too.)
A spirit heard him and transformed him into a wealthy merchant. He was thrilled—until he saw a Prince go by in a golden carriage. Suddenly, his wealth felt small. He wished to be a Prince.
The spirit granted it. But as a Prince, he sat in his carriage and felt the scorching heat of the sun. “The sun is more powerful than I am,” he thought. “I want to be the sun.”
He became the sun, shining down on everything—until a cloud drifted in front of him and blocked his light. He realized the cloud was stronger. So, he became a cloud, pouring rain and causing floods. But then, he looked down and saw a massive, unmoving mountain. No matter how much he rained, the mountain didn’t budge. “The mountain is the strongest of all,” he cried. “I want to be the mountain.”
He became the mountain, feeling grand and eternal. But then… he felt a tiny, sharp pain at his feet. Chip. Chip. Chip. A small stonecutter was at his base, carving away at the rock.
In that moment, he realized that the very thing he had run away from—his original self—was the one thing that could move mountains.
This is the fifth episode in our miniseries on money, and our topic today is the practice of Shemittah: the sabbatical year. According to the Torah, every seventh year Jews living in the land of Israel are commanded not to actively cultivate the land. They’re supposed to release all debts—basically to radically reset the economy. And by doing all of this, they’re supposed to remember that work and money aren’t what life is all about. That in fact the earth, and we who live on it, belong to God—not to us.
Like the stonecutter in the Japanese folk tale, I think a lot of us can feel the “grip” that wealth and status can have on our hearts. We often believe that having more, or being more, will finally give us rest. But the cycle of wanting never actually stops.
This is the spiritual heart of Shemittah. It’s this radical Jewish practice of hitting the “release” button—not just on our debts and our land, but on our constant striving.
If this sounds a little familiar, perhaps that’s because it sounds an awful lot like Shabbat. In fact, the Torah refers to the sabbatical year as a shabbat la’aretz, a Shabbat for the land. (It even works in English: the word sabbatical comes from the word Sabbath.) During the sabbatical or Shemittah year, we’re basically taking the weekly practice of Shabbat and playing it out on the broadest societal level: a full, deep, year-long letting go.
The effect is not just to let the land lie fallow and improve crop yields. It’s also, I think, to re-ground us in our relationship with money and each other. As the Book of Leviticus says, the point is to recognize ki li haaretz, “The earth belongs to Me,” that is, God—and not to us. I don’t know about you, but when I hear that I feel some of the same liberation that the stonecutter felt in the story. If I really feel into that sense that none of this really is mine, that fundamentally I’m just a stranger and sojourner on the earth, then I feel like my own grip is looser—and the grip that my possessions have on me is looser too.
Here’s a practice to help move this idea from the head to the heart.
Whether you are walking, sitting, or driving, I invite you slow down for a minute. And I want you to take a deep breath in… and hold it for just a second.
As you hold that breath, notice the effort. Your chest is tight. Your shoulders maybe up. You might feel tension in your face. This is the “holding” we do every day—holding onto our to-do lists and our anxieties, our striving after money or status.
Now, let that breath go entirely with a sigh. Let your shoulders drop. Let your face relax.
As you exhale, imagine you are the land during the Shemittah year. You aren’t producing anything. You aren’t growing anything. You are simply being held by the chair or the floor beneath you, by a loving, trusting embrace of the universe.
Try it again: Inhale, feel the tightness, the holding. Exhale and feel the release, the trust.
In the Torah, Shemittah reminds us that the land belongs to a higher source, not to us. For these next few moments, let gravity take your full weight. You don’t have to “hold it all together.” Like the fields in the seventh year, you are allowed to lie fallow. You’re allowed to let go.
With each breath out, you might silently say to yourself: “For this moment, what I have is enough. For this moment, who I am is enough. I don’t have to chase after the next thing. I can just be here—letting go, held in this embrace of Shemittah.”
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.
Thank you for joining us for Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day, a production of Unpacked, a brand of OpenDor Media, and the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. This episode is sponsored by Jonathan and Kori Kalafer and the Somerset Patriots: The Bridgewater, NJ-based AA Affiliate of the New York Yankees. If you like this show, subscribe, share this episode with a friend, give us five stars on Apple Podcasts. Check out our website, unpacked.media for everything Unpacked-related, and subscribe to our other podcasts, and check out the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. Most importantly, be in touch–about what you heard today, what you’d like to hear more about, or to dedicate an episode. Write to me at josh@unpacked.media.
This episode was hosted by me, Rabbi Josh Feigelson. Audio was edited by Rob Pera and we’re produced by Rivky Stern. Thanks for joining us.