Parshas Behar-Bechukosai: The Strength to Stop
Two months ago, I felt like I was done. The weekly process of sitting with the Parsha long enough to find myself somewhere inside it, and then trying to turn that into something honest enough to share, had me ready to close up shop.
But I decided to stick it out until the end of this Sefer, closing the loop on a weekly rhythm that really began last Bamidbar.
I’m glad I did. If I had stopped then, I would have missed the buildup of these last few weeks.
The themes we’ve explored recently—learning the inner avodah of the korbanos, how to wait, how to distinguish what belongs, and how to integrate “peak moments” into daily life—gave me the language for where I’m going now.
It turns out the Torah saves some of the most important lessons about stopping, and about what comes after, for this week’s Parshiyos.
That feels fitting, because right after Vayikra closes, the Torah begins preparing the people to move again.
Behar: The Bravery of the Rest
In Parshas Behar, we learn about Shemita—the year the land has to rest. After years of working and harvesting, the farmer just has to stop.
But I decided to stick it out until the end of this Sefer, closing the loop on a weekly rhythm that really began last Bamidbar.
I’m glad I did. If I had stopped then, I would have missed the buildup of these last few weeks.
The themes we’ve explored recently—learning the inner avodah of the korbanos, how to wait, how to distinguish what belongs, and how to integrate “peak moments” into daily life—gave me the language for where I’m going now.
It turns out the Torah saves some of the most important lessons about stopping, and about what comes after, for this week’s Parshiyos.
That feels fitting, because right after Vayikra closes, the Torah begins preparing the people to move again.
Behar: The Bravery of the Rest
In Parshas Behar, we learn about Shemita—the year the land has to rest. After years of working and harvesting, the farmer just has to stop.
Not everything is meant to be worked forever. Some things grow only because you step back from working them.
For the last year, this column has been my field. I’ve planted ideas about sourdough, clarity, presence, and Torah, and I’ve shared the harvest every week.
But the lesson of Shemita is that putting the pen down isn’t about quitting—it’s trusting that growth can continue even when you seem to step back.
Bechukosai: From Working to Walking
For the last year, this column has been my field. I’ve planted ideas about sourdough, clarity, presence, and Torah, and I’ve shared the harvest every week.
But the lesson of Shemita is that putting the pen down isn’t about quitting—it’s trusting that growth can continue even when you seem to step back.
Bechukosai: From Working to Walking
Right after the rest of Behar comes the movement of Bechukosai: ״אִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַי תֵּלֵכוּ…״ — “If you walk in My statutes…”
One expression of that avodah, for me, was returning to Tefillin a year ago this week.
That’s the next step—not more producing, just walking.
Around the same time this writing rhythm began, my journey itself started becoming more physical through practices I came back to—not out of habit, but because I consciously chose them as part of building my own connection with God.
Writing helped me process and stay awake to the journey. But eventually, those realizations had to become something lived.
By stepping back from the weekly output, I’m making more room for the avodah the writing was trying to point me toward.
Funny enough, Friday’s Hayom Yom (21 Iyar) touches almost this exact theme in a much deeper language: that every person is given their own avodah, and that spiritual ideas eventually have to become something lived.
One expression of that avodah, for me, was returning to Tefillin a year ago this week.
That decision started with a Hashgocha Protis moment in a dentist’s chair, being told to raise my “left hand” if I felt like I was drowning. At the time, it was just a safety signal for a cleaning, but it became the signal for my life.
Today, those daily practices are anchors that keep me from drifting back. They matter because I chose them.
The writing was like kneading the dough, but these choices are the bread that comes after.
Full Circle
The New Rhythm
I’m not putting the pen down forever. I’m just returning to the original shape of this space: writing when something feels alive enough to share.
אֵלֶּה הַמִּצְוֺת אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה׳…
“These are the mitzvos that Hashem commanded…”
And now, the walking begins.
The bread is baked. The table is set. Now the work is to live in a way that keeps the blessings fresh.
Thank you for walking through this year with me. The weekly posts are over, but the real journey is just getting started.
I’ve also been thinking about how easy it is to reclaim space… and then immediately give it back to nothing.
By ending the weekly posts, I’m getting back hours each week for the walking I want to keep doing in real life.
For the people who spent a few minutes reading here each week, I want to invite you to reclaim a few quiet minutes too. Protect a small corner of life from being swallowed back up immediately.*
Chazak, chazak, v’nischazek.
🩵 Berke
*P.S. A few gentle ways to reclaim five quiet minutes:
Learn something small. Sit outside in silence. Journal. Call someone you love. Drink a warm tea without multitasking.
Draw a few lines on paper and fill them in with color.
I’ve always thought the “cigarette break” had the right idea.
Today, those daily practices are anchors that keep me from drifting back. They matter because I chose them.
The writing was like kneading the dough, but these choices are the bread that comes after.
Full Circle
There’s a funny irony in how this ends. The dental office where I got the “left hand” wake-up call was actually out-of-network. Between the initial cleaning and going back to say thank you, I ended up “out” about $80 for the detour.
I consider it the best tuition I’ve ever paid.
I’m actually going back to my original dentist office next week. The guy I didn’t like—the one whose vibe made me want to leave a year ago—is gone. The space is clear.
Looking back, I realize I had to leave the "network" to find my footing. I had to pay a little extra for a specific message I couldn't hear at home.
It’s the same way I had to step back from certain parts of my religious upbringing long enough to figure out what I genuinely wanted to carry forward. Once something in me shifted, the experience shifted with it.
I’m returning to parts of my old life, but not as the same person who once needed to escape them.
I’m actually going back to my original dentist office next week. The guy I didn’t like—the one whose vibe made me want to leave a year ago—is gone. The space is clear.
Looking back, I realize I had to leave the "network" to find my footing. I had to pay a little extra for a specific message I couldn't hear at home.
It’s the same way I had to step back from certain parts of my religious upbringing long enough to figure out what I genuinely wanted to carry forward. Once something in me shifted, the experience shifted with it.
I’m returning to parts of my old life, but not as the same person who once needed to escape them.
It’s a theme I’ve found myself returning to a lot this year: sometimes a person or moment enters your life for only a short stretch of the journey, and lessons can circle back around in different forms until we’re finally ready to notice them.
The point isn’t always to hold onto the messenger forever. Sometimes it’s simply to receive what the moment came to wake up in you, and keep walking.
The New Rhythm
I’m not putting the pen down forever. I’m just returning to the original shape of this space: writing when something feels alive enough to share.
As Sefer Vayikra comes to a close, the Torah leaves us with these final words:
“These are the mitzvos that Hashem commanded…”
And now, the walking begins.
The bread is baked. The table is set. Now the work is to live in a way that keeps the blessings fresh.
Thank you for walking through this year with me. The weekly posts are over, but the real journey is just getting started.
I’ve also been thinking about how easy it is to reclaim space… and then immediately give it back to nothing.
By ending the weekly posts, I’m getting back hours each week for the walking I want to keep doing in real life.
For the people who spent a few minutes reading here each week, I want to invite you to reclaim a few quiet minutes too. Protect a small corner of life from being swallowed back up immediately.*
Chazak, chazak, v’nischazek.
🩵 Berke
*P.S. A few gentle ways to reclaim five quiet minutes:
Learn something small. Sit outside in silence. Journal. Call someone you love. Drink a warm tea without multitasking.
Draw a few lines on paper and fill them in with color.
I’ve always thought the “cigarette break” had the right idea.
Just because you don’t smoke doesn’t mean you stop deserving a few minutes of fresh air during your day, especially when you’re stressed, overwhelmed, or don’t even know what you’re feeling yet.
Step outside for a bit. Breathe deeply. Then come back to life.