Omer

Jewish ritual has always been a living thing. It was never meant to be performed perfectly or received passively — it was meant to be touched, questioned, adapted, and handed on. This guidebook grew out of that conviction, and out of the conversations we have each week on the Regeneration Podcast: that the most powerful moments of meaning and connection arise when we can make Judaism our own.

What you'll find in these pages are the building blocks — the definitions, histories, root words, stories, questions. Not so that you can memorize them, but so that you can hold them, turn them over, and decide what they mean to you and the people you love. Our hope is that you come away not just more informed, but more permissioned. More willing to say: this is mine to shape.

So, consider this an invitation — to understand the practices you may already know, to discover ones that might surprise you, and to begin the quiet, joyful work of deciding what you want to pass on and who you hope to invite in for deeper connection. You don't have to be a scholar to make meaning. You just have to show up, pay attention, and be willing to try again.

We hope you'll explore these pages the way Jews have always explored texts: with a partner. Find your chevruta — a friend, family member, fellow traveler — someone who will question alongside you and witness your process as you witness theirs. If you don't have one yet, we'd like to offer ourselves. Each episode of Regeneration is designed to be that conversation, and each guidebook that accompanies it is your invitation to go deeper. This is the first.

The question we keep returning to — and the one we hope you'll carry with you — is this: What are we passing on? To your family, your friends, your community, and the generations who will learn from how you lived. There may be no more Jewish question than that.

Passover marks the moment of leaving — but leaving is only the beginning. The Omer is what comes next: the 49-day journey between the liberation of Passover and the revelation of the Torah, and the long lineage of Jewish wisdom, at Shavuot. This is a journey of freedom from, to freedom for, and we can’t do it alone. We get there through action and through learning, through tending our inner lives and deepening our connections with one another. Both matter. Neither is enough without the other.

Michael Walzer, the political philosopher and author of Exodus and Revolution, captured the enduring power of this journey when he wrote:

"Standing on the parted shores, we still believe what we were taught before ever we stood at Sinai's foot; that wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt; that there is a better place, a promised land; that the winding way to that promise passes through the wilderness. That there is no way to get from here to there except by joining hands, marching together."

And Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks — former Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, whose life's work explored the intersection of Jewish wisdom and the challenges of the modern world — reminded us that the path through the wilderness is always, at its heart, a path of learning together:

"Freedom is a never-ending effort of education in which parents, teachers, homes, and schools are all partners in the dialogue between the generations. Learning — Talmud Torah — is the very foundation of Judaism, the guardian of our heritage and hope. That is why, when tradition conferred on Moses the greatest honour, it did not call him 'our hero', 'our prophet' or 'our king'. It called him, simply, Moshe Rabbeinu — Moses our teacher."

The Deeper Meaning: Freedom Takes Time

Judaism understands something many modern self-help movements miss: liberation is only the first step. Yes, Passover celebrates our freedom from Egypt, from slavery, from oppression. But then what?

You can’t become free overnight. Even when the chains are broken, it takes time to shed the habits, fears, and mindset of bondage. True freedom isn’t just about what you leave behind — it’s about who you choose to become.

The 49 days of the Omer offer a sacred container for this process. Each day of counting is like a step on a path of introspection, healing, and transformation. By the time we reach Shavuot, we’re not just celebrating the giving of the Torah — we’re preparing to receive it with open, intentional hearts.

God, full of compassion, dwelling as uplift and within, grant perfect rest under Your sheltering Presence, among the holy and pure who shine with heavenly splendor, to the soul of our dear one who has gone to his/her/their reward. May the Garden of Eternity be his/her/their rest. Please, Power of Compassion, shade him/her/them in the shadow of Your wing forever. May his/her/their soul be bound in the bonds of eternal life. May Adonai be his/her/their inheritance, and may he/she/they rest in peace. And let us say, Amen.

Clip source: The Shomer Collective

Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav once said: "May it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass - among all growing things and there may I be alone, and enter into prayer, to talk with the One to whom I belong."

Our connection to nature is an intimate one--it is a connection that allows us to get in touch the Divine: To listen to the Divine voice, and speak to the Divine heart.

When we say the blessing for Karpas, we dip greens into salt water, bringing to mind both hope of new beginnings and grief of unbearable losses. It is a beautiful tradition that teaches us through touch, taste, sight, and sound that these two emotions (so often thought to be in conflict) can be held together. The Holy Oneness is large enough to hold them. And as a community--a creation and manifestation of that Oneness--are also strong enough and wise enough to hold these two powerful emotions at the same time.

We are living in a time where climate change threatens the beauty of the natural world--a world in which we humans are inextricable woven. Our hope is necessary. Our grief is real.

As you dip the karpas into the salt water, think of an element of nature that fills your heart and imagine the loss if future generations were not able to experience it as you have.

Let us now bless the holy nature of the verdant earth and our salty tears; the holy nature of our grief and our hope.

Following the blessing, feel free to share the moment in nature you held in your heart.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יי אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, borei p’ri ha’adamah.

Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who creates fruit from the earth.