We are now nearing the end of a seven-week period known as “the
counting of the Omer,” reminiscent of the ancient 49-day ritual
of the barley offering we once practiced as we counted the days
between the onset of Spring and the advent of Summer — between
the holiday of Passover and the festival of Shavuot (Leviticus
23:11) — between the time we wiggled our way out of the chains
of bondage in Egypt to the time we received the Torah in what
is now Saudi Arabia. Omer means sheaf, as in a sheaf of barley,
the first growth of Spring.

What exactly was the ritual of the sheaf offering? They would
reap the first Spring growth of barley and gather the sheafs in
baskets that they would then bring to the Temple Court. There
they would singe the barley in such a way that the fire would
reach all the grains. Then the smoking barley was spread across
the floor of the Temple Court to be cooled off by the wind.
Once the grasses were cooled, they would grind the barley so
that the grain was separated from the husks. From the grain,
they would then measure a tenth of an ephah of flour which was
in turn sifted through thirteen filters before it was finally
offered up on the altar (Talmud Bavli, Pesachim 10b).

How did the Kohayn facilitate this ritual? “He would lift up the
barley offering and wave it, first forward, then back, to ward
off severe winds; then toward the sky, and then toward the earth
to ward off severe rains” (Midrash Pesikta D’Rav Kahana 8:5).
The second-century Rabbi Shimon bar Lakish remarked: “Let not the
ritual of the Omer be a light thing in your eyes, for it is
through this ritual that God promotes harmony between a man and
a woman” (Ibid.).

Fascinating. Lift up a handful of barley and wave it forward and
backward, then up and down, and not only will you ward off severe
winds and rains, but you will also improve your relationship with
your partner. Wow. What a religion.

And of all things: barley!  You’d think, maybe a pomegranate or
a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts. But barley? What is this
obsession with barley?  Forty-nine days of barley is enough to
ward off anything, including an appetite for barley.

Listen to this one: “If one dreams of barley, it is a sign that
one’s sins have been forgiven. Rabbi Zeyra longed so much to
leave Babylon and relocate to the Land of Israel, but he
refrained from doing so until he dreamed of barley” (Talmud
Bavli, Berachot 57a).  And finally: “When the jar is empty of
barley, conflict comes knocking on your door” (Talmud Bavli,
Baba Metzia 59a).

Barley represents first love. When Jeremiah the Prophet interviewed
God on an ancient rendition of “In-Treatment”, he asked what it
was that touched God the most about God’s relationship with the
Jews. The reply: “I remember the love of your youth, our first
date, when we first fell in love, when you threw all caution to
the wind and followed me into a wilderness, into a place of no
promise, no potential, no seed. I remember when your love was
unconditional, hinging on nothing but the purity of what you
felt for me and I for you. When there was nothing between us
but innocent trust” (Jeremiah 2:2).  Jeremiah jotted some notes
on the clipboard and then inquired: “You mention all this
innocent love you felt from us and toward us. What do you mean
by this?”  God took in a deep breath and let out a Tsunami that
wiped out four hotels in the Caribbean, and said: “The best way
I can put it, is that it was like a First Love, a Genesis, absent
anything that ever was. Sort of like the first growth of Spring,
the first yield of the earth in Spring: so precious, so magical,
so marvelous, that if anyone were to interfere with it — pow!
To the moon!!” (Jeremiah 2:3).

These two passages in the sacred writ of the Hebrew prophet
Jeremiah says it all. The first yield of the earth is like the
first love you’ve ever experienced. Not your first boyfriend or
girlfriend, not your first romance, but your first love, meaning
the first time you actually felt like,  wow ! this is the real
thing and nothing can be more real.

Barley. Your first date. Your first love. The first move of earth
in her romance with sky, responding to the rains of winter,
reaching for the sky in total faith, in total innocence and
trust, after which all else follows suit and emerges. Next, the
wheat declared: Okay, barley took a chance. And it’s okay. Let’s
come out of the closet. Grass followed next. Oats, alfalfa,
little budding leaves peered hesitatingly from the tip of twigs,
saw that it was okay to take a chance and respond to the call
of sky, to the impregnation of rain, to the love of Creator for
Creation. And every single day, every single phase of that season
of new beginnings, of fresh unfolding, we celebrated at the
Temple Court with sheafs of barley, offerings of first love.
And we sent her message outward to the world, inward to our
selves, up toward the heavens, down toward the earth, shoo’ing
away any harsh winds or rains that would come between us, that
would try to stunt the magical emergence of fresh love, of
renewed creation. And we went home to our partners and didn’t
see them the same old way we had gotten used to seeing them. We
saw them anew and remembered the love of our youth, our first
love that we felt with them. And we built on that, every day,
counting each phase of its unfolding for seven weeks until we
could feel ourselves standing at the foot of Mount Sinai
marrying our early love to our spiritual love, our earthly
partnership to our heavenly partnership. And yes, of course
your sins are forgotten when you dream of barley, because you
have become so completely transformed, you have emerged from
the constraints of Egypt, the constraints of Winter, and there
is nowhere else to go now but toward full blooming and total
blossoming. And if you have been hesitating to leave Babylon
for Israel, the barley in your dream shook you out of your
stupor and moved you out of the hard wood of twig into the
soft, lush, color and fragrance of leaf.

Sift your barley thoroughly. Thirteen times at least. Thirteen,
corresponding to the thirteen attributes of God’s compassion,
the compassion that created this life to begin with, your life.
As is written at the very beginning of Genesis (my translation):
“In First Gift [emerging from within Primordial Thought, the nameless
unknowable mystery manifested of itself] Many Forces who then
created the fire-waters (sky) and the coalescence (earth).”

After all, Creation was the First Gift. And still is. And to
remind us of this, we celebrate barley.

And remember. Never ever let your barley run out. Ever. Or trouble
might come knocking on your door.

Rabbi Gershon Winkler can be reached at elkmesa@walkingstick.org. For more information about Rabbi Winkler’s books and programs go to www.walkingstick.org