EPISODE 5: A Season for Everything
Show Notes
The names victims of the shooting at the Tree of Life building, whose memories are always close to my heart are: Joyce Fienberg, Richard Gottfried, Rose Mallinger, Dr. Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil Rosenthal, David Rosenthal, Bernice Simon, Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Melvin Wax and Irving Younger. May their memories be for a blessing always.
Mishenichnas Adar marbim b’simcha comes from the Talmud (Ta’anit 29a:18).
I first learned about the cycles of the moon from Jane Hardwicke Collings at the School of Shamanic Womancraft.
This quote comes from Ahad Ha’am (Asher Ginsburg)’s Yalkut Katan (meaning “Small Collection”) which was published in the journal Hashiloaḥ, in 1898.
Lex Rofeberg is co-founder of Judaism Unbound!
This quote is found in Courtney Carver’s book Gentle: Rest More, Stress Less, and Live the Life You Actually Want; she is quoting writer and psychologist Nicola Jane Hobbs who originally asked the question.
The concept of the shmitta cycle originates in Exodus 23:10-11, Leviticus 25:2-7, and Deuteronomy 15:1-3.
God breathing life into Adam’s nostrils comes from Genesis 2:7.
Enjoy the live version of Lay it Down, Let it Go here.
If Rest to Return has evoked something in you, if these episodes have helped you slow down, breathe a little deeper, or reconnect with what matters most, you might be interested in Rest to Return: A High Holiday Deceleration Retreat, which I'll be co-hosting this September. Nestled amidst New England beauty, 25 Jewish leaders - some Jewish professionals, some people who are Jewish and leaders - will gather for a retreat centered around rest as a form of teshuvah, returning to ourselves. Through creativity, reflection, and connection, we'll immerse in slowness and spaciousness as a way to prepare ourselves for 5787. If you're a Jewish leader and you've been longing for something like this, check out www.keshirahalev.com/sacredpause to learn more and express interest before July 10.
This episode is brought to you by the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. Rest to Return exists because we believe slowing down is a spiritual act. IJS believes that too. For over two decades, IJS has been helping people go deeper through Jewish mindfulness, meditation, contemplative prayer, sacred text study, and embodied practice. Their offerings range from online courses and silent retreats to immersive cohort programs for seekers of all experience levels, clergy, and spiritual leaders who are ready to live and lead from a more grounded place. Kohenet Keshira haLev Fife is part of IJS’s core faculty, and the wisdom you'll hear in this series is very much in that spirit. If this podcast is stirring something in you, IJS is a place to go further. Explore their programs, and more ways to learn and practice with Keshira, at jewishspirituality.org, including:
View the latest offerings from IJS in our program catalog
Join Keshira and others on retreat this August: Returning Anew
Learn more about Shevet, IJS's community for younger adults (20s-30s)
IJS has several online free practices with Keshira and our other faculty including our live Daily Sit, our weekly Shevet Sit for younger adults (under 40), and monthly Affinity Sits for Jews of Color, LGBTQ+, and individuals with disabilities. Click here for more information.
Join our mailing list to be notified about our upcoming fall courses, including Keshira's Earth, Moon, Mindfulness year-long class.
A photo of my sister and I following the shooting at the Tree of Life Building (credit Andrew Rush of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette)
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Each year, when autumn comes, I notice myself anticipating the first cold rain. I watch for the falling of those leaves that have gone yellow and brown, because I know that their descent ushers in a period when a certain something blankets the air in the Sq Hill, the epicenter of the Pittsburgh Jewish community. I notice my own agitation and sadness, and the revisitation of grief and fury and existential exhaustion.
When people ask how I am, I will say, “I feel a bit October 27th-y” because, through my senses, I’m being transported back to the days following the Synagogue shooting at the Tree of Life building, when so many of us were raw, disoriented, and utterly bereft.
This embodied awareness reminds me to keep my calendar a little more open than usual. To be more tender, with myself and with my friends, and with every person who I encounter.
By virtue of time spiraling back to this moment, I enter into sacred time - whether I’m ready or not - remembering and reflecting, and hopefully healing a little more, too.
In the period between October 27 and the 18th of Cheshvan (the Hebrew date which corresponded in 2018), I dedicate my teaching and my practice to the memories of those who were killed and, in this way, I create a sacred corridor of time through which their memories live on.
Merely by setting aside this time, and marking it as sacred, it takes on a different quality, and so do I.
Welcome to Rest to Return, a podcast for a restless world. I’m Kohenet Keshira haLev Fife and I’m your host. This series is rooted in Shabbat, an ancient Jewish practice that teaches us how to belong to time. Here, rest is a sacred rhythm woven into who we are.
We continue by gathering around a single question: What is sacred time?
This is an invitation to return. Sacred time starts now.
In the northern hemisphere, while the nights are still dark and the air is still cold, the month of Adar arrives. Jewish sages teach “mishenichnas Adar, marbim b’simcha”, meaning, “with the arrival of Adar, joy shall increase.”
Under normal circumstances, the joy of Adar, is a welcome reprieve from a long winter as it ushers in the holiday of Purim with all of the silliness and cathartic release that comes with it.
I remember that first Adar after the synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh, back in 2018; I was so agitated by the idea that with Adar’s arrival, we were supposed to suddenly feel joyful. I was still heartbroken and angry, and I wasn’t the only one. It felt like Jewish time was moving on without us.
As I reflected and considered whether there might be another way to relate to this, I realised that perhaps Jewish time wasn’t leaving us behind but rather creating an opening for us. It wasn’t demanding that we either be joyful or just stay home, it was giving us permission to begin to feel joy again.
Even when the ground is still frozen…when what’s happening, internally or externally can make joy feel distant, if we can make room for it to enter, it might even touch those lonely, hardened corners of us, where it hasn’t been in a long time.
In effect, the month of Adar is the part of the Jewish calendar that gave us permission to hold grief and joy at the same time, side by side. In that way, we didn’t have to give up sadness; we just allowed our tears to mingle with laughter. Month by month, Jewish time continually expands our capacity by stretching us to hold more than we thought we could.
The seasons and cycles of the Jewish calendar include holidays which provide a blueprint to bring us from liberation to revelation, interwoven with the journey from the grief of destruction to a spiritual return to wholeness.
Guided by sun and moon, everything has its season - there’s time for urgency and a time for slowness, for pilgrimage and for stillness, for joy and for mourning, for growing and dreaming, for work and renewal. Jewish time makes space for all of it, not as interruptions to productivity but as an invitation to living a more meaningful and fulfilling life.
Each month holds a cycle of its own, with the ever-changing moon which guides us into times of waxing, when we might be building or creating, and then, after the full moon offers illumination for self-reflection, we have the time of the waning moon in order to release and move toward rest as we approach the dark moon. Only after that pause in darkness, in stillness, does She begin the cycle again.
This happens on a weekly rhythm too, with ample time for productivity and creation, all of which culminates on Shabbat, this day which we set aside for rest.
In a way, Shabbat not only holds the spectrum of work to rest, it also makes space for us to practice choosing presence over perfection. It doesn’t require flawless observance, it only asks that we show up to mark time, to beautify the day, to express - with our bodies and with our choices - that this sacred time matters.
All of this reinforces that we’re worthy of rest, even if all of our work isn’t finished, which helps us to internalise that we don’t earn rest through our work, we rest because we know it’s time.
What follows, then, is a question of whether sacred time must be beset by the confines of the Jewish calendar or whether it’s possible to make other times sacred as well - through rest, through ritual, through intention, not in place of Shabbat, but as a way of bringing the consciousness of Shabbat into the rest of the week.
Philosopher and poet, Achad Ha’am has made the famous claim that “more than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people.” I believe that there was a time when this was true, particularly because shared agreement and collective practice serve the purpose of forming and strengthening identity. Some segments of the Jewish community still abide by this idea and feel a strong need for shared identity among Jews. However, there are others among us who are living into what Lex Rofeberg identifies, “A healthy and thriving Jewish future would actually be a future with JudaismS, plural, with a variety of styles and practice.”
In this conception, we need Shabbat not only because it is a way in which we can maintain an embodied connection across generations but because, without it, the structure of Jewish time is likely to collapse. This very real possibility is the reason why I feel resistant to the idea that a person who works on weekends might forgo their awareness of Shabbat altogether and simply rename Tuesday, their day off, as Shabbat. That isn’t to say that they shouldn’t ritualise rest or that they shouldn’t rest on Tuesday, but rather to make explicit that the power of Shabbat is not only in the resting that’s possible on that day. The potency of Shabbat is primarily the way in which we, as practitioners of Judaism, as a collective, mark and move with time.
When we mark Shabbat as sacred, we’re not only upholding the structure of Jewish time, we’re also honouring the ancestral tradition of setting this day aside, in whatever way, shape, or form. If we can do that while also allowing rest to infuse the remainder of the week, we bring Shabbat consciousness - the possibility of trusting enough to rest - into other moments where we so desperately need it.
When we make space for rest while also honouring Jewish time, the rhythms can inform how we experience each and every day. Under capitalism, we could describe the day as: coffee in the morning to fuel us until lunch, dragging through the afternoon trying to get enough done, throwing dinner together as best we can, falling into bed…rinse and repeat.
However, deep attunement to the slinky of Jewish time, that I discussed in episode 3, yields a different experience because the Jewish night/day cycle inherently prioritises rest more than any other cycle of time. The Jewish day begins at nightfall, which effectively turns the model of a productive day on its head because instead of beginning the day with coffee and work, we begin our days with leisure, togetherness, nourishment, pleasure and dreams.
Only after we’ve rested do we greet the dawn and tend to the work of the day. By moving with time in this way, we embody our response to Courtney Carver’s question, “have I rested enough to do my most loving, meaningful work?”
This structuring of time reflects a Jewish understanding that we’re not machines who are intended to produce, but whole beings whose capacity is deepened through restoration. Creation and rest are not opposites, but a sustaining cycle, reminding us that we are made holy when we create and rest in the same rhythm that created us.
Sometimes we experience this in a large way, like in the shmitta cycle.
And other times, it’s as simple as tuning into the breath. In the ever-unfolding process of life, the breath is perhaps the place where we can most easily witness divinity flowing. With every inhale and exhale, the divine breath flows through.
Jewish tradition teaches that this ruach, divine breath, is what The Creator breathed into Adam’s nostrils, giving that very first human life. That same breath has continued to move through time and space - through humans and animals and trees - even until this very moment. The breath you just took - your very aliveness - is evidence of divinity and of your place in the cosmic web.
Each tiny breath holds so much. Each inhalation is the gift of life. Each exhalation, a form of reciprocity. The breath is a beginning, a cycle, a rhythm, a way of being, and an invitation to rest.
And, in that sense, we can rest in the breath. Taking just a moment to move through a cycle of breath without doing anything else. That very moment alone can restore us and can help us to return to ourselves.
If all of this is true, then why are we so tired?
Well, with the world being as urgent as it is and with time being stretched to the seams, it can feel as though there’s no time to rest. And, given all of the ways our lives are different from how our ancestors lived, I have an honest question about whether Shabbat is enough in these times?
Because while Jewish time provides a sacred scaffold for our lives, in the modern world, it may not be enough. Modern time has led us to a place where the Jewish week implies binge resting, rather than instilling a consistent practice of moving with Shabbat consciousness. This is not to say that Shabbat isn’t of supreme value but that we need more. We need enough both to keep our souls awake and our Judaism alive.
There is a case to be made that 25 hours simply isn’t enough to counter the effects of working as hard as we do throughout the week. There’s also the reality that moving into our palace in time doesn’t make us forget about what’s happening in the outside world. When the news leaves us feeling vigilant for our own safety, or concerned about loved ones in other places, our own emotional stirring can preclude us from reaching the depth of rest that we deserve and desire.
On those occasions when Shabbat can’t get us all the way there, could we shift gears and adopt a Shabbat consciousness? Could we evolve our understanding of Shabbat to be not about “when we can rest” or “what we do or don’t do on Shabbat”, but about “how” to be restful. Shabbat is a quality of being and an orientation to the world.
When we practice mindfully over time, Shabbat forms us and we naturally carry its restfulness into the other six days. We learn what it feels like to move without urgency, to cease from producing, to simply be without justifying our existence. And slowly, that felt sense becomes available to us even in the midst of our working time.
This doesn’t mean that we make everything slow or passive, but rather that we approach our work with a different quality of presence, doing whatever we do from a place of wholeness rather than depletion.
Noticing when we're available and when we're not, and offering a clear and kind “no” when necessary. Or, alternatively, revising our to do list to accommodate new priorities instead of just adding to its length. When we recognise that Jewish time itself is more than just a calendar, we can liberate ourselves from over-commitment and endless exhaustion, adopting restfulness as a spiritual practice.
When we do this, the result is profound: we move from understanding Judaism solely as a set of laws, a religion, a culture, or even just as an identity; and instead, it becomes a sort of capacity. A deep well which resources us to feel, to sense our inner knowing, to rest, and to channel divinity in all that we create.
Rest is a thing unto itself. A gift for us to savour.
And when we move with the rhythms of Jewish time, year by year, month by month, week by week, day by day, and breath by breath, we make ourselves available to receive it.
When we avail ourselves to the gift of rest, cultivating Shabbat consciousness, it begins to infuse our days, and to expand from there, inviting a quality of restfulness into our work, our relationships, our activism, our grief, and our joy.
This consciousness can be woven through our whole lives like a strand of the cosmic web. This is possible because of an ancestral inheritance of resilience, somatic and relational. It’s being passed down not through texts alone, but through bodies and breath, and through the commitment to practice, again and again, expanding our capacity to rest, to renew, and to return.
This is how we make room for everything. This is how we rest.
For today’s practice, please take a piece of paper and something to write with. Feel free to pause now and gather what you need.
On one side of the paper, please write, “I would like to rest by…” and fill in a way, or ways, that you would enjoy resting. This might be taking a nap, spending time in nature, engaging in creative practice, whatever feels most luscious and compelling.
Now, flip the paper, and on the back, please write, “in order to make more space for rest, I release…” and fill in the blank with a word, a phrase, or even a list. These things might be small, or they might feel too big to be manageable. I encourage you to write this list as an intention and an inspiration toward what’s possible.
Now, please take these next three minutes, as the music plays, to create a space where you will welcome the sacredness of Shabbat. Regardless of your usual Shabbat practice, I invite you to light Shabbat candles this week, as a way to extend this practice and to connect ourselves, one to the other, as we enter into sacred time together. If you don’t have access to Shabbat candles, you can light any candle as a way to mark a transition into sacred time.
As we come to a close, please put your paper near your candles or in a prominent place, so that you can refer to the list of what you’re releasing between now and Shabbat.
When the time comes to enter into sacred time on Friday night - as you light the candles - flip the page so that your list of ways to be restful can be warmed and illuminated by the Shabbat lights.
Between now and then, may all that you’re ready to release, go with ease. And may it make ever more space for rest.
Rest well, dear listener. And join us next time as we explore what makes time sacred and what role our intention plays in making it so.
Gratitude to Lippman Kanfer Foundation for Living Torah for making Rest to Return possible. Rest to Return is a production of the Institute for the Next Jewish Future and part of the family of podcasts of Judaism Unbound. Hosted by Keshira haLev Fife, directed by Joey Taylor, produced at Monastery Studios, sound engineering by Justin Watson, original music by Keshira haLev Fife, arrangements by Ric Hordinski and art by Katie Kaestner.
