From Surviving to Thriving in the Land

Why only in Israel can we live a life shaped by trust instead of control

In memory of our holy soldiers who fell sanctifying God’s Name and the Land of Israel:

Ephraim son of Liat and Shmuel, Yosef Malachi son of Dina and David, Eliyahu Moshe Shlomo son of Sarah and Shimon, Yosef Chaim son of Rachel and Eliyahu, Netanel son of Revital and Elad, Yakir son of Chaya and Yehoshua, Ran son of Sara and Kenny.

When We Finally Pause

Judaism is beautifully full.

There’s always something happening, another mitzvah, another responsibility, so many moments that matter. Add real life on top of that, war, loss, a wedding, Pesach (all in one week in our case) and at some point, you start to feel like you’re running a marathon that forgot to include water breaks.

My husband and I finally hit that point a few weeks ago, so we took two days off.

I didn’t expect much from it—but it turned out to be incredibly impactful.

It was reset.

Something softened and opened for both of us. We came back clearer, calmer, stronger.

I would have expected to find the suggestion to step back, to stop pushing, to let go for a moment, to come back stronger in a self-help book.

But surprise, surprise—

It’s right here in the Torah, in Behar Bechukotai.

The system Behar builds

In Parashat Behar, the Torah lays out a vision of society that pushes against our most basic instincts. It asks us to reconsider what it means to own, to hold, and to secure our lives.

“וְהָאָרֶץ לֹא תִמָּכֵר לִצְמִתֻת כִּי לִי הָאָרֶץ, כִּי גֵרִים וְתוֹשָׁבִים אַתֶּם עִמָּדִי” (ויקרא כ״ה:כ״ג)“The land shall

not be sold permanently, for the land is Mine; for you are strangers and residents with Me.”

“כִּי לִי בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל עֲבָדִים” (ויקרא כ״ה:נ״ה)“For the Children of Israel are My servants.”

These pesukim move beyond technical laws about land and labor and describe a different reality altogether. Neither land nor people can ever be fully possessed. Our agency is real but bounded; we do not hold ultimate ownership, and we do not exercise total control over outcomes. From that premise emerges a different kind of society—one where ownership is limited, control is temporary, and accumulation is never absolute—continually reminding us that we live within a structure we did not create.

Shemitta: the practice of trust

At the heart of this system is Shemitta.

For one full year, the land rests. There is no planting or harvesting, no securing of future yield through effort and planning. The natural response to such a command is anxiety, and the

Torah gives voice to that fear directly:

“וְכִי תֹאמְרוּ מַה־נֹּאכַל בַּשָּׁנָה הַשְּׁבִיעִת… וְצִוִּיתִי אֶת־בִּרְכָתִי לָכֶם…” (ויקרא כ״ה:כ׳–כ״א)“If you will say: What will we eat in the seventh year… I will command My blessing for you…”

Shemitta creates a lived experience that runs counter to everything we rely on: the experience of being sustained without constant control.

For an entire year, a person must confront the possibility that survival is not solely the product of effort.

Sefer HaChinuch explains that this is the very purpose of the mitzvah:

“משרשי המצוה… לקבוע בלבנו ולצייר ציור חזק במחשבתנו כי העולם יש לו בורא… וכל אשר יהיה תחת השמש לא יקרה במקרה כי אם בהשגחה.”“From the roots of the mitzvah… to establish firmly in our hearts that the world has a Creator… and that nothing occurs by chance, but only through Divine providence.”

Shemitta is a deliberate interruption of control. It trains a person—and an entire nation—to experience life as being carried by a reliable source beyond their own effort: that even when they stop producing, set plans aside, and loosen their grip, sustenance continues. Life is not only something to organize and optimize; it is something that can support and hold you.

The Land as the container

This system does not exist in the same way everywhere. The Torah presents the Land of Israel as an active participant in this structure—as if the land itself is in relationship with the people who live on it.

“אָז תִּרְצֶה הָאָרֶץ אֶת־שַׁבְּתֹתֶיהָ… כָּל־יְמֵי הָשַּׁמָּה תִּשְׁבֹּת” (ויקרא כ״ו:ל״ד–ל״ה)“Then the land will appease its Sabbaths… all the days of its desolation it will rest.”

If Shemitta is not observed, the land does not simply move on. It "remembers." It completes the rest that was denied to it. The system finds its way back into balance—even if the people themselves are no longer present to experience it.

And the Torah uses even stronger language:

“וַתָּקִא הָאָרֶץ אֶת־יֹשְׁבֶיהָ” (ויקרא י״ח:כ״ה)“The land will vomit out its inhabitants.”

This is a visceral image. Just as a body expels what it cannot tolerate, the land expels a way of living that is incompatible with it—a life built on unchecked control, without limits or release.

The Ramban explains that life in the Land operates under a different kind of system:

“כי ארץ ישראל… איננה תחת ממשלת המזלות… אבל היא תחת השגחת ה’ לבדו.”“The Land of Israel is not under the governance of natural forces, but under the direct providence of God alone.”

This means that life in the Land is more exposed, more immediate, and less buffered. The connection between behavior and outcome is not as easily hidden. A person cannot live there indefinitely with the belief that everything depends solely on their effort, their strategy, or their control.

The Land is not just a backdrop for mitzvot. It is an environment that reinforces them. It responds, it corrects, and it restores balance. Over time, it draws a person—and a nation—back into the rhythm of release, back into the practice of letting go that Shemitta represents.

This leads to a stronger claim. The Torah, as a full system, is designed to be lived here. Many mitzvot only take on their complete form in the Land—Shemitta, Yovel, the return of fields, the reset of economic life. Outside the Land, these ideas can be studied and remembered. In the Land, they are enacted. They shape how a society functions, how wealth circulates, and how people understand their place in the world.

There is a kind of communication that happens between the Land and its people. When the rhythm of Shemitta is honored, the system aligns: there is blessing, stability, and continuity. When it is ignored, the system strains and eventually breaks. The Torah presents it as the very mechanism through which a nation is sustained.

In that sense, Shemitta is not only about trust. It is part of what protects the nation. It interrupts patterns of overreach before they become destructive. It prevents a society from collapsing under its own need for control. Living in the Land means living inside a system that does not allow those patterns to run unchecked. It continually brings a people back to balance, back to limits, and back to a life that can actually endure.

What happens when the system is rejected

The Torah’s language in Bechukotai is intense!

“וְאִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַי תִּמְאָסוּ… וְאִם אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטַי תִּגְעַל נַפְשְׁכֶם…” (ויקרא כ״ו:ט״ו)“If you despise My statutes… and if your soul rejects My laws…”

This language points to a refusal to live inside a reality that carries structure, guidance, and limits. It is a turning away from the discipline of boundaries and from the trust that those boundaries are meant to sustain life.

From there, the unraveling unfolds step by step. When a society no longer accepts limits, pressure builds. Without a rhythm of release, everything must be secured and defended. Fear begins to replace a basic sense of steadiness. Scarcity is experienced more intensely because nothing feels held or guaranteed. Relationships tighten under the strain, as people begin to protect what they have rather than share it. Over time, a culture of control takes root, one that prioritizes holding on over letting go, and managing over trusting.

The Torah describes this as a progression. Each stage flows from the one before it, until the system itself can no longer sustain the weight placed upon it.

“וַהֲשִׁמֹּתִי אֲנִי אֶת־הָאָרֶץ… וְהִזְרֵיתִי אֶתְכֶם בַּגּוֹיִם” (ויקרא כ״ו:ל״ב–ל״ג)“I will make the land desolate… and I will scatter you among the nations.”

Chazal make the connection explicit:

“גלות באה לעולם על… שמיטת הארץ” (שבת ל״ג ע״א)“Exile comes to the world for neglect of the Sabbatical year.”

When release is refused, it returns in a different form. What is not chosen willingly is eventually imposed.

The psychological layer: surviving vs thriving 

This structure is deeply human.

In therapeutic language, we speak about secure attachment—a system in which a child experiences consistency, reliability, and care that holds steady over time. Within that kind of environment, a child develops the capacity to explore, create, and build a stable sense of self.

When that experience is missing, a different pattern emerges. The child becomes alert, careful, and controlling. Energy is directed toward managing uncertainty rather than toward growth. Life becomes something to survive rather than something to expand within and thrive.

Security creates space for development. Insecurity narrows that space and replaces it with control.

Shemitta as a secure system

Shemitta, on a national level, creates something very similar to what therapy would call a secure base.

It introduces a predictable pause into the rhythm of life. It removes the illusion that everything depends on constant effort. It creates an experience in which provision continues even when control is reduced, where a person sees, in real time, that sustenance does not disappear when effort slows down.

That experience does more than calm anxiety. It opens up space. When a person is no longer fully occupied with securing their own survival, something shifts internally. There is room to notice, connect, and create. There is room to experience a relationship with God, with other people, and with one’s own inner world, in a way that is much harder to access when everything feels urgent and dependent on personal control.

This is what trust looks like in practice. Not only the ability to let go, but the confidence that there is something or Someone reliable on the other side of that letting go. That confidence allows a person to move out of survival mode and into a life that includes generosity, connection, and creativity.

Over time, living through this cycle reshapes how one understands security. Security is no longer defined only by what one can produce or protect. It becomes something that can be experienced within a relationship with God, with the world, and with others, that continues to hold even when control is loosened.

What happens without it

When that structure is absent, the effects are visible.

The Torah gives this state a name: keri.

“וְאִם־תֵּלְכוּ עִמִּי קֶרִי…” (ויקרא כ״ו:כ״א)“If you walk with Me with keri…”

The mefarshim understand keri as a particular way of walking through life. Rashi connects it to mikreh—chance or happenstance. It is the posture of a person who experiences life as random, disconnected, and spiritually unaddressed. Things happen, pressure builds, warnings appear, but the person says: it is just life. Nothing is being asked of me.

The Ramban deepens this. For the Ramban, keri is the refusal to recognize hashgacha. The problem is not simply that a person does not understand what is happening. The problem is that even when life is pressing, even when reality seems to be calling for a response, the person insists on seeing it as a coincidence. There is no relationship, no message, no invitation to change.

The Ibn Ezra adds another layer: keri can also mean hardening oneself, walking with force and resistance. A person becomes determined not to be moved. Instead of allowing events to soften him, guide him, or humble him, he strengthens his grip.

Put together, keri describes the opposite of Shemitta. Shemitta says: the world is held, provision comes from beyond me, and I can respond to that reality with trust. Keri says: the world is unstable, nothing is guaranteed, and therefore I must protect myself through control.

Once that becomes the inner posture of a person or a society, people hold on more tightly. Anxiety becomes a driving force. Control begins to replace trust, both in a person’s private life and in relationships with others. Systems become rigid, relationships strain, and generosity becomes harder to access.

Keri is a world that feels random, unstable, and unheld. Because it feels unheld, people begin to live as if everything must be forced, secured, and defended.

The personal question

Not everyone grows up in an environment that provides a sense of being held.

That raises a difficult and important question: if that foundational experience is missing, what allows a person to rebuild it?

What does Shemitta look like on a personal level?

The second chance Shemitta

The answer is definitely not "have more faith".

Shemitta is a practice rather than a concept. It is something repeated and experienced over time.

In personal terms, this can take the form of learning to step back from constant control, of allowing space where outcomes are not fully managed, of creating pauses in which productivity is not the primary measure of value. It includes the willingness to receive support, to allow others to hold what one has always held alone, and to remain present in uncertainty without immediately resolving it.

Practically, this often begins in small, contained ways. Choosing not to over-plan a situation that usually feels urgent. Allowing a task to remain incomplete without rushing to fix it. Letting someone else take responsibility where you would normally step in. Noticing the discomfort that comes up in those moments—and staying with it, rather than immediately escaping it through action.

These shifts require intention and repetition. They are not one-time decisions, but practices that slowly retrain the nervous system. Over time, however, they begin to create a different internal experience, one in which letting go feels safe and opens into possibility. In that space, a person can begin to experience something new: that support exists, that connection is available, and that life can unfold without being forced at every step.

Yom Yerushalayim: Returning to the Land

As we approach Yom Yerushalayim next week, we mark the miraculous return of the Jewish people to our land and to our eternal capital. 

Returning to the Land grants us the privilege of re-entering a system that the Torah designed for us to live inside. Here, we can honor the land, allow it to rest, and live the rhythms of Shemitta and Yovel as they were meant to be lived.

It is here that the relationship between a people and their land becomes active again. The possibility of living a life shaped by trust rather than control is now a reality. 

Coming Back Held

A child who is held learns to trust life.

A child who is not held learns to control life.

The work of adulthood—the personal Shemitta—is the gradual process of learning to release control and discovering, again and again, that one is still held.

Behar teaches the rhythm of release.

Bechukotai reveals what happens when that rhythm is lost.

The Land of Israel is the place where this rhythm becomes unavoidable—where life itself pushes a person, and a nation, toward a different way of living.

A life shaped not only by effort and control, but by trust, by limits, and by the ability to let go.

Wishing all Jews everywhere a joyful and meaningful Yom Yerushalayim.