Every Day Counts: From the Omer to the Hostages

An Omer Reflection by Rabbi Adi Romem, Kehillat Tel Mond B'Rumo Shel Olam

May I Borrow a Moment?

If someone broke into your home to steal your most valuable possession—how would you react? You’d probably drive them away, call the police, stand up to protect what’s yours. and if I can ask: What is your most precious possession?

Money? Jewelry? Your phone? No. No and No There’s one resource that is rare, limited, and irreplaceable—Time.

Time is more valuable than money. You can lose money and earn it back. But time that has passed? will never return. No matter how hard you work or how many lottery tickets you scratch, you won’t get an extra hour in the day.

Yet, we are cautious with our finances but generous with our time. We secure our money in safes, but our time? We leave it unguarded, allowing anyone to claim it.

If I asked you for 200 shekels, you'd probably ask: why? What for? When will you pay me back? But if I ask for two hours of your time? What would you say?

Nearly 2,000 years ago, the Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca wrote in his book On the Shortness of Life:

"People are frugal in guarding their personal property; but as soon as it comes to squandering time, they are most wasteful of the one thing in which it is right to be stingy."

He continues:

"All the great minds across the generations would stand baffled at this human foolishness. People do not allow anyone to trespass their property—yet they invite strangers to occupy their time. No one is eager to share their wealth, but everyone gives away their time to whoever asks."

Hard to believe that this was written around the year 49 CE—almost 1,976 years ago.

Seneca says: “Life is not short—we just waste it.”

If we make a detailed account of our days, we’ll find how much was taken by others, wasted on trivial arguments, lost in traffic, screen-scrolling, or administrative chaos. Time we’ll never get back.

What Does This Have to Do with Counting the Omer?

"And you shall count for yourselves, from the day after the Sabbath, from the day you brought the Omer of the wave offering—seven complete weeks they shall be. Until the day after the seventh week, you shall count fifty days, and bring a new offering to God." (Leviticus 23:15–16)

One of the most peculiar commandments in Judaism is this: to count the days from Passover to Shavuot—each and every day—and bless each one.

Why count? Think about it. What do we count? We count only what holds significance: money, school children on a bus, payments due, likes, followers… Not dust. Not grains of sand. Because counting something means it has value. It implies: “This matters.”

Counting the Omer, then, is a radical spiritual act: It declares that each day matters. Each day counts. Each day is sacred.

Eckhart Tolle and the Power of Now

The spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle writes in "The Power of Now" that the present moment is the only reality. The past is a memory. The future is an imagination.

“All that ever exists—is now.”

He explains that suffering arises from dwelling in psychological time rather than real time. We fixate on past events or stress about the future, but life truly unfolds only in the present moment.

Counting the Omer is a perfect training in presence.

Each day we pause, acknowledge, and bless the present moment. In English, the word present signifies both "now" and "gift," and the Omer encourages us to view each day as such.

When someone experiences a panic attack, therapists often guide them to count what's around them: buttons, cracks in the sidewalk, colors. Why? To ground them in the present.

The Omer is more than a ritual. It is a therapeutic practice. A mindfulness discipline.

The Hebrew Mystery: Lispor and Sapir

Hebrew is a language of roots. Words that share a root share a deeper meaning.

The Maggid of Mezritch taught that the word lispor (to count) shares a root with sapir (sapphire)—a glowing, radiant stone. The Omer, he said, is about polishing our inner sapphire. Every person is a source of light, but sometimes that light is hidden—covered by layers of ego, jealousy, laziness, anger.

The 49 days between Passover and Shavuot are our chance to scrub the stone, to refine our character, to shine.

That’s why the verse says: “You shall count for yourselves.” You’re not just counting time—you’re counting yourself. Your growth. Your spiritual clarity. Your light.

Why We Count Up—Not Down

When we await an exciting event—a birthday, vacation, we count down—ten days left, nine, eight... But in the Omer, we count up. Why?

Because spiritual work is not about watching time pass—it’s about building something, day by day. Each day is a new flame added to the candelabra.

Counting up reminds us of how far we’ve come, not how far we still have to go. Every day is not something to cross off the list—it’s something to stack. To add. To invest in.

Living Moments, Not Just Days

The Dubno Maggid gives us a powerful parable: Two beggars go from town to town collecting coins. One is wise—he saves every coin, exchanges them for silver, then gold. The other spends everything the moment he gets it. When they return home, one has wealth to feed his family. The other returns empty-handed.

So it is with time. Some people invest their moments and create a treasury of wisdom and goodness. Others waste time, and in the end—they have nothing to show.

The Cemetery That Counts Differently

There’s a story I love: A man once visited a town and noticed that all the gravestones in the cemetery had ages like: “Died at age 5,” “At age 10,” “At age 3.”

He was horrified. A plague? A curse?

The cemetery caretaker explained:

“In our town, we don’t record how many years someone lived—but how many years they were truly alive. We count only the hours they were present, aware, learning, loving, giving. When they die, we add up the hours, convert them to months and years, and write that on the stone.”

And that is the secret: not just to count our days—but to make our days count.

Viktor Frankl: Meaning Is Not Found. It Is Chosen.

Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl wrote:

“Life’s meaning is not something we invent—it is something we discover, the moment we take responsibility”

Every moment can be empty—or it can be powerful. It’s our choice.

And perhaps the clearest answer to “What gives life meaning?” is this: doing good for others.

As Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman said:

“The greatest thing in the world is to do something kind for someone else.” 🎵 Watch the song on YouTube

That’s also the heart of Voluntherapy—the initiative I co-founded with my daughter.

Volunteering doesn't only help others—it heals us.

It grounds us. It makes us present. It makes us whole.

So each night of the Omer, we should ask:

“What meaning did I choose today? what impact? Was it a day of love? Of listening? Of healing? Or did it slip through my hands?”

The Most Painful Counting of All

Since October 7th—we’ve been counting. Not 49 days—but far more.

Day after day, our hostages remain in captivity.

Like the Omer, this count is not technical—it is existential. It reminds us how every second holds a world. Every day of waiting carries unbearable weight.

If the Omer taught us anything, it is this: Time is not to be wasted. Not ours. And not theirs. Every day must bring us closer to their return. Because their time is running out—and so is ours.

Final Note: To Be Counted

The Omer teaches us attentiveness. Responsibility. Presence.

It asks: How many moments did you truly live? And answers: Choose to live today. Choose to show up. Choose to shine. Choose to count—and be counted.

And may we soon count every one of our people—back home, safe.

Not just to live another day—but to truly live this day.