Rebbetzen Tziporah: "TRUST ME"

Dear Friends,

The Gra predicted that before the final geulah, there would be a physical return to the Land. He called this the era of Moshiach ben Yosef, and wrote that the purpose of this period is to give us the opportunity to rediscover the emunah that may still be there — but hidden so deeply that the layers of galus make it hard to access. The way this can happen is through the mitzvos that are done only in Eretz Yisrael.

So now, the confession.

I love shemittah, and you don’t need much to get me going on and on about it.  Sometimes thoughts don’t quite come on schedule….  In two weeks, the parshah begins by telling us that shemittah was given to us with all of its details at Har Sinai — and that the rest of the Torah was given in the same way. Detailed. Specific. Real. Chock full of nit-picky halachos that those of us who think the Torah is only relevant if it touches you emotionally love to hate.

We’re told to just stop. To trust that the world will keep spinning even if we pause. That we will be fed even if we let go.

Letting go isn’t easy. Think about how you feel if and when you lose your phone or your laptop.

Exactly.

We live in an age of non-stop.

And then shemittah arrives, and with it, this divine whisper:

“STOP. LET GO. TRUST ME.”

But how? When we live in a world that trains us to do the opposite?

I still remember the time I took my friend — an innocent soul — with me to Chevron, to the Me’aras HaMachpeilah. The soldier at the guard post asked if we had weapons. I answered “no” for both of us. She then took out a fruit knife she’d brought so she could snack on the return trip. “Does this count?” asked my friend, Ms. Innocent.

Wrong move.

In seconds, soldiers armed to the teeth swarmed around us. At first, I thought we were in serious trouble — especially since the latest news reported that just hours earlier, a terror cell had been spotted trying to cross that same area. The IDF was on high alert.

The soldiers quickly realized it was a mistake. No injuries. No trauma.

And here’s the thing: they were trying to control things. They were doing everything “right” — following orders. And so were we (even Innocent Soul).

Sometimes our best efforts hit a wall, or a spike strip. And that moment — that terrifying, breathless, can’t-see-a-way-out moment — is where faith begins. Not the kind we talk about in the abstract, but the kind that holds you up when your hands are shaking.

This is the secret of shemittah. It’s not just about agriculture. It’s about the inner practice of surrender. The idea that holiness doesn’t come from working harder — it comes from making space. From daring to believe that your life is bigger than your to-do list.

And then comes Bechukosai, with its dramatic blessings and warnings. “If you walk in My statutes...” says Hashem, then the rain will come on time, your enemies will fall, and you’ll eat bread to satiety. And if not? The consequences are intense.

But Chazal ask: what does it mean to “walk in My statutes”? Aren’t we supposed to keep the mitzvos — why say “walk”?

The answer, says Rashi, is stunning: it means to labor in Torah. To stay in movement, in growth, in relationship with Hashem. Even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when life takes a detour.

So what does that mean for us — women with responsibilities, jobs, parents, kids, hopes, exhaustion, and a million spinning plates?

It means this:

• GIVE YOURSELF A SHEMITTAH MOMENT THIS WEEK. Not a year — just a few minutes. Turn off the noise. Let the land of your mind rest. No productivity. No scrolling. Just stillness. See what emerges. Yes, you can call it Shabbos…
• WHEN SOMETHING GOES WRONG, DON’T RUSH TO FIX IT. Pause. Ask: What am I being shown here? Is this a spike strip… or a rescue?
• STAY IN MOVEMENT. Don’t get stuck in the version of yourself you were last year or last week. Walk in His statutes. Grow. Ask. Try again.
• BELIEVE THAT YOUR INNER WORLD IS REAL. The land rests — and is blessed. So can your soul.

In a world that tells you to hustle, perform, compete, scroll endlessly, and never stop — Hashem tells us something entirely different:

TRUST ME. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING. YOU JUST HAVE TO WALK WITH ME.

May we all find the courage to pause, to grow, and to walk forward with faith — wherever our road takes us.

With love and deep admiration,
Tziporah