Counting the Omer in the Time of the Anthropocene
A community building guide for this sacred time of tumult
Something feels isolating when I count the Omer, the daily 49-day ritual that marks the time between Passover and Shavuot in Jewish tradition. The way most of us count today is based on a Kabbalistic framework—a beautiful, intricate system of soul refinement. But often, I feel the distance between their world and ours acutely.
Counting the Omer, at its root, is not just a spiritual practice—it’s a harvest practice. It is the time of the first fruits. In our agricultural tradition, these 49 days marked the season between the barley harvest during Passover and the wheat harvest at Shavuot (Leviticus 23:15–16). Our ancestors brought offerings to the Temple—first barley, then wheat—as a way of thanking the Earth and staying connected to its rhythms.
But when the Second Temple was destroyed in 70 CE and agricultural offerings ceased, the rabbis reimagined the Omer as a spiritual journey. The practice turned inward—toward intention, preparation, and refinement. Centuries later, the Kabbalists of Safed added a mystical overlay, mapping each of the 49 days onto the Tree of Life. They aligned each day with the seven lower sefirot—attributes like chesed (lovingkindness), gevurah (discipline), and tiferet (compassion). It became a daily soul practice: each day a mirror, each week a gate. Many in my community still count the Omer this way—bringing breath, prayer, and emotional atunement into their lives.
And while I deeply honor the brilliance of the Kabbalists—their sacred geometry of the soul, the subtlety with which they traced inner transformation—I also recognize that the Kabbalists lived in a very different world. In the hills of Tzfat, they had the privilege of turning inward, mapping the soul in the safety of mystic solitude, in a world that—while imperfect—was in far more balance than anything we’ve experienced.
We are not living in that kind of time.
We are living in a world on fire. A world of genocide, displacement, ecological collapse, mass incarceration, and the unraveling of systems that were never built for liberation in the first place. The sky is orange with smoke. Gaza is burning. Forests are disappearing. Rivers are being dammed and poisoned. These are not conditions for spiritual detachment. These are conditions that demand we return to the deeper root of the Omer—not just as a practice personal reflection, and growth but as a practice of collective creation and cohesion.
Harvest is collective. Harvest is sweaty, interdependent, and alive. Harvest is labor shared across bodies and generations. It’s singing in the field. It’s resting together under trees. It’s preparing for a revelation at Sinai not meant for one person, but for a people.
Especially now—when our survival depends on our ability to work together—shouldn’t our practices of counting the Omer reflect that?
Practicing and Participating — Becoming a Collective
Three years ago, when I moved to the Bay Area after living in Palestine and Israel for sixteen years, I hardly knew anyone. I was also emerging from a long stretch of not practicing Judaism. After witnessing so much brutality under the Israeli occupation, Hebrew had come to sound like the language of repression, and the prayers I grew up with as a child felt tainted by violence and loss.
Despite this, a childhood friend from Jewish summer camp—excited by my return—invited me to visit a few local synagogues with her. I was hesitant, but I said yes. That first Friday night, I walked into shul and sat down. And there, in front of me, was Andrew Murray Dunn—a social entrepreneur I had met years ago in Palestine and thought I’d never see again. I knew instantly: something was about to change. This connection was going to deepen.
A few Shabbats later, Andrew called to invite me to a house he was subletting during his nomadic travels. He was thinking of gathering a few friends. “It’s Shabbat,” I told him. “Let’s make it a celebration.” He admitted he’d never hosted Shabbat before. I smiled. “I’d be honored to help,” I said. I had grown up in a home that hosted hundreds of Shabbat dinners. This felt like a sacred return.
Our first Shabbat was magical. The guests connected so deeply that many of us ended up sleeping over. We joked about it the next day and decided to give it a name: the Shabbat Slumber Party. From then on, every few weeks, someone else would host. We’d gather for 25 hours of food, rest, song, prayer, play, and presence. Slowly, we built confidence in our lay-led ritual practice. We noticed the gaps in our knowledge and helped each other grow. We attended synagogue and participated in larger pilgrimage festivals together. We became a little band within the larger tribe—learning, offering, experimenting, integrating. We began hosting Jewish rituals not just for ourselves, but for our wider communities. We brought Jewish earth-based practices into our lives, and into the lives of those around us.
This year some members of our group contributed to the creation of a 200 person Sukkot and a weeklong passover festival in the prairies of California. Out there, under wide skies, I found myself wondering: when are we going to take the next step? When are we going to move from supporting our tribe to doing the wider work of healing the world together?
After the festival, some of us traveled down to a organic cyntropic farm near Fillmore, California, Eden Forest Collective, for a week of integration and celebration. Less than 24 hours after we arrived, we learned of several sacred social justice projects that urgently needed care. And just like that—we rose to the occasion. We began organizing, offering support, and responding to needs. Something shifted. Our little Shabbat circle blossomed into a collective of action. We moved from hosting sacred time to stewarding sacred work.
That experience inspired me to rethink how we count the Omer—not as a private ritual for individuals, but as a collective practice. A harvest-time practice. A practice rooted not only in soul traits, but in shared labor. A practice anchored in story, ritual, action, and care. Not just 49 personal prompts. But 49 invitations to connect. To ripen together. To step more fully into our collective liberation.
Community Building Guide - Collective Counting
This seven-week journey reimagines the ancient ritual of counting the Omer as a practice of collective transformation. Each week offers a theme drawn from the Exodus story and grounded in the needs of our time. Each day offers a question—not just for personal reflection, but for group dialogue, organizational discernment, and community resilience.
This guide is for teams, coalitions, communities, and groups who are:
Crossing thresholds and leaving behind what no longer serves
Facing burnout and ready to reorganize power
Doing justice work and seeking spiritual grounding
Reimagining leadership in a world on fire
Preparing for something sacred and unknown
Whether you're a collective of organizers, a spiritual community, or a group of friends committed to co-liberation, these questions are here to help you deepen your connections, clarify your direction, and cultivate a movement culture rooted in care, courage, and awe.
Use it as a weekly check-in. Start your meetings with one of the daily questions. Rotate facilitation. Let different voices lead.
Pair it with ritual. Share a song. Ground in silence. End with breath.
Let it live in your work plan. Use the weeks to scaffold a team retreat, a 7-week transformation cycle, or a values alignment process.
Adapt and share it. These questions aren’t dogma—they’re invitations. Make them your own. Translate them. Remix them. Share them with others.
A Communal Omer Journey for Our Time
Week 1: Crossing the Sea - Beginning the Journey
A collective journey of bravery, discernment and differentiation
The people stand trapped: empire behind them, uncertainty ahead. Then the waters part. They walk through. The miracle is not just in the sea splitting, but in the courage to step forward before it does. When they reach the other side, they sing—not as slaves, but as survivors. The first communal act after liberation is a song.
This week is for crossing thresholds—leaving behind what enslaved us, even when we’re afraid. It’s a week for those learning to breathe after a crisis, for those organizing on the edge of collapse, for those whose joy is resistance.
Day 1 – Where are we still entangled in empire?
What parts of our community, culture, or movement are still shaped by systems of domination we seek to resist? What are we afraid to name?
Day 2 – What must we leave behind to move toward collective liberation?
What stories, habits, or comforts are no longer aligned with our shared becoming—and how do we release them with care?
Day 3 – What fears are surfacing among us as we approach the edge?
How do we hold space for collective fear without being paralyzed by it? What does it look like to move forward anyway?
Day 4 – Who are we crossing with, and how do we carry each other?
Which communities, ancestors, and lineages are with us? How do we make sure no one gets left behind?
Day 5 – What practices keep us connected as we move through the unknown?
What rituals, songs, prayers, or organizing practices help us remember who we are and why we’re crossing?
Day 6 – How do we recognize the moment of arrival—not as an ending, but as a beginning?
What signals tell us we’ve crossed a threshold together? How do we honor the passage before continuing on?
Day 7 – What song are we called to sing now, as a people who have survived?
How do we lift up our collective voice—not in triumph over others, but in testament to endurance, interdependence, and hope?
Week 2: From Bitterness to Sweetness
A collective journey of naming what we need
The people thirst, and the only water is bitter. God shows Moses how to sweeten it—a branch tossed into the depths. This week is about learning that healing isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the transformation of it. A bitter truth doesn’t mean we’ve failed; it means we’re awake.
This is a week for truth-telling, for survivors of injustice, for those daring to speak the unspeakable. It is also for those learning to stay at the table long enough to do the work of repair.
Day 8 – Where are the bitter waters among us?
What griefs, betrayals, or disappointments are we carrying as a people? Where does the hurt still sting?
Day 9 – What truths have we been afraid to speak aloud?
What needs naming in our community—about injustice, harm, or silence—that we’ve kept buried too long?
Day 10 – How is bitterness a teacher, not a failure?
What if our anger, sorrow, and disillusionment are sacred messengers calling us to deeper integrity?
Day 11 – What is the branch we can toss into the water?
What acts of tenderness, creativity, or courage might help us transform bitterness—not erase it, but sweeten it?
Day 12 – What does communal repair require from us?
How do we stay at the table when it’s hard? What practices help us metabolize pain into wisdom, not withdrawal?
Day 13 – Where are we already cultivating sweetness?
What are the glimpses of collective joy, beauty, or solidarity that remind us healing is possible—even here?
Day 14 – What hope can we generate—not just feel, but build?
How do we conspire together to make life more livable, just, and sweet—not just for us, but for the generations to come?
Week 3: Manna Falls - From Scarcity to Sacred Trust
A collective journey into trust, nourishment, and abundance
The people hunger. God sends daily nourishment—but with boundaries: take only what you need. Don’t hoard. Rest. Know the Sabbath. This week invites us into a different economy—one based not on extraction, but on sufficiency and trust.
This is a week for mutual aid, for reimagining abundance, for remembering that no one is free unless everyone eats. It’s about breaking the spell of scarcity and embracing sacred interdependence.
Day 15 – What are we hungry for, together?
What longings live at the heart of our community—not just physical, but emotional, spiritual, and collective?
Day 16 – What does it look like to be truly nourished—together?
How would it feel if everyone had enough? What rhythms or relationships would make that possible?
Day 17 – How has scarcity shaped us?
What inherited fears or systemic conditions keep us clinging, hoarding, or competing—even when we long to share?
Day 18 – What practices can anchor us in sufficiency?
What rituals, agreements, or daily acts can help us trust that there will be enough—especially when we share?
Day 19 – How do we rest?
Where can we stop producing, striving, and start simply being together?
Day 20 – Where are we already practicing radical abundance?
What forms of mutual aid, generosity, or shared wealth are blooming among us, even in the face of extraction?
Day 21 – What would it mean to build an economy of trust?
How do we reimagine wealth, value, and belonging so that no one is left hungry—and all are held in sacred interdependence?
Week 4: Water from the Rock - Finding Flow
A collective journey of pressure, presence, and breakthrough
The people panic again: there is no water. God tells Moses to strike the rock. From this unyielding place, life flows. This is the week of discovering that even in systems built on oppression, there are still cracks—places where resilience pushes through.
This week is for frontline organizers, exhausted caregivers, disillusioned prophets. It reminds us that the water is there, even when the institutions are dry.
Day 22 – What feels immovable among us right now?
What systems, dynamics, or internal blocks feel stuck, heavy, or impossible to shift?
Day 23 – Where is the pressure building?
Where are we holding exhaustion, urgency, or despair? How is that pressure showing up in our bodies, our communities, our movements?
Day 24 – What are the rocks we’ve been told not to touch?
What truths, taboos, or institutions feel sacred, untouchable—or are guarded by fear?
Day 25 – Where are the cracks?
What small signs of change, soft spots, or slivers of possibility are already forming? What overlooked places might be ready to open?
Day 26 – How do we strike—not to destroy, but to release?
What does it mean to act with precision and love? What tools, relationships, or rituals help us create movement without collapse?
Day 27 – What is the water we seek?
What are we truly longing for—relief, clarity, justice, connection? And how will we recognize it when it flows?
Day 28 – How do we sustain each other when the land is still dry?
When the miracle is slow, what do we lean on? What songs, stories, or solidarities nourish us for the long haul?
Week 5: Amalek Attacks - Holding Each other Through the Fight
A collective journey of protection, resilience, and remembrance
Out of nowhere, Amalek attacks. The people must organize quickly. Moses, exhausted, can’t hold the burden alone—so others support his arms. Victory is communal. Resistance is sacred.
This is a week for anti-fascist dreaming, for coordinated solidarity, for holding each other up when we grow weary. No one liberates alone.
Day 29 – Where are we vulnerable to attack?
What fault lines in our community, movement, or world are being targeted by systems of domination? What harm are we at risk of facing?
Day 30 – How do we recognize the cost of the work?
What toll is our resistance taking—emotionally, spiritually, materially—and who among us is carrying the heaviest burden?
Day 31 – Who is holding our arms up?
How do we share leadership, care, and labor? Where do we need to step in—or step back—so no one burns out alone?
Day 32 – What does collective defense look like for us?
How do we prepare ourselves—strategically, spiritually, relationally—for moments of crisis? What makes us more ready, not more reactive?
Day 33 – How do we mark survival?
When we make it through an attack or challenge, how do we pause to honor the passage—not just move on?
Day 34 – What are the teachings of struggle?
What lessons do we carry forward from moments of pain or resistance? How do we remember them as seeds, not scars?
Day 35 – What is our long-term vision of coordinated liberation?
Beyond the battle, what are we building? What dreams are we defending—not just from harm, but for wholeness?
Week 6: Wisdom from Jethro - Building Movements that Last
A collective journey from isolation to interdependence
Moses tries to lead alone—and burns out. Jethro tells him: You need help. Delegate. Build a sustainable system. This is a week for dismantling toxic heroism and honoring shared leadership, especially across generations and margins.
This is a week for listening to elders and those with lived experience. It’s for redesigning movement spaces that care for people—not just productivity.
Day 36 – Where are we trying to do too much alone?
What roles, responsibilities, or burdens are falling on too few? How is this unsustainable for our leaders, our caregivers, or our communities?
Day 37 – What does toxic heroism look like in our spaces?
Where are we rewarding overwork, centering individuals, or replicating systems of harm in the name of “effectiveness”?
Day 38 – Who are the elders and wisdom-keepers in our midst?
Whose lived experience is undervalued? How can we make space for ancestral, spiritual, or grassroots knowledge to lead?
Day 39 – Where do we need to redistribute power and responsibility?
How can we share the work more equitably—across age, gender, race, and role—so that no one carries the whole?
Day 40 – What kinds of support networks are we part of—and what’s missing?
How do we connect with other movements, mutual aid groups, and collectives doing aligned work? What bridges need to be built?
Day 41 – How do we design for care, not just productivity?
What rhythms, structures, or agreements help us rest, restore, and relate as whole people—not just as workers or organizers?
Day 42 – What would a truly interdependent movement feel like?
If we trusted the web of life to hold us, how would our organizing change? What becomes possible when we lead together?
Week 7: Making the Mishkan - Collective Revelation
A collective journey of preparation, presence, and readiness
The people arrive at Sinai. The mountain shakes. They’re told: wait. Prepare. Purify. Something holy is coming—but you must make space for it. This week is for sacred pause before sacred instruction. For standing at the edge of revelation.
This week is for those preparing to receive a new vision of the world. It’s for remembering that what we’re building must be rooted in something larger than ourselves.
Day 43 – What has been ripening among us in these seven weeks?
What truths, shifts, or openings have been growing slowly in our shared life? What new clarity or desire is emerging?
Day 44 – What are we preparing to receive, together?
What vision, responsibility, or calling is approaching our community now? How might it reshape our commitments?
Day 45 – What do we need to release to make room for revelation?
What noise, clutter, or distraction—material or spiritual—must be cleared to hear what’s being whispered through the trembling mountain?
Day 46 – What does sacred pause look like in our community?
How do we create collective stillness, reflection, and readiness—not as an escape from action, but as part of it?
Day 47 – What practices help us remember we are part of something larger?
What rituals, stories, or songs reorient us toward mystery, justice, and the beyond-human world we are accountable to?
Day 48 – Who are we bringing to the base of the mountain?
Whose voices, needs, and lineages are we carrying as we approach revelation? Who must be centered in what we receive?
Day 49 – How do we say yes to the unknown?
As we stand at the edge—together—how do we summon the courage to welcome what comes next, even if we don’t yet understand it?
Next Steps
If you found something in this guide that resonated— If the questions helped your group breathe, shift, or reimagine your work— If you’re longing to deepen this kind of spiritual-strategic alignment in your team—take it and run with it! This is an urgent time, and I want to provide all that I can to help us move through it.
If you feel you want more support, I’d be happy to explore working together, I offer ritual facilitation, leadership coaching, and spiritual strategy consulting to movements, nonprofits, and community-based groups walking the path of liberation. I’d be honored to support your Omer journey—or help you design your own.
Feel free to reach out:
Invite me to support a kickoff session or weekly rituals with your team
Book coaching sessions to help align your internal growth with your goals
Collaborate on a retreat, campaign, or spiritual-political training series
More about my spiritual-political practice in the world can be found on my website: alisonramer.com
Thank you to Andrew Murray Dunn and the School of Wise Innovation for their ongoing support of my wild ways in this world and contribution to the formation of this essay and worksheet.