As Shavuot approaches, we celebrate not only the giving of the Torah—the covenant between the Jewish people and God—and the Festival of the Harvest, which marks the end of the wheat season and the bounty of the land. These two layers are deeply interconnected: The 50 days leading up to Shavuot, marked by unstable weather and fragile crops, have traditionally been a time of personal refinement in preparation for receiving the Torah.
In recent decades, these same days have also come to include Israel’s national holidays, highlighting both the lived reality of being a people rooted in its land and the price paid for that privilege.
These three dimensions invite us to reflect on this particular season and the deeper connections between Torah, Zionism and the Land of Israel’s natural environment.
They prompt us to ask: How should we live in this land to thrive and ensure that future generations can thrive here as well?
The Torah opens not with laws and commandments, but with the stories of Genesis—formative narratives that define humanity’s place within creation. Humanity, formed alongside all other living beings, is given a distinct charge: to till and tend it. We are part of the natural world, yet uniquely responsible for its care.
The blessing given to humanity includes power, influence and a profound moral obligation. This mirrors key principles of sustainability: The flourishing of society must be accompanied by the protection of the natural world and accountability to future generations.
Later, the Torah grounds these ideals in reality, presenting a vision for a just society in the Land of Israel, shaped by practical commandments. These mitzvot enable societal flourishing while regarding the land as a partner rather than a commodity. As it says: “That your days and the days of your children may be many upon the land” (Deuteronomy 11:21).
Sustainability, as a global concept, can sometimes feel abstract. However, when grounded in local context—tied to culture, landscape and community—it becomes tangible and meaningful. It bridges the “green Torah” of thriving in our homeland with the moral imperative to live in harmony with nature and our true selves.
In this way, sustainability naturally aligns with the Zionist vision. Love for the land transforms into a duty to protect it, and the desire to remain here leads to responsibility for the generations to come, that they too may enjoy the land’s beauty and abundance.
Our Jewish ancestors were farmers in this land. The agricultural commandments unique to the Land of Israel created a social framework rooted in mutual responsibility, compassion and communal engagement. The book of Ruth, read on Shavuot, reflects this ethos: a narrative of human kindness woven into a rural, agricultural setting.
The Jewish calendar also embodies this integrated vision; its holidays combine natural, agricultural and spiritual layers. The rhythms of Israel’s seasons support moral growth, historical consciousness and spiritual depth. For example, beginning on the second night of Passover, we count the Omer—50 days of inner preparation that parallel a period of agricultural uncertainty. When the wheat harvest finally arrives, we exhale with relief and mark the moment with the receiving of the Torah.
Tending the land in Israel connects us to our story—to a biblical past rooted in both faith and farming, to pioneers who returned and revived the land as part of the Zionist enterprise, and to our aspiration to live sustainably, meaningfully and responsibly in this place for our sake and that of our children.
Safeguarding Israeli agriculture through environmental and social sustainability is a national imperative. Equally, renewing Jewish culture as a moral-ecological tradition is a profound act of cultural continuity. Torah and land nourish us, shape our identity and offer pathways for tikkun—repair.
Now, in these complex and challenging times, we must lift our gaze, remembering that we are here to stay, and deepen our green roots in the soil of this beloved land.
