You may recall the classic test question: “Which one of these is not like the others?” Presented with idolatry, illicit relations, murder, and violating Shemitah, most would single out Shemitah as not belonging. So it’s surprising to find a Mishna in Pirkei Abot (5th Perek) listing all four as causes of exile. At first glance, this is hard to grasp. The first three are cardinal sins, here one must choose death rather than transgressing! How, then, does violating Shemitah end up in their company?
The Ramban explains that just as Shabbat is to the days of the week, Shemitah is to the years. Just as we rest on Shabbat, we rest from working the land in the seventh year. By doing so, the farmer testifies, “I believe with complete faith that G-D created the world, runs it, and provides for us.” Observing Shemitah becomes a powerful act of emuna; not just words, but a lived belief through action (or in this case, inaction). Even without fully understanding G-D’s plan, the farmer trusts, letting the land rest and relying on Divine sustenance. In contrast, one who ignores Shemitah casts doubt on G-D as Creator and Provider. With this in mind, we begin to understand why the Mishna places Shemitah alongside the gravest transgressions.
Observing Shemitah is a true test of faith. Imagine a farmer whose entire livelihood depends on harvesting crops. Now, he is told that he must stop for an entire year and rely solely on faith for his food. Yet the Torah addresses the human fear behind it, unusual but does so in this case. In our perasha, Behar, (Vayikra 25:20), the Torah states: And if you will say in your heart, ‘What shall we eat in the seventh year? Behold, the land has not been sown nor reaped.’” Hashem responds with reassurance: the sixth year’s yield will be abundant enough to sustain them through the seventh. Even more, in the previous verse (25:19), the Torah promises, “The land will yield its fruit and you will eat to satisfaction.” Rashi explains: even a small portion will feel like a full meal. Hashem’s blessing will be felt not just in what you have, but in how it sustains you.
The Torah’s sensitivity to human emotion isn’t limited to Shemitah. In Debarim 7:17, regarding the command to conquer Eres Yisrael, the Torah states: “Perhaps you will say in your heart, ‘These nations are more numerous than I, how can I drive them out?’” Once again, Hashem responds with reassurance, promising that He will not abandon His people.
This raises a question: why does the Torah, in these two cases, go out of its way to address human fear and uncertainty? Why not simply issue the command and expect obedience? Rabbi Leible Eiger (1816-1888) offers a powerful insight: even the most faithful may struggle with fear of having fear. We wonder, “If I worry, does that mean my emuna is weak?” The Torah, in its wisdom, reassures us - asking such questions doesn’t mean we lack faith. It’s a reminder not to be too hard on ourselves. As human beings, fear and uncertainty are part of the journey.
The Torah teaches that having questions, doubts, or fears doesn’t make us less faithful. On the contrary: it’s through wrestling with these struggles that our connection to G-D deepens. By acknowledging our human limitations, we open the door to a more authentic, meaningful relationship with Him.
The Torah recognizes that trust isn’t always easy, and it validates our fears. But it also reminds us: true faith means moving forward despite those fears, trusting that G-D will provide, just as He promised. When we embrace both our vulnerability and our commitment, our observance of Shemitah and all misvot becomes a living declaration of faith, strong enough to carry us through even the hardest times.