Things Don’t Have to Look a Certain Way

Lag BaOmer to Shavuos: Learning from the Torah Given in a Desert

I was standing in line to visit the Rebbe at the Ohel over Lag BaOmer, a day known to be especially auspicious for visiting the kevarim, gravesites, of holy tzaddikim.

“Reading a pan at the Ohel on Rashbi’s day of celebration,” the Rebbe writes, “has the power to break all barriers and bestow upon each individual everything they need: children, health, and livelihood, in abundance.”

On a day like this, the wait can stretch for hours. Thankfully, the staff had created an efficient system to keep the line moving quickly. The tradeoff, however, was that people could only remain by the Rebbeim for a very short time.

We waited close to an hour for barely thirty seconds.

Yet somehow, every moment by the Rebbe feels complete. Even half a minute can feel like full presence.

On the ride home, a friend wondered how effective his prayers could have been if we spent only thirty seconds in the Ohel. On quieter days, one can remain there for as long as they wish. There is even a custom to read the Maana Lashon, a collection of Tehillim and prayers

traditionally recited at a kever.

But I began thinking that perhaps the experience itself reflected the very theme of Lag

BaOmer: transcendence beyond limitations.

Maybe prayers do not always require lengthy preparation or extended concentration.

Maybe they can pierce through instantly. We stood there for mere seconds, yet on a day infused with the energy of breaking barriers, perhaps those few moments were enough.

Perhaps our prayers were heard exactly as they were, and hopefully answered for the best.

Going to the Ohel does not have to look a certain way. However you arrive that day — that is enough.

That realization — that things do not always have to look a certain way — began extending into my life more broadly.

There is an old Yiddish saying: “Lose an hour in the morning, and you will spend all day

looking for it.”

Usually, the message is clear: begin your day disorganized, and the rest of the day becomes an exhausting attempt to catch up.

But perhaps, in some contexts, even this mindset can become limiting.

What if there is no “lost hour”? What if you can wake up already aligned? What if we

reversed the saying entirely: Spend all day looking for the hour, and you’ll lose it?

Yes, routines matter. Structure matters. But there is a difference between structure and rigidity. A healthy routine should support you, not imprison you.

It is a little humbling to realize how much rigidity had quietly entered my own life. But that is often the nature of limitation: before you notice it, you begin acting from contraction rather than expansion.

My morning routine usually looked something like this: wake up, say Modeh Ani, wash negel vasser, use the restroom, wash my hands and say the morning blessings, drink water, meditate, go to the mikveh, come home, make coffee, and then head to my chavrusa.

And for a long time, it worked.

Yet even while doing all the “right” things, I still felt a subtle rigidity in my body.

By paying attention to that feeling day after day — listening without judgment — I slowly realized something: along the theme of “less is more,” perhaps my routines did not need to happen in one fixed order. Perhaps they did not need to look a certain way at all.

Maybe I could sleep a little longer and go to the mikveh after learning, before Shacharis.

Maybe I could return from the mikveh and learn first, then have coffee afterward. That

adjustment would even align better with the body’s natural cortisol rhythm and modern

health recommendations around delaying caffeine after waking.

[I once read a recommendation from Andrew Huberman suggesting that delaying caffeine for 90–120 minutes after waking may help maximize energy levels throughout the day.]

And suddenly I realized: flexibility itself can be a form of avodah (spiritual work).

The Torah was given specifically in a desert.

The Rebbe explains in a sicha from 5711 (1951) that this contains a profound lesson. A person can always claim they are not yet ready to learn Torah. They need more sleep first. A calmer mind. Better food. Better conditions. More preparation. They may even find sources to justify it all.

Only after everything is perfectly in place, they say, will they finally sit down to learn.

But the desert teaches the opposite.

A desert does not even contain water. In the desert, the Jewish people had no natural stability to rely upon. They depended entirely on Hashem. When they left Egypt, they were sustained through the merit of Moshe, Aharon, and Miriam — the manna, clouds of glory, and water.

And precisely there in the desert, in that place of uncertainty and dependence, they received the Torah.

The message is powerful: do not wait for life to become perfectly arranged before beginning what matters most. Sit down and learn. Take the step. Serve Hashem as you are, where you are.

And then trust that He will provide everything needed — physically and spiritually.

Things do not always have to look a certain way.