With Pesach dishes finally packed away and a glorious goodbye waved to the mountain of leftovers and never-ending matzah crumbs, we have all by now settled into the rhythm of counting the Omer—a 49-day practice spanning the second night of Pesach until the eve of Shavuot. This daily count marks our ancestors’ journey from Egypt’s darkness to the revelation at Sinai, and is mean to be a time for us to similarly prepare ourselves with our own impending encounters with something Divine at Shavuos. But beneath this simple ritual lies a powerful lesson about growth, readiness, and the slow work it takes to truly receive something meaningful.

Our Sages teach that the original 49-day journey that our ancestors walked—from the spiritual abyss of Mitzrayim to the transcendent moment of receiving the Torah at Sinai—wasn’t just about time passing. It was about who they were becoming with each day that passed. This was a generation still shaking off the dust of slavery, struggling to believe in their own worth, their capacity for relationship, for covenant, for closeness with something bigger than themselves.

They didn’t go straight from the murky depths of Egypt into the clarity of Torah. They stumbled their way forward. There were miracles—the splitting of the sea, the sweetening of the bitter waters, the manna falling from heaven. But there were also moments of real struggle—fights, complaints, confusion, even war. The journey was not one without its ups and downs – but they got there in the end.

And that’s what makes Sefira such a deeply relationship-oriented time of year.

Because if we’re honest, most of our relationships—romantic, platonic, familial—don’t unfold in perfect moments of clarity. They unfold in the in-between. In the messy middle. In the daily, sometimes unseen effort to become someone who knows how to connect and be connected to.

It’s tempting to crave immediacy. A spark on the first date. A deep talk that changes everything. A picture-perfect bond. But real relationships—like real freedom—aren’t born in a moment. They’re built over time. And like our ancestors in the desert, we too need a process to become people who can hold real connection, mutual respect, and the kind of love that isn’t performative, but transformative.

This isn’t just spiritual theory—it’s backed by science.

A 2020 study from Yale University found that people recovering from addiction show a disruption in their prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for decision-making. The very act of chasing instant gratification begins to rewire the brain, making it harder and harder to choose values over impulses, depth over escape. In relationships, this dynamic plays out when we prioritize short-term satisfaction over long-term emotional connection. The longer we indulge such destructive behaviors, the more difficult it becomes to trust and appreciate a genuine, deep, healthy relationship. 

But here’s the good news: the study also found that the brain begins to heal. Slowly. Quietly. The longer someone abstains from the addictive behavior —even just a day at a time—the more those damaged neural pathways begin to reconnect. One day clean, two days clean, a week, two weeks. The small daily choices begin to rebuild the self from the inside out.

That recovery journey may feel far from romantic, but in truth, it’s a profound reflection of what real relationship-building looks like. We don’t become a safe person to love overnight. We don’t magically develop the ability to listen well, to communicate with patience, to stand our ground without tearing others down.

We build it.
 One choice to respond instead of withdraw.
 One moment of apologizing instead of justifying.
 One act of kindness we weren’t in the mood for.
 One conversation where we speak truth with gentleness instead of force.

These moments rarely look dramatic. But they repattern our capacity for intimacy. They teach our hearts how to trust. They show our minds a new way of staying present. Subtly, they rewire how we love.

And just like addicts receive chips marking milestones—one week clean, one month, two months—we too mark each small victory of emotional growth during Sefira. Today is four weeks and three days. It’s the same rhythm. The same humility. The same slow, upward climb. Because real change, whether in recovery or in love, doesn’t hit like lightning. It builds like a muscle. Quietly, and then all at once.

The sacrifice that used to be brought in the Temple on Shavuot, marking the end of our 49 day sefira journey was called the “Mincha Chadasha”— literally, the “new offering”. Our Rabbis explain that it isn’t just new grain that’s being brought. It’s a new self. The one forged in the daily, steady work of becoming. 

That’s the challenge—and the promise—of the Sefira journey. Not just to count time, but to make time count.

So if you’re in the middle of a relationship, just starting one, or trying to prepare yourself for one that hasn’t arrived yet—pause for a second. Ask yourself: Who am I becoming right now? Am I a little more patient than I was a week ago? A little more grounded? A little more real?

Because love isn’t what happens when we find the right person.
It’s what happens when we keep becoming the right person—one day at a time.