Rest Is a Holy Covenant, Not a Privilege

by Mati Boulakia-Bortnick

We close Sefer Vayikra with a choice. The combined parashot of Behar and Bechukotai offer us two models of Torah – one grounded in liberation and collective care, and one rooted in behavior and punishment. And if you’re a disabled student of Torah, you’ll likely recognize both.

Parashat Behar gives us Shmita – sacred structures of rest, release, and return. Shmita is a biblical practice that instructs us to allow the land itself to rest every seven years. That even the soil - the most life-sustaining element in the world – is not expected to produce without pause. The message is clear: rest is holy. Rest is non-negotiable. Rest is built into the world the Divine creates. The message isn't, however, often well received in our communities, even today. Shabbat, another structure of sacred rest, occurring every 7 days, becomes a time to talk, to plan, to be seen as a hinderance. For those of us who are disabled, it can even be more exhausting. We'll come back to that.

Our parasha also discusses the Yovel, another sacred rest practice that takes place every fifty years, bringing that vision of rest even deeper. The entire economic system is reset. Land is returned. Debts are forgiven. Enslaved people are freed. And none of this is presented as optional. Our Torah doesn’t say, “Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone had a break?” It says: this is what justice looks like. This is what it means to live in covenant. This is the Divine. Not endless work, but sacred interruption. Not hoarding, but redistribution. Not punishment, but restoration.

For those of us living as disabled bodyminds – especially in capitalist, ableist, settler-colonial systems – this is not just ancient agricultural policy. This is everything. Because we live in a world where our worth is measured by our ability to produce. Where our value is tied to how much we can give others – emotionally, physically, professionally – and how quietly we can do it. Where rest is never granted without guilt. Where access needs are treated like personal failures. Where systems reward those who can pass and punish those who can’t.

Parashat Behar offers a radical theology in the face of productivism.

STOP. You are not a machine. You are not built to function endlessly. You do not need to be fixed to be holy. You do not need to mask or shrink or strive to earn rest. The land rests because the land is alive. You rest because you are alive.

Disabled people are part of creation. Our bodyminds – with all their brilliance and unpredictability – are not deviations from the sacred. They are the sacred.

We are not just made b’tzelem Elohim – in the image of the Divine. The Divine is also in our image. A God who holds grief and rupture. A God who knows limitation. A God who says: I will be who I will be – and that means change, contradiction, difference, becoming. A God who stops.

Shmita is not just about agriculture. It is about sacred boundaries. It is about knowing when to say: enough. It is about recognizing when a body, a system, a people, need to be let alone. Not pushed. Not optimized. Not extracted. Left alone to lie fallow. To recover. To be.

And then we roll the scroll to Parashat Bechukotai.

Parashat Bechukotai opens with what sounds like a forced deal: obey the mitzvot, and you’ll be safe, prosperous, protected. Disobey, even a little bit, and you’ll suffer. It’s a theology many disabled people have encountered, whether explicitly or in subtler forms. Do the right things, look the right way, say the right words – and maybe you’ll be accepted. Maybe you’ll be given a seat at the table. Maybe they’ll believe you.

This is the theology of behavior charts. Of compliance-based education. Of punitive welfare systems. Of systems that say rest is a reward you get after proving you deserve it – not a condition for life itself.

And I know this theology all too well.

I grew up autistic in a world that didn’t know what to do with autistic children except try to make us less visibly autistic. I was put through ABA – Applied Behavior Analysis – which taught me that being accepted meant being compliant. That if I could learn to suppress the parts of myself that made others uncomfortable, I’d be rewarded with approval. With belonging. With access.

But there was a cost. A deep, invisible cost. ABA didn’t teach me how to thrive – it taught me how to perform. It taught me that love and safety came when I masked, when I withheld, when I edited and reshaped myself into something that made others feel more at ease. I internalized that if I didn’t follow the rules – their rules – I would be excluded.

That kind of theology does damage. Torah is the last place where this should be promoted. Our spiritual communities should reject such ideas. Yet, they do not.

So many autistic and disabled people I work with are still carrying that weight. Still negotiating for the minimum – for basic care, for housing, for rest, for love – by proving how well they can suppress their pain, their movement, their needs. They are still trapped in the logic of Parashat Bechukotai – coerced into performance just to survive. Living under ultimatum after ultimatum.

But Torah, for me, is not about threats. Torah is about care.

And Parashat Bechukotai – even with all its curses – knows that too. Because after all the punishments, the Torah says: Vezacharti et briti. I will remember My covenant. Even when you’re in exile. Even when it looks like you’ve failed. Even when you don’t perform. You are not abandoned.

This is the Torah I need.

The Torah that says the covenant doesn’t depend on performance. The Torah that says I am not less holy when I need to stop. The Torah that doesn’t punish me for my body, but honors the truths it tells.

We live in bodies and minds that resist the rhythms of empire. We experience time, energy, and presence differently. We need different kinds of space. We need rest – not to return to productivity, but because we deserve lives that are livable.

The concept of Shmita teaches us that our bodies are not broken for needing rest. Our need is holy. The Yovel teaches us that justice is not an individual struggle – it’s a collective realignment. And Parashat Bechukotai teaches us that no matter what you’ve been taught, the Divine doesn’t walk away from you when you fall out of step. 

The world will try to tell us otherwise. That we are the problem. That our needs are too much. That we have to change ourselves so others can stay comfortable.

But this Torah says no. It says we are already enough. We are already holy. Not in spite of our disabilities – but in, through, and because of them.

We do not need to bend ourselves into a shape that makes others feel at ease. We do not need to explain our rest or justify our needs. We are part of a sacred cycle that includes stopping. Lying fallow. Being released.

Not only are we made in the Divine’s image, but the Divine looks like us.

Mati (he/they) is a student rabbi at the École Rabbinique de Paris and the Educational and Peer Support Director of the Jewish Autism Network. An autistic and multi-disabled educator, peer-support coach, and activist, Mati leads inclusive Jewish learning spaces, supports thousands of autistic humans through peer-led programs, and consults on disability justice and accessibility across Europe and North America. He is the spiritual director of La Shul, a disability and neuro-affirming Neo-Hasidic community, serves on the Board of Directors of SVARA, and is co-editor of the forthcoming Neurodivergent Torah (Ben Yehuda Press, 2026).