Leviticus 25:4

וּבַשָּׁנָ֣ה הַשְּׁבִיעִ֗ת שַׁבַּ֤ת שַׁבָּתוֹן֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהֹוָ֑ה שָֽׂדְךָ֙ לֹ֣א תִזְרָ֔ע וְכַרְמְךָ֖ לֹ֥א תִזְמֹֽר׃

But in the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath of complete rest, a sabbath of the Lord. You shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard.

According to the Torah, the land of Israel is worked for six years, and rests on the seventh. There are of course tangible benefits to this. Letting land lie fallow returns the soil back to its natural balance of nutrients. Had the field been overworked, its growth would not be plentiful, the produce less hearty, and ultimately nothing could be grown because of the depletion of the soil’s nutrients.

Like the land, we too have a Shabbat rest, not every seven years but every seven days. Though lacking soil, we know what it feels like to be off balance. When we don’t give ourselves a day to rest, what happens? Like the land, the products of our hands become less plentiful, they become depleted of substance, and ultimately we burn out.

It is a mystery that both we and the land were created in such a way where rest is required. We might reasonably wonder why creation is organized in such a way where we can’t just push and push without stopping. In Judaism that mystery is sanctified through Shabbat. To rest is a physical necessity. To rest on Shabbat connects us to the land resting in the seventh year. To rest on Shabbat connects us to the mystery of rest expressed through God’s resting on the seventh day.

Our bodies need rest to reset. The earth needs rest for her soil to reclaim its balance of nutrients. When we rest on Shabbat we connect our rest to all creation. Our bodies receive the means to reset, and our souls find repose in connecting to something much greater.