Where Heaven and Earth Truly Touch©
Parashat BeHukkotai
Rabbi David Baum
Have you ever met someone who has climbed to the peak of the tallest mountains in the world? They describe it as exhilarating, exhausting, breathtaking, humbling. Climbing to the top of Mount Everest is
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This week, some shocking news came from
Nepal – an eleventh climber died on Mount Everest in the last two
weeks. Christopher Kulish, age 62, climbed to the top of Everest and
joined an elite club called the Seven Summits Club, a small group of
people who have climbed to the highest point on every continent.
His brother, Mark said, “He saw his
last sunrise from the highest peak on Earth...We are heartbroken at
this news.”
So it got me thinking, what's so
special about this mountain? Mandy Moore, the actress from This Is
Us, was at Everest in these last two weeks, and she wrote the
following: “There is so much magic in these mountains. They
represent adventure in the grandest form and in a language all their
own.”
Everest is the tallest place on earth,
29,029 feet above sea level – it is the only way that one can be
grounded and also be in the heavens. There's a famous line in the
Talmud, where heaven and earth touch. I believe this is why people
want to go to the top of Everest, to see where heaven and earth
touch. It sounds beautiful, almost magical.
But the reality of Everest today is not
so beautiful.
It is described today as a 'zoo'.
Climbers are actually stepping over dead bodies as they try to reach
the top. The government of Nepal readily hands out permits
regardless of ability. Climbers complain of theft and heaps of trash
on the mountain.
The result is a crowded, unruly scene
reminiscent of “Lord of the Flies” — at 29,029 feet. At that
altitude, there is no room for error and altruism is put to the test.
Around the same time, Rizza Alee, an18-year-old climber from Kashmir, was making his way up the mountain.
He said he was stunned by how little empathy people had for those who
were struggling. “I saw some people like they had no emotions. I
asked people for water and no one gave me any. People are really
obsessed with the summit. They are ready to kill themselves for the
summit.”
Mountains are very important in the
Jewish tradition. The Holy Temple was on Har Moria, the same place
where our tradition tells us, Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac. It
was chosen because it was the highest point in Jerusalem, and in the
center of the country. But the Torah was not given there, rather, it
was given on Mount Sinai. Surely Sinai must have been taller than
Mount Moria, it must be one of these seven mountains that touch the
heavens. Indeed, Sinai is one of those places where heaven and earth
touch, but not because of its height.
The Midrash imagined a situation where
all the mountains of the world pled with God to be the mountain where
God's Torah would be given to Bnai Israel.
Each one stepped forward and declared
why they thought the Torah should be given on them. "I am the
highest mountain," said one. "No," said another, "I
am the steepest mountain and therefore the Torah should be given on
me."
One by one, they all stated their
claims. In the end, God chose Mount Sinai - not because it was the
tallest or the grandest, but because, it was the lowest mountain. The
Midrash says Sinai beat all the other mountains because it was the
most humble.
The story is told of Novardok, the
great 19th-century European yeshiva, where the students were known
for their great humility. To reach such levels, they would sit for 30
minutes each morning in the study hall, rocking back and forth,
chanting the mantra, "I am nothing, I am nothing."
One morning, a new student arrived at
the yeshiva, and upon entering the study hall, was surprised to find
hundreds of students muttering, "I am nothing." He checked
the sign outside the door to make sure he had the right place, then
figured he might as well join them. After finding an empty seat, he
began rocking back and forth, chanting, "I am nothing, I am
nothing."
Suddenly the student seated next to him
turns and says: "The nerve of you! I was here an entire year
before I was nothing!"
The word for humble in Hebrew is Anavut, and it is how Moses is described, as the most humble person on the face of the earth. Humility is the opposite of arrogance. Arrogance is that piece of us that wants to stand alone on the top of the mountain, no matter the cost. We are so obsessed with seeing ourselves on top of the world that we will literally step over dead bodies to get there.
Anavut, humility, teaches us the
opposite – you matter, but so does everyone else. The Talmud has a
wonderful teaching – if you are told to kill someone or else you
die, do you know what you are supposed to do? You are supposed to
die because, the Talmud (Sanhedrin 74a) says, is your blood redder than someone
else's? The Mishnah (Sanhedrin 4:5) tells us all of came from a single person for
the sake of peace among us so that one should not say to another, “My
father was greater than your father”.
And Moses made it to the top of the
mountain, the place where heaven and earth touched. Moses sees God
face to face, and the Torah tells us no one had a relationship to God
like Moses did.
The Everest experience involves one
person, overcoming obstacles, and standing alone on the peak of the
mountain. But that part of Everest has a nickname: the 'death zone'.
In this area, oxygen is 1/3 the normal level. Think about it –
the place where you stand on top of the world alone is nicknamed the
'death zone'.
Moses comes down the mountain to be
with the people. He knew they were letting him down, dancing around
the golden calf, and he came down any way. But as I thought more
about this idea of going down, I thought about a famous Hassidic
teaching: in order to go up, aliyah, one must go down, yeridah.
Because that is what it means to really
stand on top of the world, to stand with the people, all of them,
especially those who are at the bottom. As I reflect on this time,
as we ascend to Sinai, I cannot help but look back at high moments as
a community.
Like on Shabbat Shuvah, when Rabbi Mark Rottenberg, a
rabbi who works in recovery and is in recovery, spoke about drug and
alcohol addiction and serving the recovery community which is so
often shunned.
Or when Rabbi Claudio Kogan came to Shaarei Kodesh
and told the story of what is happening to men, women, and children
who are seeking asylum in this county on the southern border, between
Mexico and the United States. He inspired us to make Easter baskets
for the children in detention, along with collecting stuffed animals
and winter clothing. As I think about what it means to stand on top,
I actually think it is about standing on the bottom, not alone, but
with others.
Or when we sat with families when they lost loved ones, especially families who lost children this year.
As we approach the holiday of Shavuot,
we are steps away from Sinai. Like our ancestors, we wait on the
bottom of the mountain for the Torah. And perhaps that is precisely
the place we should be. Shavuot is a reminder, we cannot live on the
mountain alone – Torah is meant to be shared – Torah must be
lived in the real world, and when we observe the mitzvoth, as our
parashah says, Im Behukotai Teleichu v'et Mitzvotai Tishmoru, if you
follow God's laws and faithfully observe God's mitzvoth, we will feel
what those mountain climbers feel when they get to the top of the
mountain.
May it be God's will – Amen.
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