Mountain Climbing

Mountains can be appreciated from various angles, levels and vistas.

The daring sport started in 1760 when Horace Benedict of Genoa offered prize money for the first person to reach the summit of Mount Blanc, Europe's tallest peak at 15,777 feet.

Today’s bumper stickers boast scaling Mt. McKinley, North America’s highest, while climbers thrill to the diverse climes of Africa’s Mt. Kilimanjaro.

All are awed by Everest’s 29,000 foot monument to Divine Creation, and Jews actually say a special blessing when beholding majestic mountains.

JEWISH MOUNTAINEERS
Though physically small, Judaism’s tallest spiritual mountain is Sinai, where we received Ten Commandments, highpoint of our current Shavuoth holiday.

Today we can access Sinai in any kind of weather, any time of the year, even if we are geographically thousands of miles away. In fact, those who “ascend the L-rd’s mountain” (Psalms 24) require no sticks, spikes or rope, and can climb with their eyes closed! But we surely need guts and stamina for the massive uphill struggle.

While hardly a mountain, Sinai takes us even higher than Everest. The Midrash says that little Mt. Sinai was chosen over much taller mountains because its diminutive size represents humility. But if humility is a virtue, why a mountain? Wouldn’t a flat plain or a valley express humility even better?

Chabad’s Rabbi Shneur Zalman explains: The problem with a valley is that it can denote low self esteem. It’s no Mitzvah to become a doormat and be stepped all over. We must stand tall and be proud of our beautiful heritage and tradition. Humility’s virtue should be balanced and complemented with strength of conviction. So the mountain of choice was modest Mount Sinai, a mountain of humility Rebbe Simcha Bunim of Pshischa (19th century Europe) would carry along two slips of paper with seemingly contradictory messages—one with the Talmudic statement “The entire world was created just for me” (Sanh. 38a), while the other quoted Abraham, “I am but dust and ashes” (Gen. 18:27). The higher we rise spiritually, the more we recognize our limitations, vulnerability and mortality, for only G-d is eternal.

Once you top Everest—it's done; what’s left but to figure out how to get back down? But Sinai’s pursuit is eternal, because the higher we rise, the further we are inspired to climb.

We all have our ups and downs, but we must strive to go from strength to strength. Marking time on the same level leads to downward decline. If we don’t maintain momentum, we risk losing our footing and may fall backward down the slippery slope.

Let’s take it from the top, with this free translation of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s words:

“People mistakenly think that ‘only great leaders can save the world.’ Actually, each and every person can raise us all higher with his or her individual prayer and Mitzvah deeds. In these extraordinary times, even a weaker person carries muster to say “I am strong!”

A climber rallies all his strength as he nears the summit. At that point, even a small twig, crag or crevice to grasp, by hand or foot, is precious. Any Mitzvah we hold onto is critical for the last boost of energy that gets us over the top.

As we enter the homestretch of the long awaited era of Moshiach and the final Redemption, we should treasure and appreciate every Mitzvah and ray of light, studying Torah ourselves and sharing it with others.

There is a tendency to become exhausted, tired and weary right before the break of dawn, so let’s not “sleep through” this most auspicious time.

Let’s encourage each other: “Dear brother, don’t succumb before the upcoming Light of Day!”