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FROM THE MOUNTAIN September 2000 by Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon "I lift up my eyes to the mountains From where will my help come? My help comes from God, Maker of heaven and earth." - Psalm 121 I am sitting in a huge, wooden rocking chair in the mountains of western North Carolina, a couple of hundred yards from the magnificence of the Blue Ridge Parkway, close to the Appalachian Trail. A fine, cool mist is burning off of Mt. Mitchell, revealing the variegated greens of the highest peak in America east of the Rockies. The rich forest foliage below the balcony is still wet from an overnight storm, dripping gently on ferns, mosses, and wildflowers. As the air clears, mountains appear behind mountains, songbirds regain their voices, and black butterflies and huge green luna moths float past, adding a randomly aesthetic touch to the idyllic scene. The air is rich with life. There is a peace and beauty to these mountains that is absolutely unique, a serenity that one finds in few places. But mountains always have spoken to the hearts of our people, from Sinai to Zion; mountains still do, whether we live among the Judean hills or in the foothills of the Catalinas. Something about the process of ascending a height, climbing toward Jerusalem in the practical or the metaphoric, raises us spiritually as well. When we climb up we seem to be able to come closer to God. We are fortunate here in Tucson, blessed with magnificent mountains that rise far higher than anything in either the Appalachians or in Israel, stark, rugged, majestic peaks. Even in our arid climate, they too flourish with life, literally rising to become islands in the sky. In an afternoon we can hike upwards a few thousand feet and literally rise to a new place, inside and out. But if we lived in the mountains all the time we would lose the ability to appreciate these gifts they give us. We would remember the flatlands fondly, come to crave the low and ordinary. Only when we are actively climbing, or at least recently risen, can we experience this lift in our hearts and minds. I think about the High Holidays in this way. For a brief period of time, from Selichot through Yom Kippur, we have the opportunity to ascend to a new height, a new place, to see our lives-and our world-from above. Each of us has the chance to look inward-and, in doing so, to rise upward. By praying, studying, and challenging ourselves to move to that higher level we become more than we were, see more of the beauty and holiness in life, seek the best that is within us, touch just a bit of God. We know in advance that we will not be able to stay on that religious peak. But in this coming season of the yamim nora'im, in this New Year, we have a precious possibility: to rise to the best that is within us, and so come closer to God. And that would be the greatest gift we could give to our temple, our community, our families, and ourselves. May you be blessed with just this sort of ascent in the coming Days of Awe. Rhody, Boaz, and Gabriel join me in wishing you and yours a Shanah Tovah umetukah, a year of goodness and sweetness. From the September 2000 Temple Times |
