Rabbi Mendy Herson's Blog

Several years ago, I spoke with a local friend as we were walking out of Yom Kippur services. Knowing that he had expressed reluctance to attend the services, I asked him how the day had gone.
He looked at me tentatively and asked "Am I allowed to say I enjoyed it?"
I can see why some people think of the High Holidays as rather glum.
Spending hours in synagogue is only the beginning.
The days' theme focuses on acknowledging our responsibility to G-d and each other; there’s also an impossible-to-miss emphasis on "atonement", which entails a process of identifying and facing our mistakes.

How uplifting can all that be?
Interestingly, Chabad tradition describes a joyous enthusiasm that needs to permeate this time of year, up to and including these self-reflective, internally-scrutinous, High Holiday experiences.

Why and how?

The central answer to this question lies in another question: Does it really matter? Does it truly matter whether I’m respecting and strengthening my relationships with my G-d, my community, my family and myself? In fact, do I and my life – in relation to the cosmos - matter at all?

With that attitude, my High Holidays are likely to be a drag.

But it’s not my attitude.

Judaism tells us that our actions, each and every behavioral choice throughout the day, are very precious to G-d.

They matter.

Because WE matter.

Our daily thoughts, words and action matter deeply to G-d; they rank so high on His “priority scale” that they are, to use the Rebbe’s expression: “Higher, Higher, and even Higher, to the extent that nothing else is Higher.”

Think about it in terms of a parent’s connection to a child. When something is happening that strikes at the heart of the relationship, there is nothing more important.

Nothing.

Nothing is more important to G-d than you and your life.

Every move, every moment, is critically important; because every move and every moment speaks to the core of our special relationship.

So this time of year presents an exciting opportunity. It’s a time to re-visit and strengthen our unbreakable, intimate connection with the Divine.

And if it hurts to see that the relationship is in need of some repair, so what?

Isn’t fixing a cherished relationship something to celebrate?

High-minded thinking doesn’t come easy.

As human beings, our psychological default position is self-interest. From the moment we awake in the morning, we see the world through the lens of "I"; my desires, fears, and challenges.

That's point A.

Consider point B to be a place of other-centeredness, transcendence of the instinctive "I" and connectedness with the Divine.

Hence life's central question: How do we move from point A to point B? How do we elevate our lives?

Jewish thought tells us that G-d gives us a ladder – prayer – through which we can transition to a better place.

And the climb begins from the day’s first flicker of consciousness. When we first open our eyes in the morning, as we begin to adjust our senses to the world around us, we take a moment to offer a brief prayer: “I offer thanks to You, living and eternal King, for You have mercifully restored my soul within me; great is Your trustworthiness.”

So, even before we sit up in bed, we bring to mind a sense of gratitude for the blessing of a new day, irrespective of what lies ahead.

But beyond thanks, this prayer is about acknowledgment.

When one recites this prayer, one recognizes that life is a gift from G-d, and that the day ahead needs to be aligned with G-d’s intent in granting us this day.

When I recite the prayer, I am acknowledging that my day needs to be guided by a consistent barometer: How does G-d want me to act/respond/choose?

Now, when I first wake up in the morning, I’m not in an intellectual place; I don’t say this prayer with theological gravitas.

I say it because I believe it. And faith isn’t a matter of intellectual complexity, it’s a matter of spiritual purity; it comes from “the child within.”

So every morning, this acknowledgment of G-d’s presence in my life is an initial mini-step on the ladder of transcendence.

We have just entered the month of Elul, when we search for connectedness in advance of the High Holidays.

Step one lies in the recognition, the acknowledgement, that the world doesn’t revolve around me, but around my Divine Purpose. Recognizing that I’m here for a reason, that I need Something Higher in my life, and that my soul yearns for It.

In Scriptural words: “I am to my Beloved….”

And so the climb begins…..

Life is about relationships.

Meaningful heart/soul connections (with self, family, community, etc) are the skeleton upon which we lay the healthy flesh of a meaningful life
And our relationships - unique as they each may be - have some shared characteristics. For example, all healthy relationships have an element of safety. I don't mean physical safety; I'm speaking about psychological and emotional security, the sense that you know where you stand, and that you can (figuratively) exhale.

That “sense of safety” can turn on subtle factors. When you walk into a room and meet someone's eyes, the initial flicker of recognition – or its absence - can tell you whether it’s a good time for conversation. If you’re sensitive, you can usually sense where "it's safe to tread.”

A relationship with G-d follows the same model.  Safety is key.
And for some people it isn't easy. Sometimes it's difficult to feel close and secure. It may not be easy to feel a confidence that if we raise our eyes to meet G-d's, we’ll be met with a welcoming glance.

Which is why we need Elul.

What’s Elul?

Elul is the month which leads us into the High Holidays. The Holidays are a time of emotional intensity, an opportunity to deepen our relationships with ourselves and the Divine.

But for that we need preparation; we need the Elul warm-up.

Chassidic thought describes Elul with the depiction of a loving king who leaves his chambers’ glamour, entering the field so that he might meet his subjects on their own turf.

Why would he do that?

Because he wants his subject to feel safe forming a real relationship; so they need to feel his desire for a connection with them, even as they are. They need to feel that he’s ready for their eyes to meet his.  

Because when they do meet his eyes, they’ll get the message they need: We – you and I - have a relationship. In order to strengthen that relationship, we – you and I - need to acknowledge its weaknesses; and that’s okay, because we’re in a safe relationship.

This coming Monday evening (8/9), we enter the month of Elul. It’s a special month.

Please take this opportunity to pull your gaze from life’s distractions, so that you can meet G-d’s eyes; I know He’s looking your way.

Between 1813 and 1915, Chabad Chassidim lived in the town of
Lubavitch, in what was then called 'White Russia'.
Despite the Czars' anti-semitism, the Jews' societal
disenfranchisement and the pervasive poverty, the Chabad community
developed a very sturdy spiritual world.
Lubavitch probably looked needy from the outside, but it was firmly
secure on the inside.
These people were firmly in touch with themselves, with destiny and
their place in the world.
Lubavitch had a spiritually idyllic soul, housed in an uncomfortable
body (material situation).
This spiritually-grounded community was rudely jolted by the physical
dangers of World War I, followed by the ruthless cruelty of the
Bolshevik revolution.
In 1915, the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom Dovber, felt that
the community needed to protect itself by moving away from the War's
front lines. They sadly uprooted themselves from their beloved home
town and moved to Rostov, on the Don river (within days of their move,
the Rebbe's house in Lubavitch burned to the ground).
Despite their extreme poverty, they managed to buy a small compound.
This had barely enough space to house the Rebbe's family, a synagogue
and the Yeshiva (an academy of Higher Learning which the Rebbe had
founded and was very dear to his heart), called Tomchei Temimim.
They began to settle in. But not for long.
In early 1920, the Bolsheviks captured Rostov. Any gatherings of three
or more people needed a special permit and they began to cruelly
persecute the Jewish community.
As I was growing up, my father would tell me how the ailing Rebbe
defied the Bolsheviks by holding a public Purim feast that year. He
sat with his community in serenity and joy, as the Bolsheviks - who
had burst into his home by force - watched in awe, and ultimately took
heel to leave these Chassidim alone.
The Rebbe, who had devoted his life to expounding the depth of Torah
thought, to teaching and guiding his people, soon passed away; a few
weeks after Purim in 1920.
On the second of Nissan, he peacefully returned his soul to his Maker
as he lay in his study (Kabinet in Russian).
In his final moments he said "I'm going to Heaven, and I leave you my
writings. Take me (my writings) into the Study Hall and we will be
together".
This past Shabbat, I prayed in that Kabinet. I immersed myself in the
Rebbe's Mikvah (ritualarium), slept in the Rebbe's compound, and
immersed myself in the Rebbe's writings.
I also visited the Rebbe's grave on Friday and Sunday mornings;
because the Rebbe's soul still pulsates in the world, wherever we let
it in, and I wanted a frontal embrace at his gravesite.

I had an inspiring taste of Rostov, which is ultimately a revealing
insight into Chabad's soul, so I thought I'd share....

On Thursday, I visited the town of Lubavitch, the seat - the 'Capital'
- of Chabad Chassidism for 102 years, and home the Lubavitcher Rebbes
of those times.
I grew up with many stories of events, challenges and triumphs of the
Lubavitch community in Russia, and this little village was at the
epicenter of those stories and lessons.
It's small in size. At the same, it, in many ways, represents my
spiritual lifeblood.
While the village is very rundown and has no Jews, the fall of the
Iron Curtain has allowed for the construction of a new Chabad Center,
which is a hospitality center and serves as a testament to the town's
important history. The center has a wall with [as many] pictures [as
can be found] of the students who studied there from 1897, when the
Lubavitch Yeshiva - known as Tomchei Temimim - was founded.
But that's not why I went. I walked the fields, knowing that I was
following the tracks of spiritual giants, titans of true authenticity,
perpetual seekers of Divine unity.
We visited the graves of the two Lubavitcher Rebbes who are buried
there: Rabbi Menachem Mendel, known as the Tzemach Tzedek (passed away
1866) and his son Rabbi Shmuel, known as the Rebbe Maharash (passed
away in 1882).
To visit these graves was to embrace the spirit which they bequeathed
to the world, which is a sense of devotion to G-d, to Holiness and to
humanity.
The Rebbes' spirit and mission needs to live and reverberate in
Basking Ridge and Central NJ.
It does already. But we're not done.

Last Thursday, we visited the town of Liozna. A small city, it was
home to Rabbi Schneur Zalman, founder of Chabad, and the city in which
he developed Chabad Chassidic thought.There are presently no Jews in
the town (as far as we can tell). But, before World War 2, that wasn't
the case.The town's Mayoress approached us to convey her awareness and
respect for Liozna's special place in Chassidic history (she added
that Marc Chagall used to live there too!).She seemed so conversant
with 'Chassidic Geography' that I asked her if she herself was Jewish.
She smiled and said: "Probably! My family is here for generations andd
the village population used to be overwhelminlgy Jewish, so maybe a
grandmother!"While Rabbi Schneur Zalman himself is buried in the town
of Haditch, his daughter - known as Rebbetzin Devorah Leah (d.) - was
buried in Liozna. She is famous in Chabad literature as a woman of
deep spiritual insight and great self-sacrifice.Our visit to her
gravesiter wasn't about history. It came from a deep-seated, personal
desire to connect with someone I admire and respect. Her soul
continues to exist, and I feel honored to have brought her into my
life to the extent I did.

More coming up....

I feel very fortunate: A dear childhood friend has gifted me with a
joint, weeklong pilgrimage to Eastern Europe; it's a journey to Holy
Sites, primarily praying at the resting places of reknowned Chassidic
Masters.
Now, I know that sincere prayer can be effective anywhere, even in
one's living room; we're never out of G-d's 'earshot'.
So why am I here in Rostov, Russia as I write these words?

Effective Prayer is a bit of an art form. To find a sense of
self-awareness, and the connection of self with the Divine, one needs
to cut through one's internal static, the sense of distractedness and
self-absorption that comes with life.
In order to truly pray, you need to get into a 'zone', and that's not
as easy as it sounds.
While Jewish Law advances the synagogue and prayer group (Minyan) as
our prescribed - effective - setting for Prayer, our Sages also
suggest that periodic visits to a cemetery are advisable.
Why?
A. A cemetery - with its clear message of human mortaility - is
conducive to a sober, self-reflective attitude.It helps dispel the
trivialities which cloud the mind and allow for crystallization of
life's priorities.
B.This sense of focus is often amplified when one is visiting the
gravesite of a person with whom one has/d a deep relationship.
Revisiting the relationship, or perhaps the last interactions the two
of you had while he/she was physically alive, This poignant,
emotionally sensitive state of mind can be a helpful setting for
proper prayer.
C.Practically speaking, different venues have varying effects on prayer.
One can certainly pray while sitting in the stands at a Yankee game,
but it's not a setting that's conducive to contemplation and
introspection.
On the other hand, standing at the Grand Canyon would seem to present
a much more contemplative ambience.
Praying at the grave of a person who lived a committed, purposeful and
inspiring (Holy!)life sets a tone, and its a tone which is helpful for
prayer.
D.Looking at the practical metaphysics of prayer, Torah thought
teaches that some places have better "reception" for our
communications with the Divine.
To use a rather pedestrian example: We all know what it means to find
the right spot for clear cellular communiication.Some places are
obviously better than others.
Similarly, our Sages speak of"conducive" places for prayer. There are
areas - the Western Wall for example - where the 'air' is less
'polluted' and allows for prayers to rise to the Divine.
The gravesite of a Holy person is just such a place.The spiritual
vibes which emanate from a Holy person - and his/her resting place -
create a "spiritual clearing" from which our sentiments are better
able to ascend to more rarefied realms and find their 'mark'.
E.During the course of human life, a persons's soul is contained
within the body. After passing, the soul's transcendentlevels ascend
to higher planes, but the soul's interactive dimension, its interface
with the human world, continunes to resonate in the world s/he "left
behind".
That is why Talmudic literature describes a righteous person's death
as "s/he left life to the living", meaning that s/he has left life -
spirituality, faith, love etc, - to REMAIN within the acessibility of
those who remain living on a physical plane.
In this sense, it is specifically AFTER the person's physical passing
that the greatest accessibllity is manifest. While the person was
alive, we had access to him/her through their speech and actions,
which were limited by the scope of his/her body, ability to
communicate etc. Now, his/her spiritual life is acessible to anyone
and at any time.
The only proviso is that I/we express a genuine desire to connect with
that soul.
And the Kabbalah teaches that our most effective point of interface is
at the deceased's gravesite.

More on this and on the specific points on the itinerary on the blog.

I will (G-d willing) be in Eastern Europe, on a weeklong pilgrimage through Russia, Ukraine and Kazakhstan (I'm typing this on my Blackberry as I wait for my flight).
I use the word "pilgrimage" because it's the only single word I can come up with. I actually think a  phrase would describe it better: I'm on a "journey of connecting with my spiritual roots, my G-d and myself".
Why the trip?
Lots of people - myself included - go to Israel to visit the Kotel (the Western Wall).
Why are we paying homage to the retaining wall of a building (albeit the Holy Temple) that was destroyed 2000 years ago? Is it purely a function of connecting with our history?
Not for me. When I - and many others - visit the Kotel its because I know that its essence, its spiritual vibrancy, continues to resonate as it did thousands of years ago.
The Babylonians and the Romans were able to destroy a physical building, but they couldn't reach its soul. The body/building went down in flames, but its spiritual power continues to resonate.
So a 'pilgrimage' to the Kotel isn't [just] about our history, it's very much about our present. It's about finding a connectedness and balance, about "plugging in" to find energy and "spiritual current" TODAY, and for the future.
In a similar vein, I frequently visit the Rebbe's grave (known as "the Ohel")in Queens. When I go, it's with several age-old Judaic axioms in mind:
1. The righteous are called "living" even after their passing. Their lives are ones of spiritual connectedness with G-d and their people; that doesn't die.
2. The righteous are engaged and effective in the physical world even after their passing; actually, their presence is to an even greater extent once divested of the body.
So when I go to visit the Rebbe, it isn't to take a nostalgic trip down memory lane. I go to bare my soul, and to feel the empowering embrace that I know is there.
Over the next week, I'll be visiting the gravesites of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (founder of the Chassidic movement), his successor Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch and the first five Chabad Rebbes (the Rebbe and his predecessor/father-in-law are buried side by side in Queens).
It's about digging deeper into my soul.
Jewish spirituality describes each of our lives as a garden at the base of a mountain, with G-d's blessing and presence represented by the stream of water that flows down the mountain to water the garden.
In that imagery, our righteous ancestors and leaders guide and facilitate the flow.
So, to me, the Rebbe is the mouth of the stream which waters my garden, and - to take the analogy further - I'm taking a week to climb my mountain to connect more deeply with my stream.

I'll be posting updateskeep touch through my blog; please do the same!

Rabbi Mendy

What does it mean to be visionary, to have a vision for your life and pursuits?

In a basic sense, this means conceptualizing goals and objectives; it means considering future potential and focusing on a target for growth. It means recognizing that “now” isn’t all that there is.

“Now” – disconnected from the future and its possibilities – can be stale and aimless.

“Now” is our reality; but vision can breathe commitment, animation and hope into that reality.

Vision brings optimism and direction; it is the dream, but it should also be the pro-active inspiration driving us to bring dreams to life.

The problem is that, with the passage of time, it becomes more difficult for the realistic person to continue dreaming. Disappointments eventually take their toll on the human psyche.

Which raises the question: When does one learn to adjust one’s expectations and recognize that that dreams are……just dreams?

Never.

While we should always be acutely aware of reality, warts and all, we can never stop believing in – and working toward – a brighter future.

Consider this: Our Holy Temple, along with our entire Jewish Commonwealth, was destroyed by the Romans almost two thousand years ago.

It’s been rough ever since, and we’re fully aware of our reality. Every year, on Tisha B’Av, the 9th of Av (this year corresponding to Tuesday, July 20), we mournfully remember the destruction and recognize the pain of our own times.

Yet, interestingly, the preceding Shabbat is always marked? celebrated? observed? as a “Shabbat of Vision.”

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, an eighteenth century legendary Chassidic master, explained that every year on the Shabbat before our collective day of mourning, G-d shows us a Vision of the Future. We are shown a vision of a rebuilt Temple, a reconstituted People and better world. 

G-d equips us for the mourning by ensuring that hope – the Vision – never dies; this Shabbat exercise ensures that our sobering recognition of “now” doesn’t smother our hope for the future.

I can’t see this Divinely-granted vision with my physical eyes; but if G-d’s showing it to me, it must be resonating somewhere in my soul.

So this Shabbat, I’ll prepare to tackle reality on Tisha B’Av by first searching myself to find G-d’s vision of a beautiful future.

Will you join me?

My life seems to flow like sand granules in an hourglass; time went slowly at first, but the pace has really picked up.

Why does time seem to fly by as we grow older?
As a child, summer camp felt like an eternity of fun. Now, the beginning of camp signals that Rosh Hashana is around the corner.

Our context of time changes as we mature.
But why?

Is it purely a function of biological age?

A shift in perspective?

Probably both.

Children are regularly experiencing new phenomena.

Watch a child’s wonder at observing an ant, the moon or a river.

 A child’s life is a string of exciting adventures, and they naturally capture his/her full curiosity and engagement.

Contrast that with the “normal” adult experience.

We aspire to stable relationships, jobs etc. The inevitable result is a lot of repetition. We’re no longer experiencing the stream of new curiosities; we’re usually doing things which we've done countless times before.

And repetition generates less engagement; we don’t need to lead life on all cylinders, so the “auto-pilot effect” can kick in.  

For example: I've noticed that when I am finding my way - sans GPS - to a new location, my trip home seems quicker than the my original journey.

I think it’s because I am thoroughly engaged – all synapses firing - during my initial trip into unknown territory, engrossed in my directions, every street sign, traffic patterns.

On the way back, or on a return trip, I can drive on semi auto-pilot - listening to music, conversing (hands-free of course) with others or lost in my own thoughts.

 When a day is filled with discovery, every moment is an experience; so a day is truly a FULL (experience-filled) day. It thus takes up more space in my life.
Conversely, a day that's basically a 'repeat' tends to quickly fade into the background; it’s more likely fade into the blur of my past.

Interestingly, the Torah describes the aged Abraham as being “elderly, coming into his days”.

The Rebbe explained the second (unusual) adjective as meaning that Abraham internally experienced every single day.

Abraham experienced no blur. Every day was a gift from the Divine, full of opportunities for strengthening his moral character, his relationships, his soul.

There was full appreciation for – and wholesome engagement with - the now, so his hours and days remained in full color.
 

Abraham never had to ask Sarah: “Where have the years gone?”
 

Make this hour an Abraham hour.

It was a poignant moment between father and son, between leader and leader-to-be.
It was a summer day in 1895, and [Rabbi] Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, who would eventually be the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, was commemorating his fifteenth birthday.
His father, the Rebbe, took him to visit the gravesites of his [grand] father and [great]grandfather.
Stepping into the site’s small synagogue, the Rebbe approached the Holy Ark, opened its doors, and spoke (borrowing imagery of the famous Biblical episode (Genesis ch. 22) which depicts Abraham’s binding of Isaac):"I am bringing my son [Yosef Yitzchak] today for his 'Binding'……Abraham bound Isaac tightly so that there might be no imperfection [in the process]; I, too, want this (my son's) Binding to be appropriate and effective."
[Author’s explanation: Abraham secured Isaac in his Monotheistic tradition and in a relationship with the Divine. The Rebbe was securing his teenage son in a relationship with his family heritage and Divine destiny]
The Rebbe then went on to speak about commitment to doing the right thing, irrespective of how one feels at a given moment.
The Rebbe pointed to Scripture’s expression of “girding [one’s] hips with strength”.
Our bodies have some higher-functioning organs, like the brain and the heart, and then some organs with a less complex character, like the hips/legs. Reasoning and feeling (brain and heart) are higher-order functions, while getting from place to place is more pedestrian.
Yet the legs are the body’s foundation. The brain and heart are fundamental to our function, but they stand on the firm support of legs.
The legs symbolize our concrete behavior. Understanding and appreciating the beauty of our actions is a critical spice to life; but life’s foundation is our actions.
Commitment to principled behavior is the foundation of a meaningful life.
Naturally, we prefer to fully appreciate the reason for an action before we undertake it; we want to feel inspired and emotionally connected.
But we can’t postpone positive behavior while we wait for our higher faculties to kick in. We need to act.
How can we persevere with proper conduct, if we haven't yet found the inspiration?
By "girding our hips with strength," i.e. by finding the internal strength for total commitment to the heritage of our ancestors.
The commitment/action itself will serve as the trigger that activates our ability to appreciate.
That’s how a Rebbe framed his covenant with his son:  Faith and unwavering devotion to values are the base, the legs, of the healthy human being.
It’s a covenant the Torah forges with us all.


[This episode took place on Thursday, the 12th day of Tammuz, in 1895. Today is Thursday, the 12th of Tammuz, exactly 105 years later.
Even timeless words can find special resonance through the lens of time. Today is a day with a special gift of commitment; the energy is there, the rest is up to us]

Have you ever been inspired?

Maybe something struck a chord as you listened to a speech or witnessed a special moment; perhaps you were hit ‘out of the blue’ by a high-minded thought.

The experience can be exhilarating.

But inspiration, in and of itself, doesn’t effect change.

Inspiration, even when granted by G-d, is basically a flash-in-the-pan experience, until it prompts the critical step of actually making something outof that special sentiment. Unless my world actually changes, an uplifting thought is just that; it’s a fleeting high, not a substantive re-alignment of my life, attitude, etc.

I think we instinctively feel this.

G-d designed us to truly appreciate, to own, something when we accomplish it with our internally-generated efforts. It’s when we see our actions bear fruit that life’s real beauty kicks in.

Gifts are nice, but they’re not where genuine meaning is found.

When we’re pro-active and change the status quo; that’s a true accomplishment. When we take what G-d has given us, when we take life’s gifts and expand their natural boundaries through our own sweat, then, in the Talmud’s words, we have become “Partners with G-d in the work of Creation.”

To use imagery from this week’s Torah portion:

Scripture tells us that “the soul of man is G-d’s flame”; we are each an individual flame, kindled by G-d to illuminate our lives.

When the Holy Temple’s Menorah was kindled, the wicks needed to be lit so that each flame would [in the Torah’s words] “blaze upward of its own accord”.

In other words: Sometimes you light a flame and it doesn’t seem to have its own “legs”; it needs to be nurtured, maybe you need to tilt the candle a bit, etc. That kind of flame didn’t suffice for the Menorah. It needed to have its own strength.

For a flame to be worthy of the Menorah, for a flame to be capable of truly illuminating the world, it needed to have some character of its own.

In a similar sense: We are thankful to G-d for touching the “match to our wick” and giving us the flame of life. But now it’s time for our inner fire to rise, to blaze forth, on its own energy.

We can’t just be satisfied with what G-d has given us, we need to dig within ourselves to find our inner fuel, to make our flame glow bright and strong.

That takes effort.

But it makes life a much brighter experience.

 When I was young, I heard a witticism about a child who asks a professional athlete for directions:

“How do I get to the ballpark?” the kid asks.

The sports star responds: “Practice!”

Mount Sinai.

It’s where G-d gave us the Torah.

But it’s more than a spot in the wilderness.

It’s a concept.

Mount Sinai represents our interface with the Divine, and our embrace of humanity’s challenge to live truly meaningful lives.

Mount Sinai is a big deal.

That makes tomorrow, Friday, a big day.

It will be the 3322nd anniversary of the Jews’ arrival at Sinai, just over six weeks after they left their slavery in Egypt.

They’d made it.

But it wasn’t easy “getting to the ballpark”.

In anticipation of Sinai, the Jews had spent weeks searching themselves and their behaviors, finding their best selves and reshaping their perspectives on life.

But, as they approached that sacred ground, they needed the strength for a step beyond the intellectual, emotional and spiritual exercises they’d undergone.

They needed to ACT, delivering – in real life - on their commitments.

Introspection is strenuous, and it’s not easy to acknowledge one’s weaknesses. But the real challenge lies in making concrete changes.

Contemplation is great, but we find life’s greatest meaning in action.

The Torah tells us that the Jews left Egypt, and then travelled from place to place in the desert. Ultimately they came to ‘Refidim” and, upon leaving there, they arrived at Sinai.

Jewish tradition tells us that the word “Refidim” is a linguistic hint at the fact that the Jews’ “hands were weak in Torah matters”.

In other words: they had a “weak hands” syndrome. Once they got past it, they were ready for the Sinai Experience.

The Rebbe once observed the oddity of describing a spiritual deficiency as having “weak hands”.

The Rebbe explained that the Torah is pointing to the fact that the Jews’ spiritual commitment stalled in the world of theory. Their spiritual attitude wasn’t being expressed in their “hands”.

So, after six weeks of internal search and refinement, the Jews had to cross that great chasm that lies between theory and action.

That passage – leaving Refidim – made them ready for the Experience that awaited them.

Every year, we relive Sinai with the Holiday of Shavuot.

 But in order to properly celebrate Shavuot, one first needs to arrive at Sinai.

And in order to get to Sinai, we need to practice.

Feel like every day is a challenge? Like you’re clambering a mountain all day, only to start again tomorrow?

That’s not unusual, because it’s the way we were created.

Every day, we have a mountain, a spiritual Mount Everest, to climb.

Every day, I’m faced with the challenge of scaling my inner self, reaching to the top of my psycho-spiritual range, lifting myself from the base of life’s peak.

So, to properly guide my life, it’s actually helpful to get a better understanding of mountain climbing.

According to what I read, I’d need three important elements for my adventure:

1. I need to know where I’m going; I’d need a charted path to know which trail(s) I’m going to follow.

2. I need to be in good shape. It a takes a lot strength to haul myself up an incline, straining against gravity’s natural pull.

3. I need to have the right clothing.

 The Psalmist asks: “Who will ascend the mountain of G-d? (Psalms 24:3)” Our daily prayer helps us to answer that call by training and equipping us in three fundamental areas:

1. We need to have a vision, a Purpose, in life. Prayer is a time for me to crystallize that purpose and commit myself to a path that will achieve it.

2. I need to find the stamina in order to overcome self-absorption’s gravitational pull. Self-indulgence is the flip side of a meaningful life. A self-centered day begins with the question “what do I want out of life” A meaning-centered day begins with the question “what does life want out of me?” It takes a lot of internal stamina to work against the gravity of self-interest. It takes spiritual strength, and prayer is your workout.

3. "Clothe" your soul appropriately.

Jewish spiritual thought describes the soul as having three "garments".

A. Thought

B. Speech

C. Action

The way we think, speak and act are the way we interface with the world.

And prayer is a time for focus on that interface.

In other words: It’s a time to ask myself: Does my "clothing" gets in the way of my daily climb?

Where does my mind wander? How do I think about my fellow? Do I communicate transparently and sensitively?

These are questions for our daily prayer; accessorizing ourselves for the day's ascent.

It’s a daily climb.

And, every day, some prayer and introspection will help you toward your peak.