Mountains of darkness

Typically Jewish, we were late for the start of the hike.

Truthfully, it was African time, not Jewish time that delayed us. Most of our group arrived on the Monday morning of the hike.

None of their luggage did- all our kosher supplies included.

We veered our way down the narrow, muddy road to Arusha National Park, our bus dodging pedestrians, bicycles, goats and chickens. A brief stop at the gate, an even bumpier ride and we were "there".

Our group looked the part in our boots, Raybans, camelbacks and overloaded backpacks. Our bodies tingled with anticipation as our minds focused on the challenge ahead. We were ready.

That's when I noticed that we couldn't see the top of the mountain. In fact, we couldn't see most of the mountain- it was mostly above the cloud. Doubt flitted through my mind. If the top was too high to see, was it too high to reach?

I had hiked Table Mountain and that wasn't easy; the Drakensberg's Amphitheatre had been trying too. I clearly remembered seeing the tops of both those mountains before setting off to conquer them. This mountain was high.

It was just as well I had trained properly for this hike.

Yes, I walked daily, but that's not how a rabbi trains for an expedition like this. Real training took place in the library, not the gym. I invested time exploring what the spiritual take on mountains is; Chassidic teaching prepares you for everything.

Kabbalah talks about two types of mountains: Mountains of "light" and mountains of "darkness".

Chassidic thought makes sense of this enigmatic reference: A mountain is a piece of earth that has been forced skyward. It represents a person's striving to rise from the banality of life to get closer to G-d. Perhaps that's where the human urge to climb mountains comes from; the innate soul-calling to rise beyond normalcy.

Sometimes you can predict your spiritual trajectory in advance- you can see where the spiritual path will lead you. Even before you take the first step of your spiritual journey, you know where you plan to end up.

That's a mountain of "light", a mountain with a peak you can spot from the ground.

Climbing that sort of a mountain takes effort, but it makes sense. You appreciate that every step you take brings you that much closer to your objective. You will always find doable mountains to climb.

Occasionally, you need to take a leap of faith; to go for a goal so impossible you can never see yourself doing it.

That's the mountain of darkness; the peak is so high, you can't tell where it is. You need to trust other people to guide you to where you never believed you could go.

Climbing that sort of mountain takes everything you've got. It's more difficult than you could ever imagine, almost breaking you in the process. Many times along the way, you feel you'll never get there or that you're wasting your time.

When you do reach the top, you're a changed person.

The clouds were still there, Meru's peak invisible. We were ready for the impossible.

Rural bliss

I've just returned from a fascinating trip to Tanzania. I joined a group of a dozen men from Chabad of Hendon to climb Mt Meru, Kilimanjaro's neighbouring little cousin (Meru's about 800m shorter than Kili).

Climbing a mountain is an extreme experience. I've been hiking before, but this was beyond anything I could have anticipated. In the tranquil setting of unspoilt nature, pushing your body to the limits, your mind opens to little truths about life that are worth bringing home to suburbia.

These last few days back home have allowed me a chance to reflect and unpack this amazing experience- full of insight.

Living in South Africa, I thought I was prepared for the African experience. But, northern Tanzania is far more rural than anywhere near my home and the simplicity took me by surprise.

Our guide collected us from Kilimajaro airport and zipped us along the one road that leads into the town of Arusha. Both sides of the road are mud paths, cluttered with bicycles (many veering into oncoming traffic), loads of pedestrians and a mix of boney cattle, goats, donkeys and chickens.

Tropical vegetation lines the streets, banana trees are everywhere. Beyind that, shacks and squalor.

It seems that Arusha's population is generally destitute. A fraction of the community benefits from the thriving tourist trade; the rest live off the land.

Back home we always hear how poverty causes crime. Nobody warned us against muggers or armed robbers in Arusha.

Besides which, the people were so friendly. Everyone greeted us with the traditional Swahili "Jumbo!", they all smiled. Over the whole week, I didn't see any road rage or arguments, our driver didn't even lose his cool when his Landrover packed up half way up a 4x4 track at Ngorongoro Crater.

There were no taxis available on the day I had to head home, so our tour guide arranged a friend to take me to the airport. He took me- all the way in, insisted on carrying my bags, and wouldn't leave until he knew I was going to make the flight (several big-deal motorcades had blocked the roads and we ran very late).

When I asked him if people were generally poor in Arusha, he assured me that my analysis had been accurate.

"So, if they are all poor, how is it that everyone looks happy?" I asked him.

"Because they are happy," he replied, simply.

"How can they be happy? They have nothing," I pressed him.

"Nothing?" he was surprised, "They have peace! We have had no conflict in our country for decades- that is why we are happy."

Simple, isn't it? Money doesn't buy happiness; peace does.

Over your head?

Kabbalah? We’re practical people. We relate to making a living, keeping the family happy and the pragmatic elements of being Jewish.

Mystical ideas are beyond us, mention spiritual realms, sefiros, Divine names and they simply fly over our head.

Today’s Lag Baomer, a day dedicated to celebrating one our nation’s greatest mystics. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, responsible for one of the most seminal Kabbalistic texts, the Zohar, died on this date.

He is the one who insisted that we celebrate the occasion each year. Since then, Lag Baomer is a fun-filled family field day, especially in Israel, where it’s essentially a national holiday.

If you been to Israel at this time of the year, you will have seen hundreds of bonfires dotting the landscape wherever you go. Burning pyres are certainly iconic of this festival.

The other icon (maybe lesser known) is a bow and arrow. You have to wonder why. Mystics and fire seem to gel, fire is unconfined by the shape and size of other physical entities. But, mystics and bows ‘n arrows? Sounds like a bad Shidduch!

I got to try my hand at archery a few Lag Baomers ago. While I tried to hit the bullseye, the defiant arrow insisted on landing lower than the target time after time.

That’s when the instructor stepped over and revealed the arrow’s secret: “Aim higher than the target- and you’ll hit it”.

Then and there, in the chilly dusk of an archery club, I got the secret of Lag Baomer. Mysticism might seem out of reach, but it doesn’t matter. Aim higher than you expect.

In fact, all of Judaism is about aiming higher than our goals. If we aim for mediocrity, we land up uninspired- and less than mediocre. When we aim for the impossible, we hit a healthy spiritual target.

Sometimes, we surprise ourselves and reach beyond the target too.

Round II

Important message from Israel’s Chief Rabbi: Due to unexpected circumstances, please note that Pesach actually begins this Sunday night!

If you think this message is far-fetched, it really happened. It was a long time ago, and the Chief Rabbi then was none other than Moshe himself.

What happened was a group of people volunteered to transport Yosef’s remains through the desert. When the first Pesach came around, they realized that they couldn’t participate in the Paschal lamb, because they were all impure.

This group went to complain to Moshe, who was stumped. Fortunately, he had 24/7 access to the Almighty, and received an answer for these people on the spot.

Had they never have asked, the Jewish nation would never have known that there’s a second chance at Pesach 30 days after the original for people who missed it.

This Sunday evening, we commemorate “Pesach Sheini”, the second Pesach, by eating some Matzah.

It is a beautiful time, with a powerful set of messages:

1. Judaism always offers a person another chance, regardless of why they missed it the first time around.
2. Never feel embarrassed to ask for a second chance- if you don’t ask; you don’t get.
3. Your awkward situation may land up benefiting the whole community.
4. When you need to play catch-up, Hashem helps you do a seven-day course in 24 hours.

Enjoy round II!

3D Judaism

3D movies seem to be making a comeback. People seem to enjoy donning those paper glasses and ducking projectiles that appear to fly out at them.

No doubt, 3D makes an experience all the more real.

Jewish movie production seems to lag somewhat. We don’t have too many Torah-education blockbusters; certainly none in 3D.

What we do have, though, is a formula for 3D Judaism without the silver screen. It was introduced 2000 years ago, by Rabbi Yehudah Hanassi (and we’ve just read it this week in the 2nd chapter of Pirkei Avos, Ethics of the Fathers).

He explains: “Consider three things and you’ll never sin.” He does list three factors to consider, but there’s a cryptic message in this sentence- before you get to the list.

Judaism is clearly a spiritual discipline, designed to bring us closer to G-d.

There are those who feel that the best way to progress spiritually is to see the world in 1 Dimension.
There is G-d & spirituality and nothing else counts. They argue that, if you want to grow spiritually, you’ll have to lose touch with the world and focus all your energies on study, prayer and meditation.

Others see the process in 2D. On the one hand, there’s spirituality, Torah and mitzvos. On the other, there’s “real life”. They’ll tell you that you need to find the balance between developing your soul, and making a success of your life. You can’t do both at once, so you’ll need to allocate time and energy for each.

Torah teaches us to see a third dimension. Yes, there’s a spiritual paradigm (we go there when we’re at Shul or engaged in a Mitzvah). There is also a physical reality, mutually exclusive to that spiritual realm.

Then there is G-d. He is neither physical, nor spiritual. That means that He can be accessed through physical action, just as through spiritual meditation.

Torah says that you don’t have to wait until you’re at Shul to engage G-d or develop your soul. You can, and must, find that connection at work, during leisure time, in your personal relationships.

3D Judaism is when you unveil the essential bond between everything in your life and it’s Source. It is when you recognize G-d as being up close and personal at all times, under all circumstances.

And, if He is that close, His blessings are too.

Lechaim Moshiach!

Everyone knows we Chabadniks are Moshiach-crazy. We talk about Moshiach all day, sing Moshiach songs, produce Moshiach newspaper ads, bumper stickers, posters, songs and even t-shirts.

On Pesach, we take it just one step further. For the last 250 or so years, we’ve hosted a welcome party for Moshiach at the end of every Pesach.

Our guest of honour hasn’t yet arrived at one of them, but that won’t deter us. It’s sort of like waiting at the airport’s arrivals gate for a relative. Just about every other passenger seems to walk through those doors before your family member emerges. You might get anxious over the delay, but you’ll keep standing there until the right person shows up.

Our Moshiach meal is something along those lines. And more.

A young boy once wanted an apple, but his father wouldn’t give it to him. The clever little guy hatched a perfect plan- he loudly said the full brocha over the fruit. Taken aback, his dad had no option but to give it to him.

We’d like to “force” our Father-in-Heaven’s hand the same way. We’ll set up the meal, invite the guests and drink the Lechaim- then He’ll “have to” send us the Main Attraction.

So, this Sunday afternoon, come say Lechaim for Moshiach. We’re really hoping he’ll be there to reply in kind.

Why Matzah?

Matzah? Delicious!

Well, not quite. I know some of you enjoy eating Matzah, but when it’s eight days straight (and especially if you don’t put anything on the Matzah, like us), it can get a bit much.

Why do we have to eat this tasteless, flour/water flat-bread?

Go ahead; consult your trusty Haggadah (which should be out by now) for an explanation. There it is, towards the end of the story of the Exodus. What does it say? Ah, yes, that we eat matzah because the dough of our forefathers didn’t manage to rise in the mad rush out of Egypt.

That’s what you’ve always thought, right?

One question: Before the Jews left Egypt, they had a special meal that Hashem had commanded.
On the menu was roast lamb (the Paschal sacrifice), maror and… that’s right, matzah!

That was before they rushed out of Egypt. They ate matzah then, well before midnight and the slaying of the firstborn. Jews in Egypt ate matzah because they were told to, not because they couldn’t manage to bake bread!

Like anything in Judaism, if you want to really understand what’s going on, you need to look a little deeper.

Matzah is made of dough that doesn’t rise. Puffed up chometz symbolizes ego. Flat and simple matzah represents humility.

There are two types of humility: You could work hard at being humble, train yourself to limit your ego; or you could be suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful realization of Hashem’s greatness that makes it patently obvious that there’s no room for your own ego.

When the Jews ate Matzah at their pre-Exodus meal, that was their own ego-deflation process. At the stroke of midnight, Hashem revealed Himself and their dough/ ego could not rise. As you stand before Hashem’s presence, you don’t feel yourself.

Which matzah do we eat on Pesach?

Glance into the Haggadah again. It says we eat matzah because the dough could not rise. Every Pesach, Hashem reenacts the Exodus in every spiritual detail. He reveals Himself and deflates our ego for us- opening the possibility for real spiritual growth- in leaps and bounds.

We just have to notice that He’s there.