Esa eina el he-harim...
Psalm 121: A song for ascents.

I turn my eyes to the mountains;
from where will my help come?
2My help comes from the LORD,
maker of heaven and earth.
3He will not let your foot give way;
your guardian will not slumber;
4See, the guardian of Israel
neither slumbers nor sleeps!
5The LORD is your guardian,
the LORD is your protection
at your right hand.
6By day the sun will not strike you,
nor the moon by night.
7The LORD will guard you from all harm;
He will guard your life.
8The LORD will guard your going and coming
now and forever.

I am standing on top of Sweeney Ridge in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, high above the Pacific Ocean on one side, and the San Francisco Bay on the other. The clouds roll in from the ocean, covering the top of the ridge. Then they dissipate into the blue, and the sky clears over the bay side. On the ridge, one has the unusual ability to see both sides, the crashing ocean waves to the west, and the lush green valley to the east. The Spanish explorers who found this ridge in 1769 were the first Europeans ever to view the San Francisco Bay, whose entrance by sea had always been obscured by the peninsula's infamous fog. Standing at the top of this ridge, I reflect on where I have come from, and where I am going.

I am climbing up Telegraph Hill in the city of San Francisco. At an incline so steep that the neighbors use the stairs set into the ascending sidewalk, this hill makes you discover muscles that have long given up being used. The wind picks up and I pull my jacket closer, to keep out the chill. This hill held the first telegraph tower in 1850, but otherwise people did not live in homes on San Francisco's hills. Not until 1873, with the invention of the cable car did the hills become accessible, and land values skyrocketed as people willingly paid for the stunning views of the bay. Climbing to the top of the hill, I know that my pain and fatigue will be rewarded, and I wonder about the people who make this trip every day.

In the Bible, two important mountains represent primary religious experiences for the Jewish people: Sinai and Zion. We first encounter Zion, also known as Mount Moriah, the place where Abraham takes Isaac and binds him to the altar. This is the mountain of Jerusalem, the place where the Holy Temple is later established.

Sinai is probably the more renowned of the two, the place where Moses encounters God face-to-face, where the Children of Israel gather at the foot of the mountain amid thunder and lightning, trumpets and shofar, to see and hear and know God's presence. Mount Sinai is the place of revelation.

Though many have sought to identify exactly which mountain in the Sinai Peninsula is the Mount Sinai, no one, not even the reclusive monks who for centuries have identified Santa Catherina as Sinai and built their monastery there, have proof. Revelation took place in the wilderness, and after moving on to the Promised Land, our people never returned there.

Zion is at the heart of all Jewish holy places. We may not know whether Abraham actually set foot on this mountain, but we have no doubt that both Herod's Temple and Solomon's temple stood there. On ancient maps, the location of Jerusalem is clear: it is the navel of the universe, at the center of the three known continents. And Zion is at its center, one of the city's seven hills.

Sinai is a very high mountain, which Moses alone climbed.

Zion is the lowest of Jerusalem's mountains, which was ascended by steps to its top, the Temple Mount.

The revelation at Sinai was a once in a lifetime experience.

The ascent to Zion was a regular three-times-a-year event.

Sinai was a place for meeting God alone.

Zion was a place for connecting with God through community.

We need both experiences in our lives. Our spiritual journeys often begin with mountaintop encounters, and they are renewed throughout our lives through peak experiences.

Try to remember your first earth-shaking religious experience, the first time you contemplated God or felt inspired or uplifted. If you were born Jewish and were very fortunate, it was at a Jewish sleep away camp, far from home in a beautiful natural setting, where we made life-long friends, lived within the structure of Jewish time and discovered our own special way of being Jewish. Or it was in a youth group, where we sang and danced our hearts out, studied Jewish texts and debated deep ethical and philosophical issues, and demonstrated our commitment to social justice. Or it was on a teen trip to Israel, encountering the ancient Land, hiking the biblical landscape, praying at the Western Wall.

In fact, Jewish educators have documented that these three informal educational experiences can have more lasting impact on a child's Jewish identity than years of Hebrew school alone. In demographic studies, adults who participated in youth groups, went to intensive Jewish summer camps, or visited Israel as teens all have more interest in Jewish study, Jewish practice, and Jewish social activism, volunteering and giving at a rate of 5 to 25% higher than those who do not. In a recent Boston demographic survey, we learn that adults who attended or worked at a Jewish camp have committed to some form of observance of shabbat as a special day at a rate of 10% higher than those who did not. Those who took an educational trip to Israel fast on Yom Kippur at a rate of 20% higher than those who did not. That is, as adults, they find meaning in Jewish practices because they have lived them, thought about them, and chosen to pursue them in their own adult lives.

Our young people enter these experiences at a highly charged period of their development. The combination of their youthful energy with their maturing minds creates a fertile ground for these transformational experiences. One might call these experiences "spiritual recreation for teens." Where else will our youth talk about moral issues in a teen-friendly atmosphere, without judging or criticizing their beliefs, and where they have the freedom to try on new identities and experiment with Jewish belief and practice? Where else will our youth discover role models who are Jewishly-identified and cool?

We need to send our children to Mount Sinai to be grounded in Jewish experience. In these specialized settings, outside of the daily routine of school and home, children reach into their own souls and connect to each other in monumental encounters. As the prophet Isaiah wrote:
Isaiah 40:9

9Ascend a lofty mountain,
O herald of joy to Zion;
Raise your voice with power,
O herald of joy to Jerusalem-
Raise it, have no fear;
Announce to the cities of Judah:
Behold your God!

Whether we ourselves have had these experiences or not, we need to let our kids climb mountains. We need to send them off, giving them maps and tools and trustworthy guides. We need to keep ourselves at a safe distance so they can't see us, and we can't see what we don't want to see. But they need to climb those mountains. They have the energy, the ambition, the curiosity. Let them get the best perspective they can before taking charge of their own lives. We need to give our youth Mount Sinai experiences.

But what about us? Can't we climb mountains too?
As adults, our mountain is Zion. When the temple was the central place of pilgrimage for our people, the ritual of ascending and descending the steps to the Temple mount brought people in contact with Jews from all over the land. It was definitely a mixed multitude, where city Jews and rural Jews, wealthy and poor, sick or well, shared a common purpose. Zion is the place where we gather on a regular basis, to remind ourselves of the mountaintop experience, but more importantly, to join with others in creating that experience, as we do at this sacred time of year.

Our time together on the High Holy Days is not just a time for saying you're sorry. That's something we should do every day. What this time gives us is an opportunity to climb to the top of the hill and look out. From that perspective, we can see the length and breadth of our lives. We can measure how far we have come and plan how far we intend to go.

At the tops of high hills, we also feel closer to God somehow, as if God were really up there among the clouds. High above the business of everyday life and surrounded by the natural beauty of God's creation, we can return to our source and be reminded of what we truly value.

Today, we must remind ourselves of the view from the top of the mountain.
This past year, in fact since 9/11, we have lived in the fog of fear that follows terror and instability. We have been living in an age of anxiety. Our times have been overshadowed with fear of an unseen enemy, with grief over losses too great to count, with dread for the future of our country and for the safety of our children. It feels as if we have been wandering the valleys, not climbing the mountains.

But from up above, we can now see, in hindsight, that the worst crime of the past year may not have been going to war in Iraq. The worst crime was stripping our country of its ideals and of the resources that are required to maintain our freedom and democracy. While all eyes were turned to the Middle East, the pickpockets have been stealing from all of us-stealing our health care, stealing our schools and universities, stealing from our environment, and depleting the funds for our children's future. Fearful for our country's safety from weapons of mass destruction and concerned about our children's vulnerability, we have permitted our government to pursue policies that have threatened the very ideals that we believed we were fighting for: the right to speak our minds and criticize the government, the right to privacy, the right to worship according to our conscience without government establishment of religion, the principles of liberty and justice for all.

At the top of the mountain, we must look at the valley below and see the low places. Driving through California's lush central valley, we passed lush green fields of artichokes and lettuce. But we also passed by the white school buses, outfitted with porta-potties hanging off the back, transporting migrant workers from field to field. We watched them bending over the low plants, mindful of the back-breaking labor and low wages that enables us to eat our fill at every meal. This past year, we watched as millions lost jobs and unions fought to maintain basic pay and benefits for thousands of their members, while the wealthiest and most powerful in our society put our tax dollars back into their overstuffed pockets.

Just last month the Congressional Budget Office released a report illustrating how dramatically the gap between rich and poor in our country has grown. We learned that from 1979 to 2000, the real average after-tax income of the top one percent of the population tripled-from $286,000 in 1979 to $863,000 in 2000. And this is all before the recent tax cuts. In contrast, those of us in the middle of the income scale gained only $5,500, to $41,900. And what about the poor? Over the past two decades, the average after-tax income of the bottom fifth rose from $12,600 to only $13,700. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Let's look at the numbers another way. In 2000, the 2.8 million people who made up the top one percent of the population received more total after-tax income than did the 110 million people who made up the bottom 40 percent. 1 out of every 100 Americans made more money than 40 of our poorest citizens, combined. How is this different from the past? Twenty-five years ago, in 1979, in contrast, the top one percent received less than half as much total income as the bottom 40 percent.

As CEOs walk away with billion-dollar bonuses, the poorest in our society are lucky if they can walk, or live in their own homes, or have enough to eat. The US Census reported last month that the number of those without any health insurance grew from 41.2 million in 2001 to 43.6 million in 2002, and those numbers show no sign of decreasing. Without health insurance, sick people delay treatment. I was contacted recently by a woman who needed help for the holidays. Having paid for her medical prescriptions, she did not have money for food to feed her children for the holidays. And when the uninsured do require medical care, it comes in the most expensive form-emergency room care. The most common reason for bankruptcy today is unanticipated medical expenses that uninsured families have to pay out of pocket, sometimes spending their life savings, giving up their homes, and entering life-long debt to hospitals. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

We know that housing is expensive in Boston. People who cannot afford to live in the city cannot afford to move to the farthest suburbs, because they have no money for transportation to their jobs. But Boston is not unusual. A recent study by the Harvard Joint Center for Housing Studies found that in 2001, 10.6 million households, with poverty-level incomes below $17,000, paid more than half of their income for housing. That was half a million more households than two years before, in 1999. If you are paying half of what you earn for rent, how much can be left over for food?

In 2001, nearly 47%, of all poor households with children did not have enough food to eat at some point during the year. And in the past two years, after years of decline in demand for food stamps, over twenty million people have turned to the food stamp program to feed their families. This is an increase of 22 percent since July 2000.

The rich have gotten richer, and will continue to amass wealth, as the government seeks to repeal estate taxes, and refund income taxes to those who need it least. And the poor get poorer, as funds are running out for the programs that the rest of us, middle-and lower-income Americans, depend on: Social Security, Medicare, college tuition aid, affordable housing. The list goes on and on.

From high on the mountain, we can see the valleys below. It is time we climbed up and took a good, long look.

The rabbis tell a story about a feud among the mountains. They read in the psalms the following verse:

68:17why so hostile, O jagged mountains,
toward the mountain God desired as His dwelling?

The mountain God desired is Mount Sinai, say the rabbis. What is meant by "teratzdun-the mountains were hostile"? Why would other mountains be hostile to Mount Sinai?
The rabbis explain that a divine voice is speaking, asking on what basis do these mountains take issue (tirtzu din) with Mount Sinai? And then the heavenly voice chastises them: Compared to Sinai, all of you are blemishes.

From this we learn, say the rabbis, that one who considers himself lofty is a blemished person. How can we stand at the top of the mountain without becoming lofty? How do we listen to these statistics, knowing that most of us here do have plenty to eat and a home of our own, without becoming complacent and thereby complicit in these crimes against our fellow-human beings?

You can hear many voices today calling you to action. In the coming year, the presidential race will offer us opportunities to learn, to get involved, and to vote. Turn on your radio and you will hear pundits and prophets urging you to speak your mind. Open your mail on any given day and you will find invitations to give and to serve. I add my voice to this chorus, to remind us all of the role of religious life, that our Jewish tradition, plays in confronting these seemingly overwhelming challenges.

For those who dwell in the valley, religion can be a source of comfort, a place to renew our energies to fight the daily battles or to find peace before returning to the turmoil of family struggles. Each of us suffers in our own individual way, and each of us seeks out hope for own unique problems. Many take solace in the familiar words of liturgy and the warm embrace of a religious community.

But for those of us on the mountain, religious life offers a different message. While some choose to ignore religion altogether, I believe that Judaism, through spiritual practice, reflection on lessons learned from our past, and creating bonds among Jews and between human beings, offers direction in difficult times. Our Jewish teachings call us to rise up to the mountain top, but we can't stay there-we need to return to the valleys and get to work.

For me, the essence of a religious life must lead us to gratitude. And sincere, authentic gratitude stimulates a desire to "give back." I once heard a homeless activist tell a group of teenagers, "If you own more than one pair of shoes when others are barefoot, then you are a thief." A lot of those kids went home and gave away their shoes. Perhaps out of guilt, but ideally, because they were awakened to the glaring truth of their abundant lifestyles.

But Jewish tradition does not rely on these elusive moments of sincere, authentic gratitude alone. The religious life is not one of random acts of kindness. We change states of mind as often as we change the channel. Just ask the social workers and therapists. The religious life offers us structures and reminders, in the form of ritual and worship. This is why we must climb Mount Zion, to remind us that, when others are suffering, we must become advocates and activists.

Yet we cannot act, if we do not know how. And if no one has taught us to put tsedakah in the box on Friday night, to answer the call of the needy, to deliberately give away a significant portion of our income, then how will we ever remember to do it? If no one has shared a Shabbat meal with us, or invited us into their sukkah, then how can we learn to look beyond our own comfort zone? If no one has taught us the obligation to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, and to lift up the fallen, then how will we ever take responsibility in the world? This is why we inculcate Jewish tradition into our children, why we compel them to learn habits of a religious life. The religious life of a child is by design more structured and more routine than the religious life of most adults. What they begin by rote and habit will someday, we hope, blossom into a joyful and sincere response to life, its gifts and its challenges. This is why we send them to Mount Sinai, on their own, with our guidance and our blessing.

Our society drives us to measure ourselves by what we do not have-the bigger house, the newer car, the latest computer or the best schools.. On these awesome days, let us consider how fortunate we truly are. Let us resolve to inspire our young people to climb mountains, and use our time on the mountaintop to commit ourselves to rebuilding the valleys and to repairing what is broken in our world. May we be uplifted in these days, and may we be privileged to see the world as the prophet Isaiah once did:

Isaiah 2

2In the days to come,
The Mount of the LORD's House
Shall stand firm above the mountains
And tower above the hills;
And all the nations
Shall gaze on it with joy.
3And the many peoples shall go and say:
" Come,
Let us go up to the Mount of the LORD,
To the House of the God of Jacob;
That He may instruct us in His ways,
And that we may walk in His paths."
For instruction shall come forth from Zion,
The word of the LORD from Jerusalem.

Ken yehi ratzon.
Esa einai...
Rabbi Barbara Penzner
Yom Kippur 5764/October 2003