On the mountain
And you shall count the days.
Forty nine, to be precise.
That’s how many pass between the second night of Pesach until Shavuot, seven weeks from the retelling of the miraculous parting of the sea, the Israelites escape from oppression to liberation, the journey through the desert to Mt. Sinai and the giving of the Torah.
And each day is counted – and counts.
So it is that observant Jews ready themselves, and the world, to receive divine word, the seven weeks corresponding to seven positive values – kindness, strength, harmony, among them – that can refine each of us, all of us.
And so, I am counting.
And reflecting on Moses’ trek up the mountain, not one of the highest peaks, but a more lowly one. A humble one, an accessible one.
Yet one worthy of divine encounter.
And I am thinking as I count the days, how time is fleeting, how days spool out like that sacred scroll, seemingly here, then gone. And of mountains, those scaled in the past, and the lesser ones yet to be climbed.
Second mountains, in modern parlance, thanks to David Brooks and a book by that name.
Mountains beyond those we sought to summit when we were younger, the first mountains, the highest mountains. Those we climbed in pursuit of success, a good education, a good job, a good living.
Those that demanded our full concentration and consumed our time with deadlines and meetings and double booked calendars, and weekdays that often spilled over to weekends and holidays and seeped into family time, or time to spend on our own.
First mountains.
Second mountains beckon now, calling us to marvel at the natural world, to gaze at the pearly pink of the morning sky, to admire the cactus in bloom, to look up to see the birds in flight, to delight in the fiery red sunset.
They allow us to spend an afternoon on the couch finishing a good book. Or talking to one of our kids. Or our spouse. Or knitting, or doing a crossword puzzle.
They give us time to take a class, to learn to speak French, or read Hebrew, or do yoga, or play pickleball or bridge. Time to try something new, painting or poetry or piano. Time to catch up with a longtime friend over lunch, to touch base with extended family.
And they beckon us to engage with the world, to renew human connection, to visit a sick friend, to call a shut in, to mentor a child, to feed the hungry, to reach out to those in need of a caring heart and a helping hand.
Time to do things that bring us joy, that feed our souls.
That make our time count.
So the holiday resonates, with its reminder of both freedom and responsibility, of big mountains, and small, and of the need to use our time wisely and in good measure, and continue up that mountain.
As the sages teach, if you are holding on to where you were yesterday, you are standing still.
Climb on.
