Behar, 5784

Behar, 5784
Leviticus 25:1-26:2

I spoke about Behar in 2015. The topic I focused on was the commandment not to sell land beyond what could be reclaimed. In that drash I spoke about the Rosemont Mine and Lake Mead. About how the mine had been promised to use less water and resources, while Lake Mead was running at record lows. If Lake Mead dropped below a certain level by the end of 2015, estimated to be a 33% likelihood by the US Bureau of Reclamation, there were to be extreme water cuts to Arizona. Even worse, that chance of drastic water loss was estimated to be 75% likely by 2017.

It’s now 2024, as the solar calendar goes. Lake Mead is at 1,068.5 feet above sea level, 6.5’ below the 1,075 foot above sea level threshold set by the US Bureau of Reclamation.

Yet today the lake is 19’ higher than this day in 2022.

The laws of shmita dictate that we don’t work the land we farm on every 7 years. We let it lie fallow, untilled, and dormant. During this time, anything that grows is not to be sold, but rather to be given to the community. I think of it as returning to the people who’ve worked the land, who depend on it, and who worry about what the next year’s harvest will be.

Indeed, letting the land rest takes immense amounts of faith. G-d addressed this, promising a miracle of sorts every 6th year to allow us to stockpile and prepare for the following year. The last shmita year, on the solar calendar, was 2021-2022. In 2020, there was a surprise level of snowpack around Lake Mead, bringing it to 1,096’ above sea level, 21’ higher than the critical level of 1,075’.

Even outside eretz Israel, maybe we can see miracles before the shmita year.

Yet even outside eretz Israel, we still must make preparations for not being able to harvest, just as we make preparations for shabbos when we can’t cook or manipulate electronics.

Archeologists in Israel found evidence of ancient Jews pickling foods like vegetables and fish, drying fruits and legumes, making wine, collecting honey, and pressing extra oil. All ways of preserving food. We know firsthand to hope for miracles but not plan on them. Which is exactly why I’m so proud to be in Tucson, where we have such a strong culture of conservation that Phoenix is asking to purchase some of our allotment of water because we have “excess.” Yes, Tucson apparently has “excess” water while Phoenix has lawns.

I don’t want to just rehash my drash from 2015, though.

“Behar” means “on the mountain” and refers to Sinai, directly referring to Moses’ trip up Sinai where he received the Torah.

I don’t know of a single culture that doesn’t have legends, stories, and myths about mountains. The desire to stand atop something so massive to look down and see so far is intoxicating. It’s truly intoxicating. It’s so stirring that people risk their lives to climb them just to look down.The allure of testing yourself against an immovable, immutable object that doesn’t care about you can fully take you over. The exertion and risk that it takes to climb them, too, can be mind boggling. 

I want to go back to Sinai. Midrash says Moses received the entire Torah. Including his striking the rock, his negotiations with G-d to see the land but not enter it, and the death of his sister, Miriam.

What a burden, to know the future and to know where you’ll fall short. Where you’ll make mistakes. Where you have to settle for exactly what you can get, even though it’s not what you want. It was his burden of knowledge to receibe

I haven’t spoken much about this in a drash, yet, aside from a small anecdote in my last one about filtering water. But I know a little about seeing the promised land and not entering it. I also know about seeing a promised land and being able to enter it while others cannot.  And I know the lure of a mountain.

Last year I set on a trip to hike 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada, through California, Oregon, and Washington. I was captivated with stories of the Sierra Nevada mountains, their peaks of 14,000 feet, and the wisps of light playing on the snow during golden hour. The idea of waking up at 3 am to hike before the snow got soft, under the banner of the Milky Way, with our eyes acclimated to starlight and gentle headlamps burrowed its way into my bones.

I entered the Sierra Nevada mountain range with a group on May 25, 2023, a year ago. It was fraught with problems and hazards, and I ended up having to retrace my steps and get a second group to go in with. We started at Kennedy Meadows South and eventually made it to the town of Lone Pine, CA. This city looms large for the cinema industry, as it’s close to a geographic area called Alabama Hills. Tremors, Gladiator, and Iron Man were all partially filmed there. Oodles of John Wayne and Errol Flynn films were shot there, too.

But in Lone Pine, what hikers seek is Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states. Its peak is 14,505 feet above sea level. There are a famed 99 switchbacks snaking up a lower mountain to get to the final approaches of Whitney.

It was a grueling hike up the approach, as the switchbacks were covered in snow. So instead of back and forth up a gentler gradient, we used crampons and ice axes to go up the mountain along an area that was relatively safe to ascend, then traverse across a flat to the saddle of it. One misstep, one fumble, and I’d have had to rely on my ice ax to stop my descent. We had to hop over a 2 foot wide canal that someone had carved in the snow while glissading down. Glissading is when you sit on the ice and use your ax as a brake while sliding down. This 2 foot canal was essentially someone’s tuchus trough from where they slid down.

I didn’t get to summit. One member of my party was having horrible panic attacks and another was having terrible altitude sickness. The one having panic attacks sat back before the final ascent and we waited with her, because you don’t leave anyone behind when at elevation. The rest of the group summited.

We took a few much needed days off in town to recover, after that. And went back into the Sierra to hike to our next destination, Bishop, CA. Unfortunately, we woke up at 3am the next morning to intermittent whiteout conditions. The weather outlook had changed overnight to at least three days of predicted snowstorms. Our boot tracks had been covered in snow and, with the revised forecast, we made the decision to bail.

Just like that, my Sierra Nevada trek portion was gone. I knew I’d have to skip ahead. Though there is more to this story, that’s a different time.

I was looking forward to seeing part of my very first thru hike, the Tahoe Rim Trail, part of which overlaps the PCT in the Sierra Nevada. I was looking forward to Milky Way backdrops against starlit mountains. I was looking forward to snow shimmering in morning sun. I was looking forward to grueling early mornings and oddly early afternoons to bed.

 Sure, I didn’t strike a rock, but it was decided for me that I wasn’t to see this land.

Moses saw the future, and he knew he wouldn’t reach everything he’d striven for. His ultimate goal would only be viewed from far away. Yet what did he do? He still lead. He had a truly humble nature which influenced how he lead our people. So he went up Sinai, learned that he wouldn’t get to enter the promised land, and still took everyone else there.

What drove him? Was it duty? Was it compersion, the word for the joy you get for others having joy? Was it stubbornness? Was it faith to Hashem’s orders? We could make arguments for any of those, and I’m sure others. Regardless, Moses knew what was in store, and he still took us there.

What was it like for those who made it in?

The finish line for most of the people I hiked with was Canada. Only about 15-35% of the people who start this trail make it to Canada. Some drop out because of injury, others run out of money, some find that they are happy with what they’ve done. Regardless, for those who start with dreams of walking to Canada, the attrition rate is incredible.

When we, the Israelites, not hikers, were wandering in the desert, many of us died. Many committed sins that led to their deaths. Yet those of us who survived, supported each other, and banded together made it to the promised land. We had to watch our leader die, looking over the land he sacrificed so much of himself to bring us to. And we still had to go on.

When I touched the terminus at the US/Canadian border, I broke down. I cried for 10 minutes straight. I collapsed. It was the culmination of years of planning, five months of strenuous exercise, joy, heartbreak, interruptions, fear, and victories. It was a lifetime of experiences in five short months.

Looking back, I think about the people who stopped. My friend Bottlecap who summited Whitney and got a bad feeling about going forward. My friend Snickers, who had some complications and had to stop. My friends Shark and Halfpint, who had other things come up. My friend and trail family member, Sinead, who got injured. In fact, tomorrow is the one year anniversary of where we had to split up after a tear filled half hour of talking.

What does a mountain have to do with shmita? And what does all this have to do with the trail?

We all have a drive to do something. Some of us want to create, some want to write, some want to learn, some want to climb. And we all have our part to play in our community and world. Some of us will make it, others won’t.

We also need to remember land doesn’t belong to us. We can make deals with other people to acknowledge ownership of land, but ultimately it belongs to G-d. The land is the land. To think we can conquer the land only hurts us. Instead of trying to conquer and tame it, we should tend to it and facilitate its health. When we take care of it, it will take care of us. 

Climbing mountains may bring us clarity and vision. It may drive us forward. It might give us a view. Like Moses, though, it’s what we do when we come down that matters.