Let go: Parashat B’har

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az_sinai

Parashat B’har
Leviticus 25:1 – 26:2

Sinai. The mountain looms over me like a mother bird hovering over her brood.

I know every crack and crevice of this mountain, so unassuming and yet so present. I can remember wandering her slopes years ago, when I tended Yitro’s sheep. It felt good to get away from the other shepherd’s flocks, to go into the wilderness a little farther. I did not know then that I would discover this little hill we call a mountain, with her craggy paths and surprising patches of green. What a treat it was to come upon this place! My flocks grazed in contentment and I was able to wander and think. My sheep and I loved this mountain together.

And then the day came when I was overwhelmed by the vision. I was running after my favorite little ewe, Rachel, who always liked to get into some kind of mischief. She could sense when I was daydreaming and then she would slip away and go exploring. I knew she liked to graze right by a distinctive looking thorn bush. So that’s where I went to search for her. And there she was, and the bush was burning! When I caught up with her, God caught up with me. Then I knew that this mountain was not just a safe refuge, not merely a sure pasture, but also a place of a mysterious, fiery spirit.

God promised me that, after I fulfilled His mission to get our people out of Egypt, I would be able to bring them here. But not just to rest and to graze our animals. We did that for the first couple of days, and I was able to steal away for a little bit to revisit my favorite haunts. And then God closed off the mountain, my mountain.

I climbed up the side; I could do it with my eyes closed, almost. But this time was different. God’s fiery Presence was not going to surprise me. I knew that it was time to get everyone to circle the mountain and wait for God to overwhelm all of us, as God had once shocked me. But God promised that once the shofar blast signaled that the revelation was over, we would be able to climb the mountain again, to explore her stones, to pick her wild flowers, and our flocks could wander and eat her grass.

And so we have been here for almost a year, now. Now, when I climb the slopes I don’t go all the way to the top, but just high enough to look down over this dense mass of people who have stuck together and who have joined in accepting the great and holy challenge to follow God, even if it means leaving this unique place.

Because I know that we will leave here very soon. We are on our way to the Holy Land. And this mountain? We must leave it behind. Everyone will have to move on, with whatever memories they may have of this place.

Everything that this mountain has been for me, the solace and the terror, the silence and the thundering Word, penetrates every particle of her sands and shrubs. And, I know, I must allow myself to let it go. I cannot physically take with me the stones or the bush or the clouds. Yet the mountain must let me have them. The mountain must let them go, as I let go of the mountain. That will be her final gift to me, the lesson of letting go. How can I find a way to keep that lesson alive for me and for everyone?

And the Eternal spoke to Moses at Mount (b’har) Sinai, saying, “When you arrive in the land that I promise you, establish a time, once every seven years, for letting go of everything. Let the land go. Let her rest. Let everyone go about the land, safe and secure. And let all the animals graze as they will. Let go.”

Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi David Greenstein

For another dvar Torah by Rabbi Greenstein on this week’s Torah portion , published in The Jerusalem Report, click the image below.

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Image(s):
“Kitt Peak National Observatory, from afar” © Kevin Dooley altered and used with permission via Creative Commons License

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