I’ve recently started a new exercise routine. As I was shvitzing, cursing and trying to listen to a Torah podcast this morning, I remembered when I tried hiking with some rabbis a few years ago. We were in Rustenburg, two hours outside Johannesburg, at the South African Rabbinical Association’s annual conference. After a morning of brainstorming and debate, some of us needed a breather.
Now this may sound like the start of a poor joke, but there were seven rabbis on a mountain. Well, not quite a mountain, it was more of a hill.
Whoever put together the conference programme figured that rabbis don’t get enough exercise and decided to allocate “recreation time” to the itinerary. One of our choices was to hike the nearby canyon. Some of us traded our fedoras for baseball caps and set off into the compelling serenity of nature.
A hotel employee showed us where the trail started, and off we went. Only (as we were to discover much later), he hadn’t shown us to the correct spot, and the “trail” he had pointed out was no trail at all.
We eagerly set off, quickly disappearing into the bush. We passed a troop of baboons and headed along what appeared to be an unused path. Within ten minutes, the “trail” began to rise steeply. Soon, it disappeared in overgrowth. We started slipping on loose stones and mud as we tried to clamber up the steep incline.
Two rabbis turned back.
Soon enough, another joined them. We remaining rabbis had to decide if we would forge on or head home. After all, we were due back for the next conference session.
As I considered heading back to relax before the next plenary, I figured that if I had summited 4500m Mt Meru and had survived the endless staircases of the Great Wall of China, I could surely make it to the Kloof’s shimmering waterfall somewhere up ahead. I conferred with the other rabbis and suggested that perhaps we were simply on the wrong side of the river. If we crossed the stream, maybe we would find the proper path.
So, we slip-slid back down to the riverbank. We picked our way across the rock-strewn water and, sure enough, there was the path. It only took us another fifteen minutes to reach the pristine, refreshing waterfall. For an hour, we perched on an oversized boulder under the towering crags and circling birds, listening to the cascading water and inhaling tranquillity. It was breathtakingly beautiful and soul-restoring.
One of my colleagues insisted on snapping a few photos to show the other rabbis what they had missed. And to prove we had made it to the top. As we headed back to the lodge, we joked that the theme of the conference was the importance of staying “on the path”.
Our brief foray into nature reminded me why 90% of people fail to achieve their goals. Often, we start off heading in the wrong direction. We might take advice from people who claim expertise but are just as lost as we are. When we feel we’re not making progress, we often retreat, rather than look for an alternative path to reach our objectives.
Most importantly, we tend to give up when the incline gets too challenging. Growth doesn’t happen gently. There’s no download for success. The Gemorah says that you can only expect to succeed if you have exerted yourself. In Chassidic teachings, you’ll often hear that hard work is guaranteed to pay off. Pushing our way uphill takes courage and resilience. Fast food never tastes like Bubby’s chicken soup. Easy wins can’t compete with hard-earned achievements. Like our group of rabbis learned that spring day in Rustenburg, when you push past your mind telling you you can’t, you encounter beauty you cannot imagine.
