It is explained in Jewish Mysticism that in truth the world has no existence of its own. Rather, every object and place in the universe has a spark of the Divine, which sustains it and causes it to exist. It becomes revealed and elevated when we sanctify it in a Mitzvah setting. Our sages have taught us that these sparks exist throughout the world and when enough of them have been “mined” and elevated and returned to their holy source, Moshiach will come, may it be soon.
During a Shabbos farbrengen at Chabad of Northern Nevada the subject of G-d's Holy Sparks was the focus of much of our discussion. The idea that these Holy Sparks exist all around us captured our collective imaginations. We were so intrigued by this notion that a number of us decided to meet at a nearby rural park and "mine" some Holy Sparks in an undeveloped area near our homes. Sealing the decision with a l'chaim and a song, we all agreed to meet the next morning, promptly at 8:30, to daven and "mine" some Holy Sparks.
The next morning I walked out my front door and a teeth-shattering frigid wind slammed directly into my face as the last gasp of winter flowed down from the towering snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Tallis and Teffilin bag securely tucked under my arm, I hiked up my collar and walked down the mountain to meet my friends at Horseman's Park. As the park came into view I could see Jacob, David and Baruch shivering with their hands in their pockets as they tried their best to keep warm. Just as I stepped into the parking lot Rabbi Mendel Cunin drove in with his five children. As we huddled together against the cold, I said, "Remember no one every said a mitzvah had to be easy," to which the Rabbi joyfully replied, "True, but no one ever said it couldn't be fun either!"
With a smile in our hearts and a tune on our lips we began our journey to a scenic overlook, which provided a 360-degree view of the valley and the majestic mountains that silently stand guard over Reno. When we finally arrived at our destination, Baruch reminded everyone that the sparks we hoped to "mine" had remained hidden from view for the last 5765 years, just waiting for a Jew to come to this very spot and "harvest" them. Collectively we hoped that our small effort would hasten the arrival of Moshiach, ending the exile of the Jewish people and initiate the rebuilding of the holy Bas Hamikdash, may it be soon.
As a relentless wind continued to challenge our resolve, we began to put on our "mining" equipment. Collectively we donned our Tallis and Teffilin and started the Scharist (the morning) service. As the wind howled around us, it was all we could do to keep the pages in our prayer books from blowing back and forth and our kippas atop our heads. Just as we thought we had everything under control an enormous gust caught our Tallis bags and sent them dancing down the side of the mountain. Laughing out loud we scurried to retrieve them and then hurried back to our "mine shaft" and continued chanting the psalms and prayers of the morning service.
About half way through the Amidah another invisible explosion of wind literally blew our Tallit straight back so they were parallel with the ground. What a sight we were to behold, five men and five children standing on the edge of a canyon, the mountains to our backs, the sun in our face and a frigid part of the jet stream reminding us that winter was not quite ready to give up without a fight.
But while it was freezing outside, the heat of our davening burned brightly in our hearts and inspired our little group to complete their mission. As our intrepid group of "miners" continued on with the service the clouds that hung directly over the eastern horizon suddenly parted and we were drenched in the warm embrace of the sun's rays.
Reenergized, we picked up the pace and continued davening. Every once in awhile I would look up from my Siddur and marvel at the views from our outdoor shul. To the west was the Sierra Nevada mountain range, to the east was a gorgeous view of the growing city of Reno, to the south was a view of the mountains that formed the gateway to the historic city of Carson City and to the North was the rugged, undeveloped high desert, home to antelope, coyote and red tailed hawk. It was both a humbling and inspirational moment.
As we concluded the service, the clouds once again slipped in front of the sun and the temperature felt like it dropped ten degrees. The promise of snow was definitely in the air as we made our way back to the park entrance. Along the trail we could see homes built on the opposite side of the Steam Boat Ditch Canyon. We couldn't help but wonder if a Jewish family might have rubbed their eyes in disbelief as they glanced out their kitchen window and saw five Jewish men, wearing Tallis and Teffilin, swaying in unison on the edge of a rugged canyon as they davened. As my friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel once told me, "Shlomo Yakov, you never know who may be watching as you perform even a simple mitzvah. What seems like a minor act for you may be a life altering experience for someone observing your actions." His wise words reverberated in my mind as my buddies and I continued on our journey back to our vehicles.
When we arrived back at the parking lot we all agreed that despite the daunting weather, the experience of davening on an undeveloped piece of land, where we felt confident no Jew had ever davened before, was an experience that we wanted to repeat over and over again. We agreed to continue to meet at least once a month and "mine" for holy sparks at inspiring locations all over Northern Nevada. In fact, we decided to collectively spread the word and see if we could encourage Jews around the world to look for their own outdoor locations and "mine" Holy Sparks in their own personal, piece of the planet. If we could create a movement where folks were performing Torah Mitzvahs and "mining" Holy Sparks in small towns, cities, states, countries and continents all over the world, maybe this would be the last Pesach we'd ever have to say, "Next Year In Jerusalem.
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