On the day of Isaac's bris, we planted an olive tree in our backyard. We held a brief ceremony, during which we told this well known story: “While walking along a road, a sage saw a man planting a carob tree. He asked him: “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?” “Seventy years," replied the man. The sage then asked: “Are you so healthy a man that you expect to live that length of time and eat its fruit?” The man answered: “I found a fruitful world, because my ancestors planted it for me. Likewise I am planting for my children.”

In the last two years, the olive tree has more than doubled in size, its trunk growing thicker and stronger and the small round leaves growing more plentiful. We no longer worry that if it will root in the ground; rather we remark about how big it has grown and how well it has taken to its new home.

The tree is growing, strong and sure. But there are no olives on the tree. It will be years, yet, before the tree bears fruit, and even more years before the olives will be edible.

As our families planted for Charlie and I, and allowed us to find a world filled with opportunity and possibility, so too, do we plant for Isaac. We hope and pray that our work will create a fruitful world for him tomorrow.

In large areas of our lives, so many of us already tend the tree. We set good examples by working hard at our jobs. We make sure there is food on the table, and if possible, help oversee that homework is done. We save money for college-ensuring our children's future is secure. We write out our wills. We figure out who will take ownership of the super-secret family recipe for matzah ball soup.

Of course, we have no idea what the future will actually bring. But we can clarify what we want the future to be-and then, with those goals in mind, work towards it.

I call this living vertically. It's planting and tending a tree for a strong tomorrow. With our care, we ensure that the tree is strong and sure even when we are no longer here to tend it.

Living Vertically . . . This idea seems simple. Perhaps it seems that way because we are good at vertical living when it concerns providing for the needs of our families. It is obvious to us; really.

At the morning of this New Year, however, we are faced with a significant, scary, and many, life-altering reality, as we face an unstable tomorrow. The economy, it seems, is in a shambles. Rather than gather in anticipation of a year filled with hope and possibility, we may be hunched over in anxiety and fear.

The tree that we so lovingly planted may not have enough water to grow.

I am not an economist. I cannot offer solutions that will provide jobs. I cannot recreate a faltering bank account. I know that I look with sadness at Isaac's college fund, not knowing if those lost dollars may be gone forever. I know, directly, the hardships of finding a job, or keeping a joy, in an economy with tightened purse-strings and less opportunity.

And, when I look out of the window to Isaac's tree, I wonder: could the tree that Charlie and I planted and watered wither?

With an uncertain economic future, I can't be sure that Isaac will live a prosperous life. I can't promise to him a strong economy or a sure job. That's scary.

But, there is another to water and tend to the tree. We can still plan for the future-with spiritual and intangible gifts.

See, we, as Jews, are not strangers to economic hardship. Think of the middle ages, even through to the very beginning of modern era: brutal regimes claimed our land and took away hard earned money, prevented education and limited job opportunities. In those situations, our people turned inward. The found comfort in faith, ritual practice, and Torah. We can too.

In our contemporary world, we have enjoyed educational and career opportunities. We are better-educated and wealthier than our ancestors could have ever dreamed for us. We can learn from their example support in these troubled times. There is another way to live vertically, to nourish the tree: to bequeath a spiritual and Jewish promise to the next generations.

We symbolize that transmission of our tradition, from generation to generation, ledor vedor, in our b'nai mitzvah ceremonies. The Torah is physically passed from generation to generation-from the [great] grandparents, to parents, to bar or bat mitzvah celebrant. This is a wonderful moment in the service, for me, as the grandparents and the parents physically transmit our spiritual tradition. The moment that the bar or bat mitzvah child receives the Torah, and, tentatively, holds the scroll is a moment of pride and joy. This is a coming of age moment embedded within the entire mornings' service, in which family members tangibly pass tradition up to the next generation.

But, when the physical Torah is placed into the child's arms, what is it that we are giving them? When we pass the Torah up to the next generation, do we understand our tradition well enough to know what it is we are transmitting- or what we want to transmit? This is the challenge of Jewish, spiritual vertical living: to ensure that the ritual does not become, simply, a children's tale, but continues to be a dynamic tradition.

I am reminded of a story: Thousands of years ago, the story goes, there was a tribe that used to go into the woods, build a fire, and conduct a significant ritual around the fire. As the older generation died, the tribe went to the woods and built the fire, but since they didn't know the ritual, they told the story of how it felt and what it meant for them to witness the ritual. As that generation passed, the tribe went to the woods and built a fire and told of a long ago ritual that may have happened. Then, the next generation simply walked into the woods; they didn't even light the fire. Finally, the ritual simply became a children's story, told as a legend.

In a time where our tangible future may be unsettling, we can be reassured, that, if, we take responsibility for being able to build the fire, conduct the ritual and pass it up to the next generation, we are providing a secure future for the next generation. Rabbi Yitz Greenberg challenges, “(If one generation rejects the covenant or fails to pass it on to the next generation, then the effort of all the preceding and future generations would be frustrated as well.) Each generation knows that it is not operating in a vacuum. The accomplishments of the generations that preceded it make its work possible, and the efforts of its successors will make or break its own mission.” I believe that if we embrace the covenant, what we've been handed by previous generations will be sustained, and we will be ensuring a strong future for the next generation.

Yes, we are focused on our tangible future, as we watch CNBC, read the newspaper, or surf our favorite website. The arguments are unsettling, frustrating, and ever-present. Yet, we can take guidance from our ancestors, reminding ourselves that our spiritual lives matter, not just to ourselves, but to the next generation.

Judaism acknowledges that the world is an imperfect place. God calls upon us to repair our broken world. This is called tikkun olam.

This concept is not new to most of us. We know that tikkun olam typically means social action- that we act and advocate to make the world a better place. We know we are obligated to it. When we work together, perhaps in our Temple kitchen on Sunday mornings to feed the hungry, we are doing a tikkun olam. When we donate our clothing. We are working to make this world a better place for the next generation. When we offer a caring ear to a friend who has lost a job, we are offering perfection. When we reach out in help, without judgment, we teach compassion. Rabbi Jill Jacobs teaches that with tikkun olam, we “think of one's every action as contributing to the repair of the cosmos”.

Tikkun Olam: a way to live vertically by making our world a better place. We want the next generation-our children, our friends children, the cute little girl sitting in the back row-it doesn't matter-to inherit more. To live vertically we treat everyone with dignity, as Danny Siegel writes in this poem entitled, “Rebbe's Proverb”:

If you always assume
The man sitting next to you
Is the Messiah
Waiting for some simple human words-

You will soon come to weigh your words
And watch your hands.
And if she so chooses
not to reveal herself
in your time-
It will not matter.

To live vertically is to know that our hands and mouths are engaged in kindness. If so, it will not matter, so much, that the messiah has not arrived-because we will know that the next generation will have learned from us, and they, too will sit next to the messiah and offer kind words and caring hands.

While tikkun olam, social action, is widely known, I believe that there is another aspect of tikkun olam that requires our attention. The mystics, and in particular, those who followed Isaac, Luria, were also deeply devoted to Jewish practice and the understanding of Jewish law. In fact, Joseph Caro, a well known mystic, was the author not only of mystical texts, but also of a book entitled the Shulkhan Arukh, known today as the most influential code of Jewish law.

What was the connection between the tikkun olam- social action and a deep involvement with Jewish law?

Rabbi Jill Jacobs wrote, “Even while advocating the practice of ethical commandments, such as tzedakah (gifts to the poor), the kabbalists maintained a focus on the effect of individual behavior”. . on the world, and on God. In other words: part of our partnership with God in creating a perfected world is to also pay attention to our religious life as well. Jacobs continues, “the unmistakable inference one draws is that such mundane concerns [of giving tzedekah] were only the external dimension of deeper mystical goals.”

What were the deeper mystical goals? To live a life, as they defined it, in conformity with religious practice. Rabbi Jacobs, again, wrote, “mitzvot, both ethical and ritual, have an impact even beyond the immediate effect of the action.” Today, this means to fulfill the sacred obligations of a practicing Jewish life. It means that keeping the Sabbath is larger than the simple and beautiful ritual. Those precious moments of kindling Shabbat lights, and sharing a Shabbat meal together have a lasting impact. Creating a Jewish home is part of living vertically- from hanging a mezuzah to gathering beloved Jewish books, to learning to make matzah balls-all inform the strength of the future. It means that educating our children-as teachers, mentors and parents-is living a Jewishly vertical life.

Living Vertically means that we must engage in our Jewish tradition. With our engagement we pass up to the next generation the physical and the spiritual. When the next generation sees us engaged in tikkun olam, in religious practice, and social action, we model for them how we want them to live in the future. We are living vertically.

In an ethical will to his children, well before his death, William Joseph Adelson wrote this to his family:

"My Dearest Family:

In the busy and often structured pace of our lives there have rarely been times to stand back and reflect upon the big and important things. Our attention has usually been taken by practical details. I want to tell you about what I consider really important. I have tried to set an example for you in active participation in the Jewish and secular communities. I have always felt the importance of sharing in these dimensions. It would please me if you found some of the same enthusiasm and excitement in the Jewish tradition that I have. . . .It is a dimension of spirit that can bring great meaning and intensity to your lives. When I am gone, all of the things I possess will have no meaning to me. . . More than material possessions, I hope that I will have left each of you an optimistic spirit and a fervor and enthusiasm for life, a sensitivity to nature and esthetics, a closeness and regard for one another, A sense of responsibility and concern for others, and a sense of worthwhileness about yourselves.

Lovingly, Dad”

William Adelson, in writing this to his family, understood the value of living vertically; that by spiritual example, he could affect the future. He lived a life filled with tikkun olam- of observance and social action.

When the Chasidic master, Reb Yaakov Yitzchak, the 'Seer of Lublin' died, his disciples divided his worldly goods. One got his books, one his Kiddush cup, another his tallit . . . there remained one humble man who received the last of the righteous mans' possessions: his clock.

On his way home from the funeral, the chasid stopped at an inn for the night. However, he found he had no money with which to pay the innkeeper. He was forced to offer his newest and most cherished possession, the clock from his master, to the innkeeper for payment. The innkeeper accepted the clock and placed it into one of the rooms.

One year later, another of the rebbe's disciples came to the inn. He was given a room for the night. While the inn was very clean and comfortable, the man spent the night in discomfort, unable to sleep. In the morning, the innkeeper noted that his honored guest seemed anxious and exhausted. “Was something wrong with the room?” he asked. The chasid replied, “The clock in the room, where did you get it?” The innkeeper shared the story.

“I knew it!” responded the chasid. “This clock belonged to the Seer. It is a holy clock. All other clocks in the world mark time from the past-they measure us from where we've come. This clock is different. It ticks toward the future. It reminds us how much there is to do!”

Living Vertically challenges us to think of time differently: what must we do, spiritually, today to prepare for tomorrow? Our spiritual gifts and actions will impact the future? On this Rosh Hashanah, we welcome 5769. We spend time in prayer, resolving to be better, to do more. We begin to review what we are proud of; what we could have done better. We know that God begins to judge, and we join with God in our own annual review. This year, as we take stock, let us vow to live vertically, allowing Judaism and its message strengthen us, give us fortitude in an unsure time.

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