Help me climb the mountain, Lord
Help me climb it, it’s too high
Help me climb the mountain, Lord
Help me reach and touch the sky.
Help me cross the river, Lord
Help me cross, it’s too deep and wide
Help me cross the river, Lord
Help me reach the other side.
Help me defeat that devil, Lord
Help me beat that evil eye
Help me defeat that devil, Lord
Help me beat it before I die.
Help me finish what I start, Lord
Help me finish, I’m paralyzed
Help me finish what I start, Lord
Help me see, open my eyes.
Let my story be told, oh Lord
Let the world listen and hear my cries
Let my story be told, oh Lord
Let it be seen in each sunrise.
Help me part the sea, oh Lord
Help my dreams be realized
Help me part the sea, oh Lord
Help me get through uncompromised.
Help me climb the mountain, Lord
Help me climb it, it’s too high
Help me climb the mountain, Lord
Help me reach and touch the sky.
©2023 The Hesh Inc.
Another one from the period of uncertainty in the early 2000s, in the aftermath of 9/11. I was seeking some guidance from the Great Creator in my desire to get out of the creative doldrums.
Several years later, in 2005, when I was living in Los Angeles, I reached the top of the mountain. Undoubtedly I got the help I had been seeking. Only thing was, I turned 40 that year and I was awash in the popular culture's mistaken idea of what reaching 40 means. I bought an album by Jersey Shore singer-songwriter John Eddie that featured the song "F**king 40" (also done by Kid Rock), a humorous-if-wistful song that I had seen him perform when I was still living in the Shore area. I showed it to my housemate, thinking I could get a laugh out of her. But she was studying for a rabbinical degree at the University of Judaism at the time, and she didn't like what she saw. She launched into a tirade that could only be described as a mussar shmooz, about how reaching the age of 40 is a milestone described in the Talmud as the age of wisdom. While I didn't appreciate being berated at the time, her exhortation got me to adjust my attitude and the result was a palpable, corporeal feeling as if I had reached the top of the mountain and could see endlessly in every direction.
Lyrically, this is about as close as a yeshiva-educated, Happy Minyan–attending, rocking-and-rolling Jewish kid from the suburbs will ever get to gospel music. Musically, it was never performed or recorded, but I can imagine some kind of Ray Charles–like groove or something from the famous church scene in The Blues Brothers.