When I stood at Sinai, I was afraid.
We were told to assemble at the foot of the mountain, but it was wrapped in opaque mist, encircled by smoke, and we could see nothing. There was a loud rumbling noise like 1,000 ibex running through the desert and the mountain before us seemed alive—pulsating and swaying.
I looked for my family and my friends, but I could see no one. I called out but my voice vanished inside a cloud of ear-splitting sound. Flashes of silvery light split the sky, drawing jagged lines in the darkness and within these instants, I saw the faces of my family and friends, and they looked as terrified as I was.
Why were we told to assemble here at this place of thundering threat? What would happen to us, we who had come so far—on foot—surviving plagues, fleeing our captors in Egypt, escaping through the Red Sea, whose waters pulled apart for us, allowing us passage?
Where was our leader who left us to ascend this menacing mountain? Would he return, as promised? Or were we to be abandoned and this our punishment?
Suddenly, my attention was riveted by a clear and commanding sound—the blast of the shofar—and that is when I saw him: an impossibly tall man, bearded, wrapped in a prayer shawl, smiling benevolently and nodding his head.
I looked more closely. His serene gaze calmed me. The air around him seemed to clear. I walked closer to see him. My fear began to lift. The man was swaying, like the mountain, praying, practically singing. I wanted to hear what he was saying. I needed to see who he was. He seemed like a prince gathered with all of us escaped slaves.
As I approached, I saw him in full and then I stopped abruptly, shocked.
You see, this holy man who stretched towards the heaven—indeed, seemed suspended in the air—was a kind of man I had never seen before: a man without feet.
* * *
When was the last time you had an awe-inspiring experience? Not just something “awesome,” but a once-in-a-lifetime, transformative event that shook you to your core and left you changed, charged, focused and serene?
If you can’t remember, let me help you out: It happened a very long time ago, but I remember that you stood next to me when we were part of the most dramatic and pivotal moment in the history of humankind—the revelation at Sinai, where the Almighty brought the Torah to the Jewish people, through Moshe, as a gift for the entire world.
The Torah—with its moral code, its wisdom, its pithy instructions: “Don’t stand idly by.” “Do not murder.” “Justice, justice, shall you pursue.” “Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it holy.” “Do not boil a kid in its mother’s milk.”
A light into the darkness. A path forward to salvation for humankind. And a sacred guide for the Jewish people, sparking untold volumes of commentary and thought—a repository of Godly brilliance.
Now, close your eyes and try to remember the moment—journeying past the terror and the confusion into the elation, and then the clarity—because this year, it is incumbent upon all Jews to recall that we are the people who once stood together at Sinai.
Shoulder to shoulder, despite our differences. This is not only our shared past. It is a promise of our shared future.
As that ancient hatred, antisemitism, gallops and grows across the globe, we need to gather together once again, embracing our peoplehood and our sacred mission to bring light into a darkened world.
And who will lead us, you rightfully ask? I say: Look for the man without feet. He is very tall, as tall as Abraham Lincoln. He is the path forward. He will lead us.
So, who is the man without feet? He is Rabbi Liraz Zeira. An actual person, someone you can Google.
Rabbi Zeira, a major in the Israel Defense Forces, walks with the help of prosthetic feet, having lost both of his legs in a landmine explosion during combat in Syria. A Chabad-Lubavitch rabbi who lives in Jerusalem, he stands tall, his face luminous as he carries out his holy mission of bringing Jews closer to their Sinai moment.
The loss he has sustained has made him somehow more complete. He lifts people up. He becomes a mirror, allowing the lost Jew to perceive that they are indeed created in the image of God.
As we approach the holiday that commemorates the moment we stood at Sinai, we must not only look for Liraz. We must emulate him, learning from his holy example how to be a complete Jew.
Shavuot is just a day away.
Things are dire in America and around the world. A tide has turned and the Jewish people are in peril, closer to Egypt than we have ever been in our lifetime.
But we have a remarkable opportunity to reconnect with the superpower of our Jewish Peoplehood and our Torah next week, to attend synagogue services, hear the reading of the Ten Commandments and be inspired.
Daily, we hear lies lobbed against the Jewish people. This year, we need to remember that our past and our future are Sinai and that we are a holy people.
And if we get lost along the way, feel frightened or confused, we need to look for the tall man without feet, his face radiant.
He will lead us.
