This morning, I decided to take a detour from my usual walking route and explore an unfamiliar path. My mind felt heavy from the weight of the world this past week, and I longed for the quiet serenity of nature.
Hesitantly, I walked beneath a covered bridge, unsure of what waited on the other side. What I discovered was breathtaking: a winding trail lined with lush green forest, birdsong echoing through the trees, sunlight filtering through the canopy above. For four miles, the beauty and stillness became an antidote for my weary soul.
This has been a difficult week.
Just a few days ago, two teenage gunmen attacked the Islamic Center of San Diego, the largest mosque in San Diego County, killing three people before dying by apparent suicide. No house of worship should ever become a place of terror. Every human being deserves the right to gather in prayer, safety, and peace. As Jews, we know the pain of seeing sacred spaces violated by hatred and violence. We stand in solidarity with the Muslim community and with all communities targeted because of who they are and how they pray.
Threats to sacred dignity, however, do not only come from those who are outside of our communities. Sometimes they emerge from within, through exclusion, intolerance, and the denial of belonging. Even among our own people, we continue to witness painful struggles over who belongs, whose voice matters, and who has the right to claim Torah as their own.
As Orly Erez-Likhovski, Executive Director of the Israel Religious Action Center of the Israel Reform Movement, recently wrote:
“The fact that the only public place in the Western world where women are forbidden from reading Torah is at the Kotel [the Western Wall}, in the capital of the Jewish state [Jerusalem, Israel], is simply outrageous. Once again, Women of the Wall succeeded in smuggling in a Torah scroll and reading from it in the women’s section, since they are not allowed to read from the 100 Torah scrolls reserved for use in the men’s section for any group of men to use, or to bring in an outside Torah scroll. As I write these words, I still cannot believe that this is what is required to exercise freedom of religion at the Kotel — to smuggle in what belongs to us by right, given to us at Sinai as our sacred inheritance.”
She continues:
“And as if the harassment of all who do not conform to the Rabbinate’s dictates were not enough, this week the Knesset’s Constitution, Law and Justice Committee will discuss a bill imposing up to seven years in prison for egalitarian prayer at the Kotel. That’s right. This extremist government is not content merely to normalize violence against women reading Torah or liberal Jews in egalitarian prayer; it now seeks to criminalize our worship itself.”
She reminds us of the words written twenty-three years ago by the Israeli Supreme Court in the Women of the Wall case:
“The Kotel was given to the entire Jewish people, not merely to one part of the people. And the entire Jewish people — not merely one part — acquired rights in the Kotel.”
Sinai, the mountain on which we received the Torah, belongs to all of us. The moment revelation becomes the possession of only a select few, we betray the very covenant we celebrate on Shavuot, which begins this evening.
Perhaps this is why Shavuot feels especially urgent this year.
The festival of Shavuot is our time to celebrate the receiving of Torah at Mount Sinai. One of the holiday’s names is Z’man Matan Torateinu, the Festival of the Giving of Our Torah. On Shavuot, we metaphorically stand once again at the foot of Sinai, ready to receive Torah anew. We imagine ourselves alongside our ancestors, newly freed from the trauma of slavery, trembling with awe and anticipation as they gathered at the mountain.
In that sacred moment, they received not merely a set of laws, but a spiritual blueprint for living: the Aseret HaDibrot, the Ten Commandments.
These teachings are more than directives about what to do or avoid. They are acts of redemption. They affirm human dignity and divine justice, calling us to create a society rooted in responsibility, compassion, and holiness. For the newly formed Israelite people, this was revolutionary. In Egypt, justice depended on the whims of Pharaoh. Joseph prospered under one ruler, while generations later a new Pharaoh arose who governed through fear and cruelty. Revelation at Sinai offered an entirely different vision: a covenant grounded not in power, fear, or domination, but in sacred accountability.
How do we hold both Sinai and angst in our hearts at once?
Shavuot reminds us that even in moments of grief, anxiety, and uncertainty, we are not powerless. Torah calls us to act: to pursue justice, to amplify voices too often ignored, and to pray not only with our lips, but with our hands, hearts, and feet. The Ten Commandments are not relics of an ancient past. They are an enduring call to continue the work of liberation for all who remain bound by physical, emotional, or spiritual oppression.
Even amid the brokenness of our world, Shavuot remains a festival of joy and hope. Traditionally, we decorate our sanctuaries with flowers and greenery, symbols of life and renewal. While we may not physically decorate our sanctuary, we need only step outside to witness creation in full bloom: roses, hydrangeas, trees swaying in the late spring breeze, and gardens bursting with color and life, like I witness on my morning walks. Renewal surrounds us. Shavuot also invites us to partake in sweet dairy foods, symbols of Torah’s sweetness and nourishment for the soul.
The holiday traditionally includes an all-night study session called Tikkun Leil Shavuot, a night devoted to learning, reflection, and spiritual renewal. There are opportunities for learners of every age and stage to engage with Torah through hands-on experiences, multi-generational learning, in-person gatherings, and online offerings. Truly, there is something for everyone.
Let us bring our whole selves to Sinai this year: our questions, our fears, our hopes, and our longings. Let us recommit ourselves to Torah as a living guide that challenges us to repair our world with courage and compassion.
Perhaps I am idealistic, but I still believe in the possibility of redemption. Shavuot reminds us that even when the world feels fractured and uncertain, we are still capable of choosing another path: one rooted in justice, compassion, and peace.
May this Shavuot renew our spirits, strengthen our resolve, and help us find the courage to walk forward, even when the path ahead feels uncertain. May every sacred space remain a sanctuary, every person be treated with dignity, and every soul find its way to Sinai embraced in peace.
Chag Shavuot Sameach and Shabbat Shalom.
