This Shavuot, I’m Writing to Sinai

Shavuot may just be the most overlooked major holiday on the Jewish calendar.

No handmade matzah. No huts, no palms to wave around. No plagues, no gifts. It shows up quietly, 50 days after Passover, like a beautiful footnote with a cheesecake craving.

But here’s the truth: Shavuot is not a minor blip in the Jewish year. It is one of the three pilgrimage festivals. In Biblical times, Jews traveled to Jerusalem for this day, just as they did for Sukkot and Pesach. And yet, for many diaspora Jews today, it barely registers. Some have never heard of it.

Why?

Because Shavuot demands something different. It isn’t built around survival. It’s about purpose. Ushered in with thunder, lightning, and a cosmic thunderclap while a nation stood still, saying na’aseh v’nishma, we will do and we will listen, with a mountain held over their heads.

Shavuot marks the giving of the Torah. Not just a list of commandments, but the entire framework that would shape Jewish law, life, identity, and memory. If Pesach is about liberation, Shavuot is about transformation. Leaving Egypt gave us freedom. Sinai gave us identity.

As Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik once wrote, “The acceptance of the Torah was an act of freedom.” It was not forced obedience, but voluntary covenant. Sinai was a moment of radical commitment, to G-d, to justice, to each other.

And yet, this defining moment of Jewish peoplehood gets lost in the busy calendars of those balancing a traditional Jewish life in the modern world.

Since October 7, many of us have added new rituals to our lives. Simchat Torah felt heavier this year. Our seders had empty seats for the hostages. Every Friday night, when I light Shabbat candles, I also light a memorial candle for those we lost in captivity, and those we are still praying for. So this year, I’m trying something new to bring meaning to my Shavuot.

Before the chag begins, I’m writing a short letter to the generation that stood at Sinai.

I’ll tell them how we’re still talking about that day, over three thousand years later. How we continue to show up, in our homes, in our communities, on campuses that try to shut us out, and even on stages where the world would rather we stayed silent.

I’ll share how Eurovision tried to silence us and yet we sent a survivor of Nova to represent Jewish continuity. Draped in black, Yuval Raphael stood on that stage not just as a contestant, as an Israeli, as a Jew, as a survivor, but as a quiet tribute to Kfir and Ariel Bibas. No speeches. No slogans. The dramatic black sleeves of her outfit unfurled like bat wings as a tribute to the boys who loved batman. Just fabric as resistance. Design as remembrance.

I’ll tell them how this was a symbol the world might overlook, but to those who knew, they felt chills and pride. Our very own blue-and-white mockingjay moment, a symbol of defiance against those who wish to silence us. Not loud, but unmistakable. Not explained, but understood. The message was woven into the costume itself: we are still here, and we don’t forget.

I’ll write that we still love each other, protect each other, mourn for one another, across time zones and generations, even when we disagree. And I’ll ask them to watch over us, to inspire us, and to remind us that Torah isn’t just something we received one time, it’s a living document that binds us and propels us forward.

So if you’re not sure how to mark the day, join me in writing a letter to those who preceded us at Sinai.

Speak to those who stood there, to those who wandered the desert, heard that thunder and witnessed the awe firsthand. Tell them who we’ve become. Tell them who we’ve lost. Ask them to remind us why we’re still here.

It need not be poetic, Just honest. Post it. Share it. Or keep it just for yourself. But let it move you. Because Torah isn’t just about commandments. It is about commitment. It is about choosing purpose, even when the world feels unrecognizable.

Rabbi Yehuda Amital, founder of Yeshivat Har Etzion and a Holocaust survivor, once said: “The Torah was not given to angels. It was given to human beings, in a world of challenge and imperfection.” Shavuot is the moment we accepted that responsibility. That we would live with intention. That we would carry Torah, even in a broken world.