The people trembled in fear as the power and presence of G-d enveloped Mount Sinai in thunder, lightning and smoke. The blast of a ram's horn sent a chill through the crowd, its wail cutting through their cries. The Shechinah descended slowly as a great cloud, enfolding the people in a misty embrace. Children and infants ceased crying, their fears of the thunder and lightning now comforted by the presence within the gentle cloud. Though still frightened, the men and women felt the tension drain from their bodies, replaced by an inner peace they could not fully understand.

A sense of longing filled the region; the family was not yet complete. Though the people were unaware of it, small balls of light began to appear, souls that were not yet born. Some approached with playful curiosity, others with caution; all exuded a profound sense of awe and respect for the luminescent cloud which so gently gathered them with misty fingers.

When all had been assembled, there was a moment of stillness. Each man, woman and child, each individual soul experienced a song. It was a song that could be felt as well as heard, tasted and touched, calling to them as a mother would sing to her children, each song unique to the individual who experienced it. And then, through the music, a soft whisper spoke to their very beings in a language known only to the soul.

The crowd stood in silent awe, rejoicing in their G-d as they received the Revelation. Then, as the smoky tendrils receded back up the mountain, their fear returned, amplified by their inability to fully comprehend what had just transpired. Whatever had just taken place, it had been too close, too intimate, too unknowable. Afraid for their lives, they called out to Moshe that this should never happen again; the Shechinah's song of solace was already a distant memory.

Copyright ©1996 by Sheyna D. Galyan