Parshat Yitro recounts the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, an event that, according to our tradition, involved all Jewish souls—past, present, and future. This concept is rooted in the idea that "we were all at Sinai," collectively participating in a unique moment that defines our very essence—a milestone that underscores the unity and shared responsibility of the Jewish people throughout history.
Once again, we stand at the foot of Mount Sinai, witnessing the most extraordinary and majestic divine revelation—one that will never occur again.
Amid this awe-inspiring narrative, one verse stands out, painting with words a scene filled with color, sound, trembling, upheaval, and wonder:
וְכׇל־הָעָם֩ רֹאִ֨ים אֶת־הַקּוֹלֹ֜ת וְאֶת־הַלַּפִּידִ֗ם וְאֵת֙ ק֣וֹל הַשֹּׁפָ֔ר וְאֶת־הָהָ֖ר עָשֵׁ֑ן וַיַּ֤רְא הָעָם֙ וַיָּנֻ֔עוּ וַיַּֽעַמְד֖וּ מֵֽרָחֹֽק"׃”
"And all the people saw the voices (thunder) and the lightning, the sound of the shofar and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they trembled and stood at a distance." (Shemot - Exodus 20:15)
"All the people saw," in plural (in Hebrew, “roim”), when it would seem more grammatically correct to say "the people saw" (singular)(roe, in Hebrew). "They saw the voices (thunder)," but in Hebrew, the word used is "voices," which most translations interpret as "thunder." Yet neither voices nor thunder are typically things one sees—they are heard.
Later in the verse, "the people saw," the singular form is used again for the noun people, despite the plural usage earlier.
Time and again, we have studied together how the Torah plays with verbs, intertwining singular and plural forms in a deliberate way, guiding us to uncover deeper meaning.
Our sages also reflected on this:
"The word רואים ('saw') must be understood as in Kohelet (Ecclesiastes 1:16): 'And my heart saw.' Just as the heart cannot literally see, people cannot 'see' sounds. The meaning is that they comprehended the essence of those sounds. They could no longer withstand their intensity or nature. This is further explained by Moses in Devarim (Deuteronomy 18:16)—they were afraid they would die."
To see sounds means to grasp the full magnitude of what was happening. A sound is more than just a wave traveling through the air; it carries meaning, a calling. And when they understood that this was not mere thunder, a natural phenomenon, but something far greater, they could not endure it. That is why they stepped back. It was too much for their eyes to take in. The same happens when one sees with the heart—there is no need for physical sight. The heart perceives, trembles, and is moved by what stands before it.
For Rashi, the People of Israel saw what is normally heard—something impossible under any other circumstance. He adds that the voice was the voice of God, which is why it could be seen, as a singular, exceptional event.
Our sages also explain the shift from plural to singular in this verse. "And all the people saw"—because each person sees with their own eyes, through their own understanding, faith, and emotions, grasping the situation in their own unique way. Then, "the people saw"—because what they witnessed was so overwhelming, so beyond comprehension, that they became one in the face of the revelation.
Abraham Joshua Heschel speaks of Irat Hakavod, radical awe—a profound sense of reverence before the sacred, before the infinite—an experience that surely resonated with those standing around Mount Sinai. This was not fear that paralyzed but reverence that inspired. It did not stem from threat but from the recognition of something transcendent.
Throughout this past week, we too have been thrust into an overwhelming scene for which we were utterly unprepared.
To see the faces and condition of the freed hostages—Eli Sharabi, Ohad Ben Ami, and Or Levy. To see, yet struggle to grasp, the brutality and cynicism. To hear Eli speak in an interview about his wife and children when everyone—except him—knew they had been murdered. To see and not comprehend how, in our time, such atrocities can still be inflicted upon human beings.
To see and understand that the road ahead will be fraught with pain and uncertainty. To see and not comprehend how such horror does not unify all perspectives into a singular outcry...a cry that, even today, would call us to understand with our hearts.
To see the sound of the monstrous cries of those staging a grotesque performance of humanitarianism and to be stunned by what we once believed could never happen again, so blatantly, in plain sight, before much of a world that chooses not to see.
Yet, unlike at Sinai, we have seen. We have understood. And even in the depths of our painful awe, we do not retreat. We do not step back. Nothing will weaken our convictions or silence our cry.
Today, as we face the uncertainty of "what comes next," amid the cynicism of those who dishonor agreements of any kind, including the most basic decency and common sense.
It may seem utopian to envision a near future where reason overcomes fanaticism, where life is valued above destructive ideologies. But our history is a testament to resilience: we have come this far because we have never stopped believing in the possibility of a better tomorrow.
Today, each of us, heirs to those who stood at Sinai and guardians of that magnificent, astonishing, and singular act of divine love from the Kadosh Baruch Hu to His People, must keep that hope alive. May we not have to wait generations to witness an era of peace. May we, in our own time, be the ones to see a true awakening of humanity and understanding.
Let us pray that both revelations: the one at Sinai and the one in the past week, open the eyes and hearts of all who still allow themselves to be moved. And may we soon see with our own eyes the day when each of our loved ones returns home, when life and peace triumph over terror.
May no more mothers have to wait. May no more children have to suffer. May no more brothers and sisters be lost in darkness. May no one be left longing for their beloved.
We ask You, our God: surprise us once more. Let the miracle happen again.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Gustavo Geier