We read about it every year, the giving of the Torah, a moment etched in Jewish consciousness. But what did the people see? Was it a sudden flash, a blinding light? Or something else entirely?
Jewish tradition grapples with this very question. It wasn't a divine downpour, like hailstones from the sky. Instead, according to Iggeret Teiman, as quoted in Tree of Souls, God revealed Himself slowly, gradually. Imagine it: moving from mountaintop to mountaintop, a divine presence drawing closer, culminating in His descent upon Mount Sinai.
But here’s where it gets interesting. What exactly did our ancestors see at this momentous occasion? According to Eliyahu Rabbah, they saw "no form resembling a human being, nor resembling the form of any creature... nor resembling the form of anything that has breath." So, what did they see? They saw only God. Just… God. The one God, whose kingdom, as it is said, endures in heaven and on earth. The Lord your God is the God of gods and the Lord of lords (Deut. 10:17).
Now, this might sound a bit paradoxical. We’re told that God revealed Himself, but also that the people didn't see anything resembling something they could understand. How do we reconcile that?
Think of it this way: Maimonides, interpreting Deuteronomy 33:2 (“Yahweh came from Sinai and rose from Mount Seir to them; He shone forth from Mount Paran”), suggests that God’s presence wasn’t a sudden, jarring event, but a gradual unveiling. Rashi echoes this idea, emphasizing a step-by-step revelation.
But the crucial point, highlighted in Eliyahu Rabbah, is the absence of a human form. Why is this so important? Because it serves as a vital corrective to what could be called anthropomorphic tendencies in Judaism. Remember Genesis 1:26, "In the image of God He created them"? This verse, and the rich tradition surrounding it, can sometimes lead us to envision God in human terms.
The tradition insists that God cannot be limited to a physical representation. The people saw something, they saw God, but what they saw transcended human description. It was a revelation of the divine essence, beyond form and image.
So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it reminds us that our understanding of God can never be complete. We strive to connect with the divine, to glimpse the infinite, but ultimately, God remains beyond our full comprehension. And maybe, just maybe, that's the point. The mystery, the awe, the recognition that we are in the presence of something infinitely greater than ourselves. It’s a humbling, and ultimately, a deeply inspiring thought.