Burning Silence

“Blow winds and crack your cheeks!” Lear bellowed into the gale, into the dark cavern where we sat. Daddy closed his fingers around mine and I fixed my eyes on the tragic legend whose grief loomed bigger than the stage.

Maybe it was our annual dose of Shakespeare, taken in the magnificent Swan Theatre in old Will’s hometown of Stratford-upon-Avon that imbued me with a feel for high drama. Maybe it was just my overactive imagination. But come Shavuos, my mind was filled with visions of thunder and lightning, three million soaring souls, the glint of golden crowns, overwhelming awe as the great stage of the world was plunged into deafening silence.

These images intensified in seminary. Fueled by little sleep but endless ideas, hundreds of us sat pressed together, listening to rabbanim thundering of the shadow of Mount Sinai held over our heads; the wild, formless desolation, tohu vavohu, that reigns in absence of Torah. Every Shavuos, they told us, was our chance to again affirm our commitment to our life Source. It was a day of cosmic significance, of grandeur, of blinding dedication. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see the glowing crowns.

Which made the watermelon fiasco so much worse. One Shavuos, I decided to skip the baking and replace a rich, four-layer cheesecake with healthful, refreshing watermelon. I selected the largest one in the store and congratulated myself at having liberated myself from hours in the kitchen. Oh, there were still plenty of humdrum, mundane chores to do, enough to keep me busy quashing the inner rebellion: Why was I occupied with ironing shirts and dicing salads when … when … In my mind’s eye I was jostled and pushed forward by the crowd, as we headed to Mount Sinai, to declare our commitment, our allegiance, our eternal love.…