9.11.26 – Mirroring Mt. Sinai, Part 2

There is a significant difference between Mount Sinai and Ezra's Nehemiah 8: everything is so much smaller in the time of Ezra and Nehemiah. The crowd is smaller. The man speaking to the people—he is standing on something, but it is not a big, imposing mountain. It is just a little wooden platform. Everything is diminished.

But that, I think, is the whole point of Nehemiah. It really did not look like much—what they were doing. And that was the people's point too—that is why they were crying. They looked at themselves and felt insignificant.

Here they were at a ruined Jerusalem—sacked by Nebuchadnezzar—on a crazy, idealistic mission to come back and try to rebuild this land. There was no infrastructure, no great established state—just them, Ezra, and Nehemiah. They barely knew anything.

They cried because they realized how far they were from the ideals the Torah was talking about. What were they really keeping of the Torah's mitzvot, anyway? Half of them were intermarried with non-believers. They barely even knew it was Rosh Hashanah. So they cried.

Yet they were told not to cry!

There is a God out there—a Master—and His story, the story of His purposes woven through history, is the Master's delight. That delight, that joy—that is your strength. You are part of that story. Part of that delight. Go home and celebrate. I cannot redo yesterday's decisions, but today is a new year. A new beginning. A time to celebrate where I am and where I am going.

The Torah was just read publicly here for six hours, and you listened raptly. You may find yourself deficient in keeping all of its dictates—but that Torah embodies God's vision of tov and ra, and you want to be part of that vision. If so, you need to walk away from here with strength—with your head held high. You are part of the delight of God, part of His story, and that is your greatest strength.

This may seem like nothing—but as part of the Master's story, it can be a piece of everything. What are you doing here on this little street? In the Master's eyes, it is a replay of Sinai itself. And your little, pitiful return to this barren wasteland—the ruins of Jerusalem? In the Master's eyes, that is part of everything too.

Look back on this in the sweep of history. What were these people doing? They were building the Second Temple—the Second Commonwealth. It would stand for four hundred years. They were playing starring roles in Israel's history—and as your forefathers (1 Cor. 10:1–4), there are lessons to learn as your heart is turned back to the fathers in these last days (Mal. 4:1–6).

You know, there is an interesting curiosity in the text of Nehemiah here. When they go home and celebrate that day, the words Nehemiah uses to describe it are Simcha Gedolah—they celebrate it with great rejoicing. Simcha Gedolah is a rare phrase in Tanakh. One of the only other times it appears is at King Solomon's coronation—the height of kingship in Israel, Solomon the builder of the First Temple.

It is like Nehemiah is saying: Look at the echoes of what is happening here. I know you do not see a physical king. There is no palace, no pomp and circumstance. But what you are doing is every bit as significant as Solomon's coronation. He was the builder of the First Temple; you are the builders of the Second.

It is coronation day—but there is no earthly king here. There is only God. It is the beginning of the civil new year—the day the King comes into our lives.

So here we are—twenty-four centuries and some change after Nehemiah. And what does this day mean to us?

For each of us, it will be a little different, depending on how you prepared during the month of Elul. But maybe Nehemiah's words continue to serve us well: Chedvat Hashem hi ma'uzchem—"the joy of the Lord, that is your strength" (Neh. 8:10). God delights in His story—and He is inviting you to be a part of it.

This is not a day to be sad. It is not a day to get weighed down with guilt. It is a day to approach the Master with all the genuineness you can muster and say: This is my voice. I have heard Your voice.

I remember the shofar blast. I remember the day I committed my life to You. It is there in my collective memory—it feels familiar to me. Here is my voice, my most genuine self. I just want to be part of this great story You are telling. I want to be part of Your delight.

Lord, can You delight in me? Can You help me find a role? I am just a human being—I feel like nothing in front of You. But I know that through You, I can be part of everything.

And with your rehearsal, my friend, you are anticipating the final Yom Teruah—when the Lord will descend from heaven with a shout (teruah), with the voice of the archangel and the shofar of God, when we will be gathered together as one in the clouds.

Chag sameach, my friend!

I hope this helps in your celebration—which is a shadow of things to come!

Shalom.

Alan

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