Thunder echoed louder than anything I’d ever heard, rolling through the mountains like a warning. I gripped my little brother’s hand so tight he winced—but I didn't let go. My name’s Daniel. I was twelve when we stopped at Mount Sinai, just weeks after we escaped Egypt. Back then, I thought we were just setting up another camp. I didn’t know we were about to hear G-d’s voice.
Our people—slaves for generations—were finally free. But freedom was wild and uncertain. Some days we danced. Other days, we argued about food or got scared we’d be lost forever. That morning, dark clouds wrapped around the mountain like smoke. No birds. No laughter. Just silence and sky. Everyone stood, waiting. Even the elders looked afraid.
Moses had been gone up there for days already. I overheard my father whisper, “He said G-d will speak today.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but my stomach twisted like I’d swallowed stones.
And then it started.
The mountain shook like a beating drum, and fire climbed from the rocks. A sound—like shofars, but louder and stranger—pierced the air. And through it…a voice.
Not human. Not from anywhere I could point to. It felt like it came from inside my chest and the tops of the clouds at once. It said things no one had told me before, but I recognized every word:
“I am the L-rd your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt…”
I couldn’t breathe. My knees wobbled. People fell to the ground all around me. Others wailed or covered their ears. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. That voice—G-d’s voice—was giving us something more than rules. It was like a net woven from fire and thunder, catching us together, making us into something we hadn’t been before: a people.
I didn’t understand every word, but I heard the one that mattered most: “I am yours.”
Afterward, we begged Moses to speak to G-d for us. It was too much. Too holy. But deep inside, I was glad I had heard it. Because now, when my little brother asks, “Why do we follow His words?” I tell him, “Because G-d didn’t just save us from Pharaoh. He saved us for something.”
That day, slavery ended, but something bigger began. We weren’t just free—we were chosen. And chosen people don’t walk alone.
Thunder echoed louder than anything I’d ever heard, rolling through the mountains like a warning. I gripped my little brother’s hand so tight he winced—but I didn't let go. My name’s Daniel. I was twelve when we stopped at Mount Sinai, just weeks after we escaped Egypt. Back then, I thought we were just setting up another camp. I didn’t know we were about to hear G-d’s voice.
Our people—slaves for generations—were finally free. But freedom was wild and uncertain. Some days we danced. Other days, we argued about food or got scared we’d be lost forever. That morning, dark clouds wrapped around the mountain like smoke. No birds. No laughter. Just silence and sky. Everyone stood, waiting. Even the elders looked afraid.
Moses had been gone up there for days already. I overheard my father whisper, “He said G-d will speak today.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but my stomach twisted like I’d swallowed stones.
And then it started.
The mountain shook like a beating drum, and fire climbed from the rocks. A sound—like shofars, but louder and stranger—pierced the air. And through it…a voice.
Not human. Not from anywhere I could point to. It felt like it came from inside my chest and the tops of the clouds at once. It said things no one had told me before, but I recognized every word:
“I am the L-rd your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt…”
I couldn’t breathe. My knees wobbled. People fell to the ground all around me. Others wailed or covered their ears. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. That voice—G-d’s voice—was giving us something more than rules. It was like a net woven from fire and thunder, catching us together, making us into something we hadn’t been before: a people.
I didn’t understand every word, but I heard the one that mattered most: “I am yours.”
Afterward, we begged Moses to speak to G-d for us. It was too much. Too holy. But deep inside, I was glad I had heard it. Because now, when my little brother asks, “Why do we follow His words?” I tell him, “Because G-d didn’t just save us from Pharaoh. He saved us for something.”
That day, slavery ended, but something bigger began. We weren’t just free—we were chosen. And chosen people don’t walk alone.
