Shavuot is, without question, one of the most powerful windows in time. But its power is not automatic. It’s not like jumping into a magical pool that effortlessly washes away every challenge or difficulty. It’s something far deeper, far more intimate, and frankly, much more profound. To access it, we have to show up and not just physically, not just mentally, but soulfully.
Most years, we come into this holiday thinking about what we want to shed or change. We pray for the Creator to remove our fear, our doubt, our anxiety, our confusion. We’re exhausted—physically, emotionally—and then we push ourselves to stay up all night to receive the Light. Our eyes are heavy, we’re yawning. Maybe we nudge the person next to us to stay awake. We pray harder. We wait for that surge of divine clarity. But the Light available at Shavuot is not accessed through greater effort or through asking in the right way. It comes from surrender.
I’m reminded of the most powerful Shavuot I have ever had. It was twenty-two years ago, and believe me, at the outset, it wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t peaceful. I arrived at that Shavuot exhausted, disoriented, heartbroken, and almost desperate.
My son Josh had been born just two months prior, and I was gripped by a level of fear and anxiety I had never known. Every part of me felt unstable. I literally hadn’t slept in 48 hours due to a crippling anxiety attack. Even getting on a plane to be with my community felt impossible—my nervous system was in full revolt. I was in a tailspin of doubt. I prayed so intensely and felt so upset by my state. How could I, after all my years of studying Kabbalah, be so afraid? How could I be so consumed by uncertainty?
I remember looking at myself as if from the outside, barely recognizing who I had become but knowing that this was not who I wanted to be. It was not who I am. But I didn’t yet have the conscious ability to climb out. That night, I kept whispering to the Creator: Please, shine Your Light on me. Show me who to be.
Finally, at 4 a.m., completely depleted, I curled up into a sleeping bag beside my son David on the synagogue floor and fell asleep. It was the first time I had slept in 72 hours. About two hours later, I awoke to a warm sensation across my face.
It was the first rays of sunlight pouring through the synagogue windows. The room was quiet, bathed in gold. I watched the sun continue to slowly rise, and at the same time, I could feel the Light rising within me. I can’t explain it in words that fully do it justice. It wasn’t peace—it was presence. It was as if my soul had been reset. I wasn’t who I was before I fell asleep. I was someone new. The fear hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer ruled me. It no longer defined me.
This is what Shavuot is all about.
It isn’t about asking the Creator to remove the pieces we don’t like, or to replace broken parts, or to patch up our wounds. Not trying to “soup up” our spiritual vehicle so we can run longer, faster, cleaner. This night isn’t about an upgrade—it’s arriving at a different state of being.
It’s about becoming so aligned with the Light that the fear no longer sticks. That the doubt no longer finds a place to land. That you don’t need to fight to be better, because you’ve simply become someone new. We often think that transformation means cleaning up what’s wrong and polishing what’s right. But real spiritual change doesn’t just make you “better,” it makes you different. It turns the soil of your being. It alters the way you see, the way you feel, and most importantly, the way you respond.
When you approach Shavuot with this consciousness—not begging for clarity, but welcoming a completely new perspective—something miraculous happens. The exhaustion lifts. The old fears lose their grip, and when you wake up, you don’t just feel different. You are different.
That’s the invitation of this night. To come with a deep intention to be transformed. To stop pleading for the Creator to remove our discomfort and instead say, help me see it differently. Help me see myself differently.
Tonight is also not about resisting sleep—it’s about preparing for awakening. And not just the kind that happens with the sunrise. I’m talking about a soul-awakening. A Consciousness-awakening. The kind that changes how you show up in your life long after the holiday has ended. Don’t just ask to feel less pain or fear. Ask to be someone who no longer identifies with that fear. Someone who lives from Light. Someone who doesn’t need to be “fixed,” because they’ve been remade.
As we approach Shavuot, begin now to understand that there is a version of you waiting on the other side. Not better, but truer.
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