It’s been a minute. Let’s journal.
Sivan, and my mind runs straight to Har Sinai. I can almost hear the song from childhood, “I am a mountain so very tall…”each mountain pleading, reaching, claiming worthiness. And yet, Hashem chose the smallest one. Not the tallest, not the loudest. Har Sinai whispers the deepest secret: Bittul Gamur—true surrender, a quiet, steady “I’m here, Hashem. Whatever You want.”
And somehow, that’s where wedding prep begins.
Because Shavous is that wedding date on the calendar—it’s a chuppah. A cosmic meeting. Kudsha Brich Hu and Knesses Yisroel, coming together in a yichud that was set in motion long before we even realized we were invited.
The invitations were sent out on Leil HaSeder. Every step out of Mitzrayim was a fitting. Every day of Sefirah was another stitch, another adjustment, another refinement of the soul. Forty-nine days of becoming.
Some days felt like progress. Some days felt like smallness, katnus, constriction, ןיד, pressing in from all sides. The world is a little heavier. The students of Rebbi Akiva gone, the days marked with din.
And then: Shavous. Suddenly everything turns white. We enter a season of Chesed.
Milk. Cheesecake. Chalav poured into coffee like softness entering din. Because chalav is a message, Rav Itcha Meir Morgenstern explains, the roshai teivos of is Chalav. White, clean, expansive.
Chesed flooding where din once stood.
It’s almost like Hashem says: You’ve done the avodah. Now let Me sweeten it for you. Mamtik Dinim. That’s the chuppah. That’s the yichud.
But how do we get there?
Rav Nosson Breslover opens a window for us, drawing from Rebbe Nachman’s light. He brings us back to Avraham Avinu—the embodiment of chesed. Avraham saw everything through the lens of kindness. He found the in Lot, pulled him out;, believed in a spark he found.
And from that spark came Rus, and from Rus came Dovid Hamelech. Dovid Hamelech is connected to the middah of Malchus, which is connected to the moon. The moon has nothing of its own. No light. No glow. Just reflection. And yet — it grows. From the smallest sliver, almost disappearing… to fullness.
Why?
Because someone keeps finding the Because the stars,—the tiny , start to gather. And suddenly, there’s light.
That’s the avodah of Shavous. To catch people right before they fall—and hand them back their . To do that for ourselves, too. Especially for ourselves. Because the smallest point is where growth begins.
So here I am, standing in Sivan, planning a wedding.
A cheesecake party.
Bittul in the air.
Chesed in the milk.
And an avodah in the heart: collecting sparks.
Because that’s what we’re really doing, aren’t we?
Gathering one by one— until they’re bright enough to walk down the aisle and stand under the chuppah.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 82 – Shavuos.
