Nearly a century ago, on June 8, 1924, George Mallory disappeared into the clouds high on Mount Everest. Straddling the border between Nepal and Tibet at the crest of the Himalayan mountain chain, Everest is considered the tallest mountain in the world at an estimated elevation of over 29,000 feet, roughly 5.5 miles tall. When Mallory and his climbing partner, Andrew Irvine, were last seen, they were less than a thousand feet from the summit.
At that point in history, no one had yet reached the top of Sagarmatha, the mountain’s Tibetan name, which means “the Head of the Earth touching the Heaven.” When Mallory was asked by a reporter why he was attempting to climb Everest, he famously replied, “Because it’s there.”
Over 3000 years earlier, the recently liberated Israelites approached the base of a much more hospitable mountain. No special equipment or experience was needed for the trek made by young and old alike. If a press conference had been held on the morning of the Revelation at Sinai, I imagine reporters would have had a similar question: Why? Why embark on this arduous journey? Why venture time, energy, resources, and your very lives for the Torah?
The Talmud relates that on that day, 600,000 men as well as their wives and children stood b’takhteet hahar (Ex. 19:17), “in the bottom of the mount,” for God had overturned Sinai itself and suspended it above their heads like an upturned vat, signaling that if they did not accept the Torah, “there will be your burial” (Shabbat 88a). Thus, in response to any question about the nation’s motivation to take on such a challenging spiritual expedition, the Jews might simply have pointed up at the forbidding butte overhead and said: Because it’s there.
Since the Jewish people had already said naaseh v’nishma, “we will do and we will hear” (Ex. 24:7), and committed to accepting the Torah prior to arriving at Sinai, sages across the ages have expounded on the Talmud’s apparent contradiction of volition. Even if the threatened burial-by-barrel was meant to ensure the Jewish people would stand by their promise, it significantly weakens their “why.” No longer would they be choosing Torah because of a genuine desire for an elevated and everlasting relationship with the Almighty, but rather, their choice would be coerced by fear of death, essentially rendering it no choice at all.
The Talmud’s striking tableau summons to mind a slightly altered version of Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” which portrays the noble yet ill-fated British assault against the Russian forces during the Crimean War:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do [or] die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
According to the Talmudic sage Reish Lakish, while Israel stood stricken with awe, the earth itself trembled, for all the works of creation knew they were brought into existence only for the transmission of the Torah. If the Jews refused, the Sages say God pledged to return the world to chaos and emptiness (Shabbos 88a). Why?
In “Man’s Search for Meaning,” his personal account of the horrors of the Holocaust, Viktor Frankl observes that one who has a “why” can endure the most extreme suffering and even turn pain into purpose. Reflecting on Frankl’s assertion, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks writes, “Jews were the first to find meaning in history. They discovered the why [and] that is why [they’ve been] able to bear almost any how.” Noting that Nietzsche’s most often quoted remark— “One who has a why to live for can bear almost any how”— appears to align with Frankl’s insight, Rabbi Sacks counters the 19th century German philosopher who announced the “death of God” by arguing that a world without God is “infinite nothing… empty space… a universe without a why. It may have beauty, grandeur, scale and scope— but not meaning.” When people turn away from faith, writes Rabbi Sacks, “what dies is not God, but man.”
From this vantage point, we might understand the suspended Sinai not as peril but pedagogy. Not as leverage, but a vital lesson. In holding the mountain overhead, God taught the Jewish people that a life without Torah is senseless, empty, nothing. A form of living death. But the offer, the assurance, of Torah is the most essential why. It is connection, meaning, and a life filled with purpose.
The values and principles of Torah are universally appealing. The Hebrew Bible’s emphasis on freedom, justice, charity, and moral responsibility has buttressed democracy and shaped Western civilization in countless ways. But, as the Maharal of Prague explains, God needed to teach the people that values, vision, and volunteerism are not enough. Covenant requires compelled commitment.
The history of attempts to climb the highest mountain on earth began in the early 1920s, but the attempt to reach the apex of human flourishing by drawing heaven down to earth began with the bestowal of the Hebrew Bible millennia ago. Although Mallory perished during his expedition, and it remains unknown whether he died on the ascent toward or descent from the peak, there is nothing mysterious about the mass revelation at Sinai. The continuity of the nation founded at Sinai across epochs is evidence of its sacred mission. And while it is evident that we must continue climbing to reach the pinnacle of religious, moral, legal and political life, our steps are strengthened by the truth of Torah and the wisdom of our ancestors. We carry on our backs and in our hearts a legacy of lives committed to Jewish values. We are oxygenated and warmed by our communities and allies. And we remain tethered to our purpose, knowing that the cord between God and the Jewish people can never be severed.
Dr. Shaina Trapedo is an Assistant Professor of English at Stern College and a resident scholar at the Straus Center for Torah and Western Thought at Yeshiva University.
