The events at Har Sinai are among the most dramatic moments in the history of religious life. For the first time since creation, Hashem entered the human world and revealed His will directly.
For thousands of years, human beings struggled to discern the presence of Hashem through nature – reading meaning into the heavens, the land, and the forces that shape life. Often, that effort went astray. The Creator was replaced with fragments of creation, and avodah zarah took the place of belief in the One Hashem who stands beyond the world.
At Har Sinai, that search came to a close. Hashem no longer needed to be inferred or reconstructed. He spoke. Humanity did not struggle upward through speculation; it stood and listened. From that moment on, the course of religious history changed.
A Pause Before Har Sinai
Yet the dramatic events atop that mountain are recorded in the Torah only after two seemingly ordinary episodes. First, Yitro, Moshe’s father-in-law, arrives with Moshe’s family. He is received with warmth and honor, welcomed by Moshe and the leaders, and invited to a festive meal. It is a gentle story of reunion and hospitality, all the more striking given the strain and uncertainty of desert life. Still, it is difficult to see what this scene has to do with the revelation of Torah at Har Sinai.
Immediately afterward, the Torah turns to another understated moment. Yitro observes Moshe judging the people from morning until night, resolving even the smallest disputes. Concerned that the burden will crush his son-in-law, he urges Moshe to delegate and to establish a system of judges. A judicial structure is put in place to support Moshe and sustain the people. This, too, is a valuable lesson in responsibility and leadership – but why does it stand at the threshold of Har Sinai?
Would it not have been more striking to open the section of Yitro with the thunder and fire of revelation itself? More iconic, more symbolic, to move directly into the moment when Hashem speaks? Why does the Torah pause for these accounts of family welcome and legal organization before ascending to Har Sinai?
Fire and Restraint
Har Sinai marks the birth of religious commitment. Hearing the voice of Hashem fills human beings with passion, intensity, and awe. Religious energy surges, and zeal runs high after receiving the word of Hashem.
But uncontained passion can drift into extremism. Religious intensity, when left unrestrained, can harden into radicalism. Lofty spiritual aims can tempt people to dismiss ordinary human conventions – moral restraint, social responsibility, even respect for law. When standing in service of a transcendent Hashem, human systems can begin to feel small or expendable.
To prevent this danger, the Torah establishes two foundations before revelation. Yitro cares for Moshe’s family while Moshe is consumed with the liberation of our people from Egypt. Moshe and the leaders pause, even in the harsh conditions of the desert, to receive Yitro with dignity and hospitality.
We are then shown legal structure. Yitro urges Moshe to create a system of judges, embedding law, procedure, and accountability into the life of the people. Authority is shared, enforced, and made sustainable.
Only once these foundations are in place can Torah be given. The religious intensity of Har Sinai must be framed by moral discipline and respect for law and authority. Without that prior structure, Har Sinai’s fire could ignite passion that overwhelms ethical conduct and erodes the rule of law.
Life often feels clearest at the extremes. Choices appear binary, and the world is reduced to black and white, right and wrong, with an air of absolute confidence. When religion becomes radicalized, that certainty is amplified by the added force of faith. Hashem is on my side. I act as His agent. How could I be wrong? Once framed that way, religious ends can be made to justify almost any means. The conviction of serving a higher purpose can license the erosion of ethical restraint and respect for law.
Overriding Norms
A stark illustration appeared in the seventeenth century with the rise of the false messiah Shabbetai Tzvi, who persuaded a vast portion of the Jewish world that redemption had already arrived. Some of his followers embraced practices that openly violated halacha, including the consumption of forbidden foods. If the messianic era had begun, they argued, the old legal framework no longer applied. This phenomenon – antinomianism – marks an extreme rejection of halacha, rooted in the belief that transcendent redemption overrides binding norms.
Whenever people are convinced they are acting in the name of higher goals – especially when they believe they are serving Hashem – moral boundaries become fragile. Human conventions, law, and ethical expectations begin to feel secondary, even obstructive, when set against the sweeping agenda they believe they are advancing. Often they see themselves as voicing what others secretly feel but lack the courage to enact. In their own eyes, they are not violating norms; they are carrying the will of the collective further than others dare.
Sovereignty and Responsibility
We are witnessing forms of this dynamic today, including within religious communities. In several settings, small but vocal extremist factions – often younger members – are acting in ways that disregard law and basic moral restraint in pursuit of deeply held ideological aims. In some cases, this has taken the form of disruptive protests that upend daily life for hundreds of thousands of citizens. At times, these protests have turned violent, with tragic consequences. Such behavior often reflects a broader culture in which legal authority is treated lightly. Regrettably, the actions of a few are casting a shadow over entire communities, breeding alienation and resentment rather than advancing communal values.
In other communities, the aspiration to settle the land (an ideal we all cherish) has been expressed through violence directed at police, soldiers, and non-Jewish residents. Beyond the inherent danger of such acts, they drain precious manpower and attention from security forces at a time of acute national need. Every resource diverted to containing internal violence weakens our ability to protect the country. These actions ultimately undermine the very cause they claim to serve, both practically – by portraying settlement efforts as violent and exclusionary – and spiritually, by betraying the expectation that we inhabit this land with respect for law, dignity, and human life.
In all these cases, religious passion, when severed from moral discipline and respect for law, becomes destructive. A higher ideal is invoked, but ethical conduct and legal authority are trampled in its name.
Our tradition accords deep respect to institutions of law and governance. Chazal teach that we are to pray for the welfare of the authorities, even when they fall short, because the alternative is chaos and anarchy. Alongside this, Torah affirms basic human norms of decency and moral conduct.
Similarly, we are instructed to live with derech eretz. This term does not simply mean morality in the abstract. It refers to the “ways of the land,” the human conventions of conduct, civility, and restraint that allow society to function with dignity. Chazal insist that derech eretz kadma laTorah. Just as the courteous and respectful encounter between Moshe and Yitro appears before the revelation at Har Sinai, the ways of the land must come before full Torah commitment.
Respect for law is even more critical in Israel. We finally live with Jewish symbols of authority and governance. What earlier generations could only dream of – a society shaped by Jewish sovereignty, Jewish courts, Jewish police, and Jewish soldiers – has become reality. To mock, weaken, or attack these institutions is not an abstract failure; it is a betrayal of generations who lived without them and longed for their return.