As we celebrated Shavuot, a question rose up inside me. What was it like for the children at Mt. Sinai?

The Midrash teaches that God spoke to everyone in a voice that they could understand – the men in one voice, the women in another, the little ones in a third. But I wish I knew more. What did the Holy One say to the children? What gift did He give them? And as parents and communities, how could we give our own children the same gift?

There must have been young ones who were born into slavery and oppression, who were born into a world without hope. What would it have been like for them to live through the plagues, to cross the sea in their parents’ arms, and to begin a new life in the desert? And what did the Holy One say to them to comfort them, to give them hope?

I look back to Sinai, and I imagine the the Holy One picking up each child, one by one, and holding them in His arms. “I trust you,” the Holy One would say. “I know the world seems broken. I know the world seems violent. But you’ll get through it. You have a gift and a talent that no one else has. We’ll work together and repair the world.”

How reassuring those words would have been for the five-year-olds, and how soothing that tone would have been for the infants. And how wonderful the world would be if we could find such love in our hearts – if we could teach each child that they are loved and they are special.

Our tradition teaches that Judaism is not so much about understanding God. It’s about walking in the ways of God. We, too, must create communities where children are loved, where children are comforted, where children are empowered to repair the world. And it’s not just our own children we need to help. It’s all the children.

It’s not easy to be a child these days. Five and six-year-olds are aware of the political tensions in our country. Twelve-year-olds talk about shootings, lockdowns, and bullying. All of us must be that calming voice of God, telling the children, “I have faith in you. We’ll work together and we’ll find a way to repair the world.”

There was a girl named Hannah who grew up in my congregation. Her parents took her to services almost from the time she was born. And as soon as she learned to walk, she would climb up to the bimah to help open the ark for Aleinu.

One day, when she was five or six, the inevitable happened. I got home from Friday night services and an hour later I got a phone call. It was Hannah’s father, calling in a panic. “Hannah left her teddy bear at services,” he told me. “What can we do?”

“Don’t worry”, I told him. “I’ll be at Torah study in the morning and I’ll take care of it.”

They next morning, I got to Torah study early and searched for the bear. He was a clever little bear, and he was good at hiding. But I was determined, and finally I found him. “Then what?” I wondered. “Is there a place I can put him where he’ll be safe?” And then I remembered all the nights when Hannah would run up to the ark.

As it happens, our ark is built for expansion. We have two Torah scrolls, but our ark has a place for a third. So I carefully put the bear where the third scroll would go. And just to be sure, I hung a sign around his neck. “Please don’t move me. I’m studying Torah until next Shabbat.” I wish you could have seen Hannah’s face the next time she opened the ark.

This is the love that the Holy One gave each child at Mt. Sinai. And this is the love that we need to give to all of our children.