I'll never forget my first Shavuot in Jerusalem. I was 18 years old and in Israel on a one-year program after high-school. Being in Jerusalem for the holiday was pretty exciting for me, since my program was not situated in Jerusalem, and I did not get to the Holy City nearly enough.

Together with ten of my friends, I somehow managed to stay awake till 3:30 am learning from various Jewish sources and listening to lectures, and then mustered up the strength to walk to the Old City to pray shacharit (the morning prayers) at the Kotel (the Western Wall). I was so exhausted I don't really remember the walk, but I know that as we descended the stairs to the Wall, the sight that met me quickly jolted me out of my fatigued state.

Thousands of Jews - men and women, young and old, Israelis and tourists from many countries - thronged around the Kotel and its courtyard, preparing to pray at the holiest site for Jews in Jerusalem. There were literally thousands of prayer groups forming and as we joined one, I felt a tremendous sense of belonging and joy at being able to pray with my people, at a holy site and in a Holy City. It was freezing standing there at 4:30 in the morning, but somehow the cold, hunger and fatigue no longer mattered. Finally everything I had learned in Jewish day school about the significance of Shavuot was beginning to have some tangible meaning in my own life. I felt that I had a glimpse, albeit ever so minute, of how the Children of Israel must have felt standing before God at Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah that would guide their lives.

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