Several years ago, as a college student immersed in Middle Eastern history, I stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai in the early morning darkness. I peered upwards at the black behemoth face, wondering if this mountain was indeed the same Mt. Sinai described in the scriptures of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the mountain upon which God descended and conversed with Moses. The book of Exodus says the mountain trembled violently beneath the presence of God. The Israelites camped at the mountain’s foot saw God’s appearance as a consuming fire; they witnessed Moses’ face radiant with the reflection of God’s glory. For centuries this ruddy peak, towards the bottom of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, has been commonly identified as the biblical Mt. Sinai. Though it is only an educated guess, imagination can sanctify a barren rock. The fabled sunrise hike, in the dark, to Sinai’s craggy peak sounded to me like an adventure and a story. Hence when I found myself on the edge of Egypt, I took an impromptu pilgrimage to Jabal Musa, Moses’ Mountain, as the locals call it. Mohammad, a youthful and energetic guide, met me at the trailhead, dressed in the traditional robe and sandals. “Which way do you want to go?” he asked me. “The easy way? Or the hard way?” “The hard way!” I answered, eager for a challenge. In the dim light, we began our cautious, arduous ascent, balancing on jagged boulder edges and stretching to reach each rock. Our path took us, stumbling and slipping, near the easier path. The moonlight caught the white garments of a group of Ethiopians. Their dark skin was invisible in the night, but their long robes and turbans bumped up and down as they, too, made their pilgrimage. They seemed solemn. Mohammad and I talked and laughed as we climbed, but no sound came from the Ethiopians except the clatter of rocks scurrying from their shoes. As dawn’s first silver strands threaded the clouds, we grew bolder. Mohammad veered off the path, clambered atop a tall rock, and looked back to see if I followed. I did. He smiled, and leapt to another. We bounded among the boulders, like the ibex which inhabit these mountains, goading each other on. Soon, we tottered on the edge of an overhang, over the trail where the Ethiopians trod, one after the other. We could just make out their faces, fixed and stolid. One man glanced up towards us. I think I saw him smile; I caught a glimpse of white in the faint light. The stars and moon disappeared, replaced by a dusky gray shade. The hard and easy paths merged. Huts selling postcards and olive-wood ornaments crouched beside the trail. Mohammad bought a candy bar, and tearing it in half, offered me a piece. The turbans of the Ethiopians bobbed past us. I counted fifteen. A slight trail of mountain dust haloed their feet, clad in humble leather sandals. They marched onwards, disregarding the shopkeepers shouting to tourists and waving souvenirs. Breathless from our irreverent antics, Mohammad and I reached the summit, and shared a soda to celebrate. We laid a thick wool blanket on a promontory to mark our spot while we explored the peak, posing for photos and eating a packed breakfast. Soon the Ethiopians arrived, angel-like garments tinted with Sinai’s red earth. They sat down solemnly on a wide rock shelf, legs crossed on the cold ground, and stared into the increasingly rose-imbued sky. They waited, in sacred stillness. As rays of sunshine erupted from behind silhouetted peaks, we fixed our attention eastwards. The fiery hues deepened, and the first searing arc of the sun broke the horizon. One of the Ethiopians uncrossed his legs and rose. He stretched his arms towards the gold-painted clouds, opened his palms, and, in stringent, resounding notes, he sang. Fourteen more penetrating, exalting voices joined in. A hymnal of praise, strident, energetic, quivering with joy. I couldn’t understand the words, but I understood the song. I sat motionless. The sun radiated from their faces, like God’s glory. Just as Moses did, I heard the voice of God there on Sinai’s peak. Beneath us, I believe, the mountain trembled.