In life, there are big mountains and little mountains. When confronted with a big mountain, I look up, feeling so helpless and small, and raise my eyes to the Heavens for help.

In the first years of our marriage, my husband and I confronted a big mountain of infertility. We ran from doctor to doctor. I prayed with fervor. My book of Psalms was soakedDespite the pain, there was sweetness in tears. We went to righteous people to receive blessings, and ask for advice and visited many holy places. When I look back on that time, I remember that despite the pain, there was sweetness. I felt so spiritually connected, clearly in G‑d’s hands.

Other big mountains came. My mother in-law, of blessed memory, had a fatal illness. And there were months where I had no idea how we would pay the rent money. These mountains felt so high, but again, they came with a clarity that G‑d was close—that I knew I wasn’t alone. Many people have told me when faced with difficult challenges that they experience the same.

But what about those little mountains? These are the ones that aren’t so big, but they humble you without a doubt. Like when you are late for work, and you need to get your child to preschool and he has to go to the bathroom. Or when you run out of bread, and you are in the middle of making sandwiches for school. The mountains of a washing machine that doesn’t work, or a broken elevator when you live way up at the top of a building. Little mountains of a neighbor who plays loud music when it’s not too late, though it’s still bothering you and you want it to stop.

These little mountains are called everyday life; they happen to real people who have different personalities, needs and wants.

I recently had one of those mornings. I had already been up for hours, and it was only 7. One child woke up vomiting. I ran with him and one of his brothers to the doctor, and left my youngest one at home with my oldest daughter. The doctor was running late, and I kept looking at the clock, knowing that I had a client coming at 9 a.m.

When the doctor finally arrived, he told me that my son’s stomach ache was just a normal child’s virus, nothing major.

Then my daughter called me, “We have no bread for lunch.” So on the way back, I stopped by the supermarket.

I rushed home with the bread and felt like a herder of sheep as I hurried the two kids with me into the house. I had 10 minutes to spare before my client was supposed to come as I started to pick up the baby’s mess of toys. Then my oldest son asked me for something that he needed, and I felt like I was going to pop. Yes, nothing major, but my day was only beginning, and I already felt worn out and wondered how in the world was I going to get through the rest of it.

And then I realized that I was standing in front of a mountain, a little one. I felt humbled. I needed help. With two minutes left on the clock before I needed to start to work, I closed my eyes and prayed to G‑d. I felt “spiritual.” I felt Him so close. I took a deep breath and felt that with Him nearby, I could go on.

The midrash explains that the Torah was given on Mount Sinai because it was small—the humblest of all the mountains.

I think that many of I felt humbled. I needed some help. us think that Torah and its spiritual connection are for those times when there is a major test in your life, such as a trauma or disaster. Or that Judaism and Divine connection is for places like the synagogue, only on certain days of the year or maybe just for holy people. But G‑d gave the Torah on a little mountain to all of us. At first, there was a lot of noise. It was very dramatic with shofar blasts, lighting and thunder. But then there was silence, and the midrash describes how all the ill were cured. The nation of Israel had just come out of Egypt loaded with riches and wealth. They had no major problems anymore, no huge tests to pass or overcome.

G‑d gave us the Torah and He told us, “If you obey Me and keep My covenant, you shall be to Me a treasure out of all peoples, for Mine is the entire earth.”1

Essentially, G‑d is not just up there, but as my children sing, everywhere. Meaning, not just in a crisis or religious setting, but in those moments of little mountains, of the small tests and trials of everyday life. He’s there when you walk in the door overwhelmed or when you make sandwiches. When you are doing your laundry or at work. He’s here, He’s there, He fills up the entire world, and He’s always ready for constant connection.

It might be hard to see it at first, but it’s in daily living where we are actually challenged the most, and therefore have the potential for tremendous growth and connection.