Lag Ba'Omer in Meron

By Matthue Roth

I'd never been to Meron before that night.

Ostensibly, there was no reason to travel there. Meron is a tiny town situated on a mountain in the woods of northern Israel. It barely has a main street, let alone a strip mall or hotel. Perhaps its only claim to fame is that it serves as the final resting place for famous rabbinic figures: Hillel , Shammai, and Shimon bar Yohai (also known as Simeon ben Yohai).

It's also the site of one of the biggest parties in Israel.

Bar Yohai's Request

Bar Yohai was a 2nd-century rabbi whose teachings are found in the Mishnah. Traditionally, he was thought to be the author of the Zohar , the seminal kabbalistic work, though modern scholars have questioned this theory. Before he died, Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai requested that on his yahrzeit , which falls on Lag Ba'Omer , his students mark the day by rejoicing instead of weeping.

So every year on Lag Ba'Omer, this small town is overrun by nearly a million people, joining together in celebration.

It is a diverse crowd: male and female, old and young, ultra religious and completely secular. In the area near the top of the mountain, tents pop up everywhere. The hundreds of thousands of visitors build bonfires, sheht animals for feasts, and pray. Benevolent people give away thousands of homemade sandwiches and salads. Anybody is welcome to partake.

Young religious zealots dance to trance music or to the sound of their own drums. Chabad Hasidim are out in force luring tourists into donning tefillin . The entire mountainside is transformed into a promenade where superstars of the Israeli religious music scene participate in impromptu jams with the tourists. The festive meals -- often picnics or barbecues -- are yet another opportunity to break into song, storytelling, prayer, telling jokes, and simply spending time with family or friends.

At first glance, the tiny hilltop town looks like complete mayhem. But Meron also becomes a place where strangers become friends. Perhaps when Shimon bar Yohai envisioned his followers celebrating rather than mourning, he knew that a party this good would come out of it.

A Reflection

I wrote this poem, "Bar Yohai (Ai Yai Yai)," after I attended Lag Ba'Omer in Meron. I'd spent all day climbing up and down the hill, praying, people-watching, passing goats being slaughtered, and children playing every manner of ball game. I'd seen a rabbi, a descendant of Bar Yohai, throwing himself onto the top of the famed scholar's tomb, weeping. I'd seen totally secular Israelis, standing in their too-tight shorts and muscle shirts, whispering psalms in the most fervent, humbled voices.

It was one of the most spiritual events I'd ever experienced. Yet everything about it was also intensely, singularly physical. I barely spoke the language. I didn't understand many of the customs. It was a clash of dozens of cultures, some totally alien to me, and some I couldn't even name. But all of them distinctly and unmistakably Jewish.

Bar Yohai (Ai Yai Yai)

That night we ran from bar Yohai's grave to deep in the valley of Meron

It felt like the prophet was pushing us, not gravity as we soared past dancing Hasidim and old ladies giving out cookies and fortunes and boxes of yeshiva boys seeing the sun for the first time in weeks

Inside the tomb I snuck in early not wanting to wait for nightfall

Yes, I know for those who gathered there at sunset there were promises of a sin-free life at stake I didn't want that I just wanted to say hi

apparently everyone had the same idea the sweat of eight hundred thousand sweaty Israeli men crowded up against me cramming into my personal space shirts splayed open like an autopsy broadcasting more sweat and Stay away from me, I'm a smell machine fighting to get closer to the kever I wanted to tell them I'm only here for the rabbi Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai hid out in a cave for 13 years learning Torah and being antisocial I don't blame him, that's how I learned to love G-d today eight hundred thousand people came there all trying to speak the same language everyone tried to talk to each other but no one was listening the chaos was its own language

I met strangers all day, hugged them like brothers we weren't sure to go from there so we laughed and left

At the moment of sunset all eight hundred thousand prayed at once, toward Jerusalem and I ran all eight hundred thousand people scattered over that hill and I wanted to get away from all of them everything rushed by me, people music food felt like I wasn't moving at all like a Buddhist paradox

Halfway down I crashed into an old Sephardic lady who looked like she'd just cooked dinner for eight hundred thousand

She handed me a baguette full of vegetables rescued from a king's table hundreds of years ago No thanks, I said, I don't know you

Don't be stupid, son, start eating, she said Thirteen years in a cave is a long time She fed me like the apocalypse was coming I ate just enough to keep running

This article was first published at My Jewish Learning , a Patheos Partner , and is reprinted with permission. For more information about Lag B'Omer or counting the Omer , visit My Jewish Learning .

Matthue Roth is the author, most recently, of the Russian Jewish immigrant geek novel Losers , as well as two other novels and a memoir. He is an Associate Editor at MyJewishLearning.com.