Someone once asked the Baal Shem Tov why Chassidim are constantly dancing. At every opportunity, sometimes even for the smallest reason, or for no apparent reason at all, they break into joyous movement. What lies behind this perpetual dance?
The Baal Shem Tov responded with a parable.
An expert violinist once arrived in a village and began playing the most enchanting melodies in the middle of the local marketplace. One by one, the shopkeepers and merchants left their stalls, unable to resist gathering to listen to the beautiful music. As the tempo quickened, feet began to tap, and before long, the entire marketplace was holding hands and dancing in a circle with wild, uncontainable joy.
Just then, a deaf man walked into the marketplace to do some shopping. Seeing a group of grown men dancing on a regular Tuesday afternoon, he was bewildered. He tapped someone on the shoulder and asked,
“Are you people mad? It’s a random weekday afternoon! It’s not a special day, and I see no chosson and kallah. Why is everyone dancing?”
The man smiled kindly and said, “You can’t hear it, but there’s a musician playing the most beautiful, moving music. We simply can’t help but dance.”
The Baal Shem Tov explained: There is music playing throughout the world, the spiritual song of the Ribono Shel Olam. Hashem constantly calls out to us with love: “Kol Yisrael b’nei melachim hem” — “All Jews are children of the King.” “Shuvu banim shovavim” — “Return, wayward children.”
Through every detail of creation and every moment of life, Hashem’s voice sings to us. But some are deaf to this Divine song. Their spiritual ears are blocked; their eyes see only the physical. Those who succeed in unblocking their ears, who manage to attune themselves to this higher frequency, they are able to hear the music. And once they do, they can’t help but stop everything and dance.
But what is this dance, and why is it so central to Chassidic expression?
Dancing is not merely an act of celebration, it is a declaration of spiritual movement. When a person dances, they lift their feet off the ground. They defy the pull of gravity, if only for a moment, as if to say: “I am not bound by the Earth. I am more than just a body, I am a soul that yearns to rise.” Dance is the language of the neshamah when words fall short. It is spontaneous joy erupting from within, the soul’s way of saying it hears the music of creation.
Reb Shimon bar Yochai taught us how to access this hidden frequency.
The seforim explain that the world is built from four elements: fire, water, wind, and earth. Among them, two are in constant opposition—afar (earth) and aish (fire). The Tanya teaches that afar represents the forces that pull us down, such as laziness, despair, fear, sadness, or feelings of self-doubt.
After the sin of Adam and Chava, humanity was cursed with deeper ties to the earth. They had to work the land, and be buried in it. The body and the physical world drag us downward, making it difficult to rise, much less to dance.
Aish, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. A flame never rests; it flickers, sways, dances—always reaching higher. Fire is expansive, striving to transcend the physical. Aish represents the fire of our neshamah: “Ner Hashem nishmas adam” — “The soul of man is the candle of Hashem.” Aish elevates; afar suppresses. This is the eternal struggle between body and soul.
Reb Shimon bar Yochai, and the entire world of Kabbalah and pnimius haTorah, reveals the soul within reality. He teaches us that our truest self is our neshamah, the Divine fire within, yearning to rise higher. He uncovered the hidden light of creation. A tree looked like a tree, until Reb Shimon Bar Yochai came along and said a tree is not a tree. There is an entire spiritual world in front of you. This tree is filled with nitzotzos, holy sparks of kedushah. Reb Shimon revealed what you can accomplish for the spiritual reality of the world when you make a birchas ha’ilanos on that tree, or make a bracha on food.
The Gemara in Shabbos tells us that when Reb Shimon emerged from the cave after thirteen years, he was disturbed to see someone working the land. He burned the man with his gaze, his soul aflame with a passion for the spiritual, unable to tolerate a life consumed entirely by the physical. He fought the pull of afar with the fire of the neshamah.
On Lag Ba’omer, we celebrate Reb Shimon’s passing because he taught us that the soul never dies. We light fires and dance around them, expressing our connection to his eternal message.
We lift our feet from the earth, rising with the flames, climbing ever higher toward Hashem.
This message is especially vital for our generation—the ikvesa d’moshicha, the generation of the “heels” of Moshiach. The heel is the lowest, most calloused part of the body, always in contact with the ground. It symbolizes the spiritual numbness and heaviness of our times. Yet Reb Shimon comes to remind us: You are not defined by the earth. You are fire. You are a ben melech, a royal soul, capable of soaring heights.
Reb Shimon bar Yochai revealed the secret. While the surface of life may be filled with sadness and struggle, beneath it lies a Divine song, waiting to be heard. We must learn to unstuff our spiritual ears, to listen more deeply, to hear the music beneath the noise, to sense the fire beneath the earth.
And once we hear that music…
We rise.
We move.
And we dance.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 35 Lag Ba’omer Edition.
