I was in a mainstream Bais Yaakov seminary when Lag Ba’omer rolled around. My close friends insisted that Meron was the best ‘place to be’ to really experience Lag Ba’omer in Israel. That year, Lag Ba’omer fell on Motzoei Shabbos, but we were committed to having the full experience. Despite our naivete, we sensed that we wanted to be the first to arrive at Meron, and not have to put up with the Motzoei Shabbos logistics and traffic. Feeling original and bold, we booked accommodations in Tzfas that Shabbos, so that we could head to Meron as soon as Shabbos was out. Turns out, thousands of others had the same brilliant idea we had.
Shabbos in Tzfas, on Erev Lag Ba’omer, is a wild place to be. The city felt completely full. The streets were teeming with everyone who had traveled up for the Meron experience. Our group of sem friends stayed at the most interesting location, met the most interesting people, got into the most interesting spiritual discussions with complete strangers, and attended Shabbos meals that probably could never be duplicated outside of Tzfas. For Shacharis on Shabbos morning, we enthusiastically climbed up a random building to the rooftop to enjoy the mountain vistas, inhale the mountain air, and to squint and make out what was happening at Meron, the hilltop just across the valley.
The instant Shabbos was out, we heard Havdalah and rushed to the central bus station of Tzfas. Along with hundreds of others, we crammed onto buses that were pulling up nonstop to take people to Meron. The bus ride was crazier than anything I experienced on Shabbos. Completely crammed with every type and stripe, the energy and anticipation was sky high. People were playing music, people were singing, clapping, and ‘getting into it.’ I felt so out of my element and so in my element at the exact same time.
The buses pulled up at Meron. At last! At the bottom of the mountain, I saw dozens of campsites — groups who had traveled up and spent Shabbos there on the mountain. There were mini campfires everywhere. There was clothing everywhere, items strewn everywhere, and a chaotic, haphazard energy around.
We started walking toward the main entrance of the mountain. There were more official signs and more people, as crowds started making their way to Meron. The music was loud and fun. There were people dancing everywhere. Every few feet, different speakers were blaring different remixes, and in every direction, people were dancing. There were tables set up with people selling Breslov items, and somehow I ended up purchasing “Aish Sheli Remix 4”, (a CD I had no ability to even play). The energy was intense, alive, and electric.
As we got closer up the mountain, there were throngs of Chassidim streaming in every direction. There were tents set up for hachnasas orchim and hundreds of volunteers doling out hot food, water, and baked goods. I was shocked that all of it was for free. I appreciated it immensely, as my friend and I hadn’t brought food with us. Ducking into one of the large food tents designated for ladies was a reprieve from the craziness and crowds on the mountain. We got to breathe. I only felt warmth; every woman there was so kind and so, so warm. The chesed was pure and unadulterated, and my thirsty, hungry, overstimulated self still appreciates it to this day.
As we got closer to the kever of Rashbi, I noticed little boys with long hair being carried on their fathers’ shoulders. Oh right! The upsherins! Whole families of Chassidim were arriving at Meron to cut their little boy’s hair for the first time. We stuck around and watched the families. The boys were dressed like little princes. The mothers were off to the side, beaming, watching the fathers dancing with their little boys. The mothers had already pre-arranged the boys’ hair, sectioning off their payos, and clipping large black velvet brand-new kippas onto their little heads. I felt my heart bursting with nachas that wasn’t even my own. The purity in the air was legit.
Finally, we became part of the crowd that was in line for the kever. We were stuffed so tightly with thousands of other women, all waiting to enter Kever Rashbi. The crowding all around us was so intense; there wasn’t much movement at all. The mountain behind us was alive and jumping, dancing, and we were just breathing, davening, and waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally, it was our turn. We were ushered into the courtyard and then into the kever.
Kever Rashbi. Lag Ba’omer. Pure silence. I wasn’t prepared for how still and how silent it was going to be in there. The holiness in the room was so overwhelming and indescribable that the only reaction to it was silence. To go inwards. All the noise, music, and chaos of the mountain didn’t exist anymore. I felt like I was inside pure white fire. Anything I had ‘planned’ to daven for went out the window. All I felt was a searing yearning that was overwhelming and grounding at the same time.
When it was time to get ushered out of the kever, it felt strange to go back outside again. We headed over to the large hadlaka happening right near the kever. It was heilig. We stayed for a while soaking in the whole atmosphere. At some point, we realized it was daybreak.
Later on, we realized it was already the afternoon. We gratefully visited the hachansos orchim tent a few more times. When nightfall approached, we headed to the buses and boarded a bus heading back to Yerushalayim. My soul was feeling full and satiated; with what, I still can’t articulate.
The next day, during class, many girls who didn’t go up to Meron were asking the teachers what the whole inyan of Meron is. One teacher put into words exactly what we had experienced. She said the energy around Rebbe Shimon is likened to a bonfire. The outskirts of a bonfire, the farthest layers, can be the most wild. Sparks are leaping and jumping; the flames shoot out in erratic directions; it is chaotic and unpredictable. As you get closer to the center of the bonfire, the flames become more steady and consistent. The bonfire is full and growing, and the flames are climbing upwards. And when you get to the very center, it becomes a still white flame. No movement. Pure fire. The energy concentration is immense.
I experienced that during my time at Meron. The action furthest from the kever, at the bottom parts of the mountain, resembled the outer ring of a bonfire — colorful, chaotic, frenetic, random. As we moved closer into the mountain, the action changed, and the energy changed. It got more and more heilig, more intense, and more concentrated. And the kever itself — silence. The pure, white hot flame at the center of a fire. No action, no noise at all.
The whole experience on the mountain of Meron is fashioned like one large bonfire, and everyone is a part of it. Everyone belongs, everyone is connected, and everyone is just thereto get close, closer, higher, and higher.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 79 – Lag Ba’omer.
