Lag B’Omer 5781: United in Sorrow?

Dateline: Friday morning, Lag B’Omer, Tzfat (May 31)

Last night, long before the disaster happened, I basked in my curmudgeonly smugness. We came to Tzfat for the holiday weekend as my wife and kids excitedly anticipated joining the hundreds of thousands in a long night of singing and dancing in honor of Rav Shimon Bar Yochai in nearby Meron.  Although Lonni tried valiantly to get me to join her, I was quite content to sit on my mechutan’s mirpeset (balcony) in Tzfat and look at the lights of Meron across the valley.  I generally do not like endless singing and dancing; I wonder what the revelers are thinking about and how much it really has to do with Ahavas Hashem.  I question how it connects with the rather severe personality of Rav Shimon that we meet in the Gemara.  Maybe it is my nature as a Yekke or a cynic – I felt little connection to the crowds that I was grateful to avoid.

And then, shortly after midnight, I heard a siren.  And another.  And then another, growing in intensity and frequency.  Having lived in Israel during the Intifada, I immediately worried whether a terrorist incident had occurred. Then, the flashing red lights appeared – all along the winding road from Meron to Tzfat.  And the phone call arrived – an acquaintance on a bus to Meron was told that their bus would be making a U-Turn, a tragedy had happened in Meron and no one would be allowed to enter.

As news of the extent and nature of the catastrophe trickled in, worry for my wife and kids and grandchildren grew stronger, abetted by the overwhelmed phone system that shut down all communication.  Soon, however, we were able to communicate via WhatsApp, and I was grateful to know they were unharmed, although a very long night still awaited them.

More hours of waiting, checking news, contemplating present and future, saying some tehillim, and listening to the unending wail of ambulances headed to Ziv Medical center passed – but I felt that there was something very missing for me.  Until I opened a message forwarded from a woman named BatSheva Sadan. Here is an English adaptation:

A moment after I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out that all my children were fine – I started crying.

I cried for my brief feeling of happiness and relief that this was the disaster of others; not my disaster. I cried for the sigh of relief that I was not one of the terrified mothers desperate to know the fate of their loved ones. I cried realizing how I had differentiated myself from dozens of families whose lives have changed, who will now carry a never-ending pain. 

On this special day – when we supposedly have completed internalizing the message of the plague decimating the disciples of Rabbi Akiva for not practicing this teaching of their great Rebbi – I realized that we still do not understand anything.

I cried as I realized how far I was from actualizing the mitzvah “Love your fellow as yourself”.On this special day – when we supposedly have completed internalizing the message of the plague decimating the disciples of Rabbi Akiva for not practicing this teaching of their great Rebbi – I realized that we still do not understand anything. I still see us as separate, I still do not physically and emotionally feel pain that is not mine

We have had so many God-given opportunities to understand that only through unity and togetherness can we grow and rebuild from disasters and crises. From the terrible Holocaust to this Corona year; enduring so much war, terror, and hard struggle for our very existence, and yet we are still so separated.  We ought to feel unity, no matter whether religious or secular, liberal or conservative, rich or poor.  Tragically, however, we are divided politically, religiously, socially, and in so many subtle ways that seem unsurmountable. It is certainly fine to have different shades, sounds, styles and colors; but when will we learn to put these together into a light-filled unified tapestry?

In these moments that families are still looking for their loved ones and we all share their prayers, I want to hope that when we light candles tonight, there will be this special moment where we can look at the flames and see how the many shades that create great light. Let us reflect then on the souls of the people with us yesterday and no longer here. Let us feel for one moment that these are our sons; for one moment may we feel deep inside that we belong to something great and sublime, to a strong and painful nation that is slowly marching together towards redemption.

How small and petty I feel while reflecting on my attitude only a few hours ago.  How much do I need to work on my Ahavat Yisrael, on humility, and acceptance of others?  How far am I from truly being an Ohev Yisrael?

The Mitzvah “Love Your Fellow as Yourself” is actually quite difficult.  In truth, virtually no one loves anyone as much as they love themselves (unless they are clinically depressed). But, as Rav Samson R Hirsch notes, the commandment is not phrased as וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת רֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ, love your fellow, but rather וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ, which means “love to your fellow”.  Anything that relates “to your fellow”, we should treat as if it were happening to ourselves.  We should treat them as we would wish to be treated.  We should be as concerned about what happens to our fellow as we are for what happens to ourselves.  Or as Hillel put it, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow”.  That is doable, and achievable if we truly attempt it.  And it includes being tolerant of the styles, desires, and quirks of others, and appreciating that they might enjoy things that one does not share. And certainly, it includes feeling and sharing their pain and their happiness, to the extent we possibly can.

Finally, it includes going beyond one’s nature – one of the great lessons of Rav Shimon Bar Yochai. Space does not permit a full discussion, but Rav Shimon emerged from a dozen years in a cave a changed man.  He became tolerant and appreciative of simple non-scholarly people who expressed their love of Hashem in different ways than his own.  He looked to help the society around him and contribute constructively to solve community problems rather than exclusively focusing on his own spiritual growth and learning.

May we know no more sorrow, and may Lag B’Omer transform again into a day of unbridled joy, even for us curmudgeons.