Thoughts on Lag BaOmer

This coming Monday night and Tuesday is Lag BaOmer. Lag, lamed and gimel, represent the numbers 30 and 3, thus 33 days of the counting of the Omer, the days between the beginning of Passover and the observance of Shavuot, the 50-day period linking the Exodus from Egypt to the Revelation of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Lag BaOmer is not an official holiday, yet as with many traditions in Judaism it takes on the trappings of a holiday, with special customs and rituals that set it apart from other days of the year. Its origins are somewhat unclear; there is an element of mystery behind it. Though it derives from a passage in the Talmud, it is not an ancient holiday. It is associated with events in the second century, with Rabbi Akiva and the Bar Kochba revolt, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and Roman oppression in the period following the destruction of the Second Temple. While these things are mentioned, Lag BaOmer in modern-day Israel is associated with more upbeat events: weddings, haircutting, and bonfires. Every youth group in Israel it seems is sitting around a campfire, roasting potatoes, or barbecuing meat, telling stories and singing songs. I recall as a student in Jerusalem seeing every hill lit up with bonfires. In some neighborhoods, trash barrels were set ablaze. Thousands of Chasidim and Kabbalists travel to Meron in the north of Israel, not far from the city of Safed, the city of artists and mystics, to the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his son Rabbi Eliezer. The major work of Jewish mysticism, the Zohar, is associated with Rabbi Shimon – he is purportedly the author - and he is the leading figure in its narrative. Lag BaOmer is the anniversary of his death. One might think this was cause for deep mourning, yet as a holy man, it is instead a time of celebration of his ascent on high, hilula d’Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, recalling the awesome passage in the Zohar in which, before his ascent, he reveals great mysteries to his followers. The 19^th century author of the Responsa Shem Aryeh, Rabbi Aryeh Leib Bolchover, explains that the celebration marks the miraculous saving of Rabbi Shimon’s life from the death sentence pronounced by the Roman authorities and the celebration at his grave is proof that he survived that decree and lived many years after until he died a natural death by the hand of the Almighty. The bonfires and torches are all supposedly symbolic of the great light given forth by Rabbi Shimon in the Zohar, whose title means light, splendor, radiance. In the Galilee, one can find not only the graves of Rabbi Shimon and his son, but also their famous cave. When Rabbi Shimon was sentenced to death by the Romans for speaking out against them, he and his son ran off and hid in a cave for twelve years, studying Torah all day long and sustaining themselves on the fruit of a carob tree and water from a nearby spring. According to the story, they became so imbued with spirituality that they could not tolerate human shortcomings and everywhere that Rabbi Eliezer looked he burned up whatever he saw. God sent them back into the cave to cool off. After a year they came out once more and whatever Rabbi Eliezer destroyed, Rabbi Shimon repaired. The pushing and crowding at Meron is incredible and due to the tragic deaths of 45 revelers, men and boys, and over 100 people injured five years ago, the government has instituted safeguards, brought in the police and military guards, and required tickets, limiting the number of attendees allowed in. The Chasidic rebbeim, of course, called for prayer and repentance of whatever sins brought about this terrible tragedy, while others saw it as a calamity just waiting to happen. Indeed, a century before, in 1921, a similar tragedy of smaller proportions occurred when a railing gave way and eleven or so people were killed. Another tradition is for people to bring their three-year-old toddlers to Meron to get their first haircut, an upsherin. In traditional fashion, their beautiful curls are cut off by their friends and relatives leaving only the customary side-curls, the peahs, around a closely cropped head, now sporting its first kippah. The curls are thrown into a great bonfire. There is a lovely prayer offered (roughly paraphrased): “In the name of all the righteous and pious individuals from the time of Creation to the end of time, by the merit of the holy Torah and the holy names inscribed in it, as well as the merit of this mitzvah of preserving the corners of one’s head, the peahs, as commanded in Leviticus, may this child go forth from this mitzvah to a life of Torah, chuppah, mitzvot, and maasim tovim, good deeds, and may he go on to offer teachings and instruction in Israel in the lifetimes of his father and his mother. Amen, netzach, selah.” Why this cutting of hair on Lag BaOmer? The days of the counting of the Omer are days that some observe as a time of mourning when it is customary not to cut one’s hair or trim one’s beard. Only on Lag BaOmer is it permitted to get a haircut. This is a period of subdued activities, no weddings and concerts, entertainment and parties. Only on this day of Lag BaOmer are weddings permitted and other celebrations allowed during the counting of the Omer. There are though a variety of traditions as to which days one may hold a wedding. In some places they are permitted only on Lag BaOmer itself and in others from Lag BaOmer on up to Shavuot. Every community, it seems, has its own customs. What is the mourning about? That’s where the Talmudic teaching comes in. In the tractate of Yevamot, we are told that Rabbi Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students, all of whom died in one period between Pesach and Shavuot from a terrible plague, during this period of the counting of the Omer. The reason given is that they did not treat one another with proper respect. The deaths stopped, we’re told, on or about Lag BaOmer, the 33^rd day of the Omer. There is some variation in this matter. In the 10^th century, Rav Sherira Gaon retells the history of the rabbinic tradition in a famous letter, Iggeret Rav Sherira Gaon. When he addresses this episode, he writes that Rabbi Akiva’s students did not die from a plague, but rather from “sh’mad,” a term meaning persecution, forced conversion, or martyrdom. Thus, he understands these deaths to be due to Roman persecution during the Bar Kochba revolt in which Rabbi Akiva was deeply involved and suffered martyrdom himself. These “students” were actually soldiers fighting for independence but crushed by the Romans at Betar. The rabbis, still living under Roman rule, were rather circumspect in their telling the story and hid the real story behind this aggadic passage. However one understands these events, it was certainly a tragedy that is recalled each year at this season.

I have heard some suggest though that underlying the sadness of this time of year is the anxiety and deep concern of Jewish farmers who have planted their crops and now pray that they will not suffer from the uncertain weather conditions or from insect infestation. Thus, when the first fruits of their efforts appeared in their fields they were relieved and joyfully brought their offerings to the Temple in Jerusalem. We don’t actually hear of the mourning practices of the Omer period until after the time of the Geonim, in the 13^th century work of Rabbi Avraham Hayarchi of Lunel, Sefer HaManhig. Rabbi Avraham refers to an unnamed “old book” that supports this tradition of ending the mourning period and allowing weddings on Lag BaOmer. The custom spread and appears codified in the later law books of the Tur and Shulchan Aruch. Custom, minhag, often takes on the authority of law and for many is seen as more binding than the halacha itself. I recall in Hebrew school learning about how during the periods of Roman oppression, dedicated students would defy the decrees issued against Torah study and hide their texts in quivers and head off into the forest with bows and arrows to meet their teachers and surreptitiously study Torah. Thus, this tradition, the recalling of Rabbi Akiva and his student/warriors, and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his mystical teachings all led to Lag BaOmer becoming a students’ holiday. In many day schools and Hebrew schools, a field day is held, hotdogs and hamburgers are grilled, and races and sports events take place, including once-a-year archery competitions. Thus the observance of Lag BaOmer is somewhat curtailed outside of Israel, without the pilgrimage sites and bonfires. Though as the weather gets warmer, it may indeed be time in our part of the world for the first barbecues and outside activities of the season. I recall some years back a Lag BaOmer celebration held on the synagogue’s parking lot in Northampton, Massachusetts, including a bonfire, with potatoes wrapped in foil cooking in the fire, and someone arranging for a local barber to load his barber chair onto the back of his pickup truck and offer free haircuts to kids in our Hebrew school. A chuppah was erected and mock weddings were held. Parents arrived and joined in the school picnic and field day, and a good time was had by all. Lag BaOmer, then, sits at the crossroads of memory and celebration. It carries the weight of ancient loss and the exuberance of children running with bows and arrows; the mysticism of Rabbi Shimon’s cave and the very practical relief of farmers watching their fields come alive. It reminds us that Jewish time is rarely one‑dimensional. Even in a season marked by restraint, a spark of joy is allowed to break through. As we mark Lag BaOmer this year—whether with a small backyard fire, a haircut, a story, or simply a pause in the counting—may we find in it a moment of light, a reminder that resilience and renewal are woven into our calendar just as surely as memory and mourning.