Lag BOmer Trip to Meiron: Adventures of Mikakel Kaleekaku

by Mikakel Kaleekaku

Don't ask. It's an eclectic group of AI Chasidim.

It was Lag BOmer. I had to go to Meiron. It's Lag BOmer. I have to get to the Kever, the grave, of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. I heard about it. I had to go.

There is nothing I love more as a Baal Teshuva than Lag BOmer. And spending Lag BOmer in Meiron is extra Chozer BTshuva glory. The more I see people with Payis jumping, the more connected I feel to Yidishkeit. Like the pictures of Jews my parents had in the den, the one-legged Chasidc dance connects me to Frumniosity. Whoever that artist is, he instilled in me an idea of what Chasidim do. And that's dance on one foot. Not sure if they learn Torah. I definitely know they dance on one foot.
And there is no place better to see Chasidim dancing than at the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. The Rashbi. So, I made my way to Meiron.

I decided travel to the north of Israel by bus, from Yerushalayim. I wanted to experience Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai's Hillula with my people. And that means with the cheapest form of transportation.
Traveling to Merion, I felt like I was part of the nation, our Am, leaving Jerusalem for the pilgrimage festival of Lag BOmer. The fourth of the pilgrimage festivals. The Chag not mentioned in the Torah. The one we leave Yerushalayim to celebrate. Along with Pesach, where we go up to hotels outside of Jerusalem, which cost less.
When you're going to a community event, you go with community. So, I sat on the bus next to a beautiful Jewish soul who hadn't showered. I could smell the Kedusha. The holiness. What is known as the Avira DAra, the atmosphere of Israel. And it was all coming from the guy sitting right next to me. I was surrounded by the aura of Kedusha.

The bus route was amazing. We passed every fire in Israel. Towns on fire and people were fine with it. We passed through Bet Shean where they decided to burn the guy's mattresses. Might have been his home at the start. I don't know. But all of the holy Jews were celebrating. People with Payis were jumping.
Why we didn't just take the faster route by way of the highway is still something I ask. Yet, it was a chance to bond more with my nation. A chance to see holy towns of Israel on fire. A beautiful sight for a Jew. Especially a Jew who is growing in his connection to his people.

We finally got to Merion. Which meant there was another bus. There was a bus from the bus. Mamish. Amazing. Gishmack. More buses. More connecting with my people who haven't showered now for eight hours, since they started dancing to celebrate the Rashbi's demise.
Then I caught another bus from the bus from the bus, which then leaves you off, so you get to walk to where you need to go. Gishmack

We made it to the party. I was at the gates of Meiron. All of our Chasidic brethren celebrating. Dancing. Jumping. Payis flying. Selling stuff. Booths everywhere. It was like homecoming on campus, just that people had clothes on.
They had falafel booths where they served falafel for money. I learned that Jewish carnivals have falafel. Even if were celebrating the Jews of Spain, it's falafel. I’ve learned much in my few years as a religious Jew. All Jewish events have falafel somewhere.
They had a Tehillim booth to remind us that things are not good. And that made me feel even more religious, as I celebrated through feeling bad.
Chabad rabbis were there. Chabad rabbis love booths. I remembered the Matzah factory booth and the shofar making booth. But it wasn't Pesach or Rosh Hashana. It was Lag BOmer. So, the rabbis had a fire making booth. The coolest booth I ever saw, until the Meiron fire department shut it down. Many of us Frum Jews were mad, as the fire department and Merion policemen didn't express the same Emunah, belief in Gd, as the Chabad rabbis. You could tell by the fires we passed on the way to Merion, the fire department in Bet Shean had much more Emunah and Bitachon bH' than their colleagues in Meiron. It might have been that they were making small fires in a wood booth.

Waiting for us was food. Food booths. Menschim doing Chesed. Acts of kindness for those who can’t afford falafel. Feeding people who forgot to bring food on a full day’s trip.
I was blessed to enjoy the Israeli Frum event food. Rugulach with a thin layer of a chocolate looking stuff painted on, hard dust cookies, and coffee made out of Botz. Made the traditional way, with mud. Religious Israelis drink coffee the way Moshe Rabbeinu drank it. Traditional coffee, before South America was founded. I love mud coffee.
As I learned, the Mesorah, tradition is to dunk the hard dust cookie in the coffee. And so I did, and I lost the thing. The cookie broke off. It was gone.
Religious Jews in Israel don’t travel with food. They show up and eat hard dust cookies. Oh. How I've come to love hard dust cookies with a that solidified neon jelly looking thing on the inside. It’s what religious Jews eat in the Beit Midrash, and it is what we eat at festivals.

Then we saw religious concerts. That means Shwekey. Or somebody else who sings like Shwekey.
Such an amazing experience.
I continued and saw more fires. And nobody had to follow fire code, unless if they were a Chabad rabbi with a booth.
It was Mardis Gras for Frum Jews. Which meant no floats and the bands were stationary. And nobody was drinking cocktails like the Hurricane. Everybody was drinking schnapps. Straight schnapps. I learned that Frum people drink schnapps, because schnapps sounds Jewish.  

After the bus and working my way through the concerts and the crowd, dancing with every Chasid, and walking through fire, and getting stopped by every person who asks for money in Israel - I believe I met them all, which is a Mitzvah - Fifteen hours later, I pushed, I grabbed, I did not make it to the Kever.

Conclusion
Yidishkeit, being a Frum Jew, is about the journey.
Chagim in Israel are not about making it anywhere. It’s about being there. That is the holy experience of any Chag. It's the journey to Yerushalayim. It’s the journey to Meiron. It’s the journey to a hotel in Florida to save money and not be in Jerusalem for Pesach. As long as you have Chasidim dancing somewhere, my mom would say it’s Jewish. And she’s right.
I was at the gates of Meiron. Finally, I was at the gate. The real gate this time. There are a lot of gates in Meiron. It turns out the last gate I was at was the gate to some guy's house. I finally made it to Meiron. Effort pays off. I was there and I did not make it the Rashbi's Kever. It was packed.
It turns out that I couldn't make it past the last group of Chasidim dancing. The pictures in the den don't show how crowded the dancing can get.

Then I took the bus back to Yerushalayim. It took six hours to get out of Meiron. At that point, I was just annoyed and asking myself why I didn’t take a car. It was then I started questioning how much Avira DAra I can handle.

For the first time in my Frum journey I thought, “Maybe I should be a little less religious. Maybe a bonfire and some Tehillim is a good enough way to celebrate. Maybe I don’t need to be on a bus for fifteen hours to connect with H’.” And then I got home and promised myself I would go back to Meiron next year, and make it my Minhag. My tradition.