When the Soul is Bound to G-d

On Friday, May 16, Jews around the world will celebrate Lag Ba’omer. Lag Ba’omer is a joyous day. In Israel, thousands flock to Miron, the burial site of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the second-century Talmudic sage who passed away on this day.

Rabbi Shimon was the first to publicize and record the teachings of Jewish mysticism. He enlightened the Jewish soul during a tumultuous time of distress, darkness, and suffering. To commemorate his light, we light bonfires on this night, especially near his shrine.

This joyous day has many joyous aspects, but I want to focus on the power we receive on this day to enhance our relationship with G-d.

The Calling of The Day

Lag Ba’omer is day thirty-three of the forty-nine days between Passover and Shavuot, the festival of weeks. When our ancestors left Egypt, they had seven weeks to prepare to receive the Torah at Mount Sinai. Each day, they worked on repairing a specific character trait. In general, they worked on seven traits, one per week. Specifically, they worked on a sub-aspect of each trait each day.

Ever since, we do the same. As we count the forty-nine days between Passover and Shavuot, the anniversary of receiving the Torah, we focus on rectifying a different character trait each day.

Lag Ba’omer, the thirty-third day, is the fifth day of the fifth week. The character trait of this week is the art of humble acknowledgement. There is an art to acknowledging that someone is right. It is even harder to admit that we are wrong. It is especially difficult to recognize that someone is more intelligent than us, better than us, more profound than us, etc.

It is only hard because our ego stands in the way. We want to be right. We want to stand out. We don’t like to fail. We like even less to appear in public as inferior to another. The art of acknowledgment is humility. When we find humility in our hearts, acknowledgement comes more easily. In fact, when we finally admit the truth, it is a huge relief. We feel cleansed, purified, uplifted, and somewhat lighter. But humility doesn’t come easily, and that is why it is such an art.

There are two ways to arrive at this. One is by understanding that the other is right and we are wrong. The other is to admit it, even if we don’t understand it, but have an innate sense that it is so. It is much easier to admit the truth when we know it is so. It is much harder to recognize that someone is better than us or that we are wrong when we don’t actually understand why it is so.

This is called admission within admission. Not only do we acknowledge the truth, but we do it out of humility. We can’t explain exactly why it is true, but it is. This is the sub-trait we repair on Lag Ba’omer, the fifth day of the fifth week. The day we admit that we must admit even if we can’t explain it.

Acknowledging G-d

I am sure you struggled with why we would acknowledge that another is right or superior if we don’t know or understand it. But let me put it in perspective. Every day in our prayers, we bow down and say, modim anachnu lach. Modim has two meanings. The surface meaning is, thank you, G-d. Then there is a deeper layer of meaning. We thank someone when we acknowledge that they did something nice. Modim anachnu lach means we acknowledge you, G-d.

We can’t understand G-d or even know Him, yet we can acknowledge Him. It takes humility to acknowledge the unknowable G-d, but it is doable.

Double Acknowledgement

When the cantor repeats the Amidah for the congregation, the congregation joins in for the modim prayer. As the cantor bows and chants modim anachnu lach, the congregation bows and chants a parallel modim called the rabbinical modim.

One reason the congregation joins the cantor rather than letting the cantor speak for them is that we shouldn’t let others say thank you on our behalf. If someone does something nice for us, we should thank them ourselves. We don’t send messengers. That is not how it works.

But there is a deeper reason. The cantor is immersed in prayer. As he progresses through the Amidah, he asks for health, sustenance, and redemption. When he reaches the point of acknowledging G-d, he knows why he is thankful. He is emotionally primed to bow his head in gratitude and acknowledgement.

The rest of us are not as focused. Sadly, many of us are distracted as the cantor leads. This one is daydreaming. Another is checking her social media feed. Yet others are having whispered conversations. Suddenly, we all hear that cantor cry out modim anachnu lach. As soon as we hear it, we drop everything, jump up, bow our heads, and declare modim—we thank and acknowledge you, dear G-d.

This is an acknowledgment within an acknowledgment.[1] The cantor knows why he acknowledged and thanked G-d. We are clueless, but as soon as we heard the cantor acknowledge G-d’s greatness, we joined in. It was a knee-jerk reaction. A spontaneous outpouring of gratitude and acknowledgment. It wasn’t planned, prepared, or deliberate. We freely acknowledge that we acknowledged without knowing why.

On the one hand, the cantor’s acknowledgment is more profound and pronounced. On the other hand, the congregation’s acknowledgment touches a deep chord. It comes from the depth of the soul, the core of our being. We drop whatever we are doing to thank and acknowledge G-d—modim anachnu lach.

This is not an acknowledgement that comes from wisdom. It is an acknowledgement that comes from ignorance, but we acknowledge anyway—acknowledgement within acknowledgment. This is the trait we are meant to repair, sharpen, and rectify on Lag Ba’omer, the fifth day of the fifth week of the count.

The Great Light

We explained earlier that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai ushered in a great spiritual light. You would think that the trait we sharpen on the day of his passing, the day he completed his mission on earth, would be related to Torah study—the knowledge and understanding of G-d. Yet, the trait we perfect on this day is the instinctive response to G-d from a state of ignorance triggered by hearing a fellow Jew acknowledge G-d.

It is the lowest form of connecting to G-d. It is not born of wisdom, understanding, love, fear, commitment, or devotion. Yet, it is inspired by the highest light that shone on his passing day.

It is taught that on the day of his passing, Rabbi Shimon taught secrets of the Torah that had never been heard before. In his last moments, a flame descended from above and surrounded his bed, separating him from all others. When the fire lifted, they saw him lying serenely, his face in peaceful repose. He had passed away at the precipice of his light. At the apex of his service to G-d.

And this great light drills down to the lowest form of service and finds the core of our connection with G-d. Even as we check our WhatsApp messages or daydream, when we hear G-d being acknowledged, we jump up and join in. With every breath we praise G-d. Every soul is a living praise to G-d. That is our essence, and that is the power of this special day.[2]

[1] Incidentally, the rabbinical modim begins and ends with the word modim.

[2] This essay is loosely based on a Chassidic discourse delivered by the Lubavitcher Rebbe on Lag Ba’omer, 1951.