Every picture of kinderlach dancing around a fire on the schoolyard asphalt is a message to him. You were right, Rabi Shimon
It used to be a thing for parents to contrast their childhoods with those of their children. These days, the geshmak just isn’t there anymore — the world no longer changes each generation, but every few minutes.
But anyhow, when we were kids, Lag B’omer was a low-key Yom Tov, essentially a school field trip day, a chance for everyone to get out of the classroom on a spring day. (As evidence, I bring you the lyrics of Abie’s classic, “The Ninth Man”: When Lag B’omer came around/ it was time to play that game/ Against those boys from Brooklyn/ how we prayed it wouldn’t rain…)
Today, achshar dara, our generation is blessed, and even mosdos that daven nusach Ashkenaz and have a quota of how many chassidishe rebbes can go on their gedolim-picture wall have Lag B’omer bonfires and sing the piyutim in honor of Rabi Shimon, giving the day the status of Yom Tov.
Those capable of insight in these areas have explained that the light of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai, the inner dimension of Torah and the inner dimension of a Yid, shine brightest in the final generations of galus.
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