These musicians haven’t slept all night and don’t get a shekel for their efforts but it’s one concert they’ll never miss
They’re up on the bandstand playing their hearts out but this is no ordinary show. In Meron on Lag B’omer the music is but a backdrop fusing with the intense prayer supplication and joy of the thousands who come to bask in Rashbi’s blessings. These players haven’t slept all night and don’t get a shekel for their efforts but it’s one concert they’ll never miss.
It’s 2:30 a.m. and you’ve just alighted from the bus that dropped you off somewhere on the main road at the bottom of Kfar Meron. Anyone who’s been to Meron on Lag B’omer can surely relate: It’s that initial feeling of bewilderment, disorientation, and confusion, attempting to figure out which way the arrows are pointing while trying not to get squashed by the throngs who are all maneuvering in the same direction.
You finally get your bearings as you start the climb up the mountain — but the noise! On your left is a booth where you can write a letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe — you can’t miss it because of the blaring loudspeaker and the accompanying inspirational video; a little further on are men with bullhorns trying to entice you to buy a set of Zohar; and on your right are an infinite-energy bunch of Na-Nach break-dancers gyrating on the roof of their high-decibel van. Next to them is the Hatzolah lost-and-found station, announcing the names of lost children and frantic parents. You encounter one stand after another, each one blasting odes to Rabi Shimon bar Yochai, while you dodge the multiple hands plying you with cups of grape juice and bags of shoko as thousands of Hashem’s petitioners have brought chai rotel (52 liters) of drink as a segulah for their personal salvations.
The cacophony is beginning to give you a migraine.
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