Rabi Shimon saw deeper, finding the hope under the despair, the smile beneath the pain. As we dance to his songs, we are just reflecting that vision.
Last year, just after Shavuos, I was at a wedding. Deep into the second dance, when seasoned musicians know they have to take it up a notch or lose the crowd, the bandleader nodded to the orchestra and they shifted into the never-fail set, the Meron medley.
Bochurim who had taken a break to get a drink, or those sitting on the side, were pulled back by an invisible string, their bodies responding to the call of L’kavod haTanna ha’Elokai.
It was less than a month after Lag B’omer 2021 and the people in the hall, like the rest of Klal Yisrael, were still reeling from the worst national trauma our generation has experienced.
The pull of the music was counterintuitive; songs associated with the place of trauma were lifting people above the pain. In the large circle, in the waves of joy that rippled through the hall, one sensed just how unbreakable is this bond: the people and Rabi Shimon, the people and Meron.
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