A crowd gathers. Chatting, joking, milling, shifting on their feet. They are waiting for something.

A crowd thickens. Little boys chase each other, spinning imaginary circles around their dads. Women hover on the hillside. They look down at the men, a sea of black and white with wide brimmed hats bobbing in the evening breeze. Little girls draw closer and moms hug their newborns ever so tightly, hearts transmitting anticipation.

An old rebbe emerges and the crowd is silenced. The sea of black and white parts to let him cross. He holds a huge, black torch, cloth dripping in oil. Thick kerosene floats across the courtyard. He gently touches the torch to a pyre and as it licks the edge, flames leap to the stars. Joy erupts, the band starts to play, men chant and their feet sweep into a sweet, hypnotic dance. “Bar Yochai, nimshachta ashreicha, Bar Yochai, how fortunate are you...” Each verse of this meaningful Kabbalistic song extols how Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai perfected himself every one of the ten sefirot.

Lag B’Omer in Sfat is genuine. The town of Meiron, just across the Nahal Amud valley, is the original source of this unusual holiday but it attracts crowds so thick, and a tsunami of joy so full, it is hard to connect in Meiron, let alone breathe.

I prefer to be in Tsfat, to watch the light feet of the chassidim, be uplifted by the chanting and to see Meiron’s blazing bonfire at a safe distance, standing on Tsfat’s sun-bleached steps.

Each year, I leave Ra’anana, with its own style of Lag B’Omer, to be here. Ra’anana specializes in fireside hot dog roasts, but the bonfires are often fed with wood pinched from construction sites and dumped into stolen shopping carts. Teenagers gather to drink and kids insist on staying up all night. They jump around their flames, savage Lord of the Flies, then abandon their fiefdoms, leaving empty chip bags and sticky pop bottles beside embers that continue to burn a thick, sickly smell, coating  the town in ash. This is as far from spiritual as ice in the Negev.

Near Meiron, in the spiritual town of Tsfat, I can touch Lag B’Omer. I look at the Chasidim dancing in multiple circles and jubilant rows, little boys perched atop shoulders, their young heads swimming proudly in their father’s streimels. I see young girls in long skirts and tight braids, and babies perched on young mom’s hips.At this moment, I feel joy and happiness in this life of innocence. And this is beauty. This is where spirit can dwell and nurture and erupt into heartfelt song.

Have modern-day folk lost their innocence to the call of internet, movies, tight jeans and break dancing? It is hard to balance spirit and matter, and perhaps when we choose to become more attached to the material world, we silence that small, still voice.

I crane my ear to the sound of a violin. A group of men are now dancing in the street. A young boy in jeans enters the circle. The chassids open their arms to include him and then link hands, tap their feet and sing. They are so light, complete and present, they could fly.

As Passover approaches, I am reminded of a wonderful Passover spent in Tsfat. This is an entry from my blog.

I’m just trying to get back to earth after experiencing an incredible Pesach. The day to day life is so ‘normal’ and strange after our wildly busy but fulfilling Pesach vacation. It all started with the regular pre-Pesach preparations, but this time with a twist. We were spending our first Passover in our home in Tsfat. We really felt Pesach was in the air in a very intense way. 


In Tzfat, it feels like spring is in the air. The skies are a fresh deep blue and a breeze is blowing strong, helping with the cleaning in its own way, drying off the drapes, tablecloths, bedding. The grape vines are bursting forth, shooting out a collection of fresh leaves each day, and twisting along banisters, rocky walls and up posts. I was able to harness some new shoots just in time, trying to redirect them in a horizontal line. Last year, our grapes grew straight down – not a bad position if one is lying prone and wants to much on a bunch with the twist of a wrist. 

Pesach Preparations
As each day passed, bringing the holiday that much closer, the cleaning in the neighboring homes picked up with a frenzy. In the old city, homes are very close together, windows are wide open and soapy water is spilled onto the cobbled sidewalks. There is a pervasive smell of bleach in the alleys. Every visible surface is scrubbed and then covered in either plastic or foil. 

Young children were out of school and playing outside, throwing around a ball, scooting on their bikes and dearly chewing pieces of pita from small plastic bags, banished from bringing the chametz inside. The kids are all excited, practicing their Pesach songs with each other. The older ones are busy helping the moms, sweeping out the courtyards, hanging up the laundry, hauling out the boxes of Passover dishes and polishing the silver. One day, I saw four baby strollers scrubbed shining in the sun, drying off on a rooftop. People also use this time to get rid off garbage, old clothing, broken shelves, chairs - even couches. Luckily the new mayor is on top of garbage in Sfat these days. And the trucks come around daily in the early morning hours, picking up everyone’s discarded junk. 

The regular Wednesday morning market became a twice a week affair and was so crowded it was almost impossible to pull my granny like shopping cart through. My kids keep telling me how uncool I am bumping over the cobbled streets with my yucky green plaid cart. But I feel like I am part of the scenery – except fort those totally cool Ethiopian women who place all of the bags and bundles atop their heads and then march uphill without missing a beat.

Market vendors were aggressively selling their wares and buyers were scrutinizing every agura they spent. Our list was long and detailed and we basically bought everything in this one outdoor market: vegetables, nuts, silver foil, pans, glass cups, garlic press, scrubbers, needles and thread, Passover afikoman prizes, and a large, very daunting piece of horseradish for the seder plate. We even picked up some clothes for the children – paying 10 shekels for shirts and skirts!

As we returned home with the masses of other shoppers, I noticed that the midrechov, the main street was bustling. Stores were so full, their wares spilled onto the streets. The most conspicuous item was shelf paper. Large rolls of plastic in all colors and designs sat in huge rolls on the sidewalk. A man with a pair of scissors stood by the rolls and took people’s orders. Plastic containers in all shapes and sizes were another big seller. And as Shabbat Hagadol passed and kitchens were koshered, the smells of brisket and chicken soup wafted into the streets. Families all went out to dinner, grabbing pizza and falafel as if it were the last bit of dough they would ever eat. 

Hiking Nahal Amud
One day during chol hamoed, we hiked Nachal Amud with the thousands. We usually have these beautiful trails to ourselves but chol hamoed Pesach is prime hiking time for Israelis. 

They turn out with their babies wrapped in bundles or peeking out of back packs, teetering toddlers who have just learned to walk, elderly parents and even very pregnant women. They walk in crocs, sandals and high heels. They come with matzoh sandwiches, matzoh pizza and matzoh brie. And all they come with a matzav ruach, a happy spirit. Israelis are simply happy to be out in nature, to be together, to be walking this land in the beautiful spring season. 

One of my favorite moments, which made me smile during a rather challenging uphill trek, was hearing a young girl skipping downhill, reciting verses from ‘Echad mi Yodea.’

 Only in Israel.

Note: Nahal Amud is one of our favorite hiking spots. And the trail head is a half hour walk from our front door. If you follow the path beside Tsfat's ancient cemetery all the way down the mountain, you will find trail blazes leading down to this natural paradise.