Torah and Tea – Lag BaOmer
Today, we’re going to discuss two topics. As we do every week, we’ll start with something from the Parsha, and since Lag BaOmer is coming up on Thursday, we’ll also talk a bit about Lag BaOmer. We’ll try to cover a little of both.
First, in the Parsha, there are many different ideas and verses, but we’ll focus on just one. In the middle of the Parsha, the Torah lists all the holidays that we celebrate. Parshat Emor essentially contains all the holidays, going through the calendar month by month, detailing each festival in the order of the year. But there’s a question: before the Torah starts talking about the holidays, it mentions keeping Shabbat. Now, Shabbat isn’t a holiday; it’s the seventh day of the week, while the holidays are spread throughout the year. Someone might argue that Shabbat and the holidays are both days of rest, so they’re connected. But if you look at the verse, it begins by saying, “These are the times of the year that you have to celebrate,” and then it starts with Shabbat.
Rashi comments here, explaining that the reason the Torah mentions Shabbat at the beginning is to teach us that one who observes the holidays is considered as if he observes Shabbat, and one who desecrates the holidays is considered as if he desecrates Shabbat. That’s why the Torah writes about Shabbat first—to show this connection. But what does it mean that desecrating a holiday is like desecrating Shabbat? If the Torah says you can’t violate Yom Tov, then violating Yom Tov should be its own issue. Why is it considered like violating Shabbat?
To understand this, let’s consider how God created the world. God didn’t create the world finished; He left things for us to fix, to do tikkun olam—to repair the world. The Talmud often asks: if God wanted people to be circumcised, why not create them that way? If He wanted people to have money, why not make them rich to begin with? Why do we have to work for bread, going through all the steps from plowing to baking, instead of bread growing on trees? The answer is that God wants us to be involved, to work, to earn, to fix the world. When you get something for free, it has no real value—it’s called “shameful bread.” God wants us to work hard, to earn, to change, to make tikkun olam. That’s why He created the world this way.
For example, God wants us to perform brit milah—the covenant of circumcision—so He gives us the opportunity to do the mitzvah ourselves. He wants us to show kindness by helping others, so He creates situations where we can give. The world needs our input; we have to do our part to make it better. If God wanted only angels, He would have stopped with them. But He created us to perfect the world, to finish what He started. This is the meaning of the phrase, “God has created to do”—He created the world for us to complete.
This brings us to the difference between Shabbat and Yom Tov. Shabbat is designated by God Himself, without human involvement. After six days, the seventh is always Shabbat, and that cycle never changes. Shabbat is holy because God made it holy, having created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. The sanctity of Shabbat comes directly from Hashem.
In contrast, the holidays are determined by the days of the month. If you’re used to the secular calendar, everything is set by the sun’s cycle. But the Jewish holidays are set by the Hebrew months, which are lunar. Since twelve lunar months are about 354 days, we’d fall short of the solar year, so we add a leap month every few years to keep the holidays in their proper seasons. The Torah requires, for example, that Pesach be in the spring, so adjustments are needed.
Who makes these adjustments? Today, our calendars are fixed, but originally, the bet din—the rabbinical court—would decide. If the roads were muddy and people couldn’t reach Jerusalem for Pesach, the bet din could declare a leap year, adding another month so everyone could arrive in time. This decision affected all of Israel, not just those traveling. The Talmud brings many reasons for adjusting the calendar, but the key point is that the holidays’ timing is determined by the bet din, based on Hashem’s instructions.
Another aspect is determining the first day of the month, Rosh Chodesh. In ancient times, witnesses would testify to seeing the new moon, and the bet din would declare Rosh Chodesh. If the moon wasn’t seen, or if the bet din found it necessary, they could push Rosh Chodesh by a day. Once Rosh Chodesh was set, the holidays would follow—Pesach is always on the fifteenth of the month. This is why, outside of Israel, we have two days of Yom Tov: it took time for the news to travel, so people weren’t sure which day was the holiday. They used fires on mountaintops to signal the new month, but troublemakers would sometimes light fires on the wrong day to confuse people. Eventually, messengers had to travel by donkey from community to community, which took a long time.
The point is, the holidays are not determined directly by God, but by the bet din. So one might think the holidays are less important, since their timing depends on human decision. Shabbat is automatically holy, but the holidays require human involvement to declare them holy. The Torah equates the observance of Yom Tov with Shabbat to teach us that our efforts are meaningful—what we do in this world matters greatly to Hashem. When we keep the holidays, it’s as if we’re keeping Shabbat; when we desecrate them, it’s as if we’re desecrating Shabbat. God is proud of our efforts and considers our accomplishments as valuable as His own. Rashi even says that when we do justice and make the world better, we become partners with God in sustaining creation.
This brings us to the second topic: Lag BaOmer. What is Lag BaOmer, and why do we celebrate it? The simple answer is that on Lag BaOmer, the students of Rabbi Akiva stopped dying during the days of sefirah (the counting of the Omer). Rabbi Akiva was a great sage who, despite starting to learn Torah only at age forty, became one of the greatest scholars, with 24,000 students. His wife Rachel encouraged him, and he attributed his success to her support. Tragically, his students died during the Omer period because, as the Talmud says, they didn’t treat each other with respect. It doesn’t say they degraded each other, but they didn’t fully respect their colleagues’ commitment to their teacher’s teachings. This is a problem we still see today—sometimes those closest in ideology have the hardest time getting along, each convinced they alone understand their teacher’s intent.
In Chabad, for example, there are different groups, each believing they know what the Rebbe wanted. Some focus solely on bringing Moshiach, as the Rebbe emphasized, while others believe in a more gradual approach, educating people in Judaism first. Both sides have good intentions and back up their views with the Rebbe’s teachings. My father always advised to give everyone credit for the good they do and not to get involved in the disputes. The point is, Rabbi Akiva’s students loved him deeply and wanted to perpetuate his teachings, but their strong convictions led to a lack of respect for each other.
During the Omer, we observe certain restrictions as a sign of mourning—no weddings, no live music, and some avoid even recorded music or buying new clothes. Some end these restrictions at Lag BaOmer, while others continue until Shavuot, except for Lag BaOmer itself. That’s one reason for the celebration.
But there’s another, perhaps even more important reason: on Lag BaOmer, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the great sage and master of Kabbalah, passed away. Normally, the passing of a tzaddik is a time for reflection and prayer, not celebration. But Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai requested that his passing be celebrated with joy. He spent years hiding from the Romans, studying Torah in a cave with his son, and authored the Sefer HaZohar, the foundational work of Kabbalah. The study of Kabbalah was once reserved for a select few, but the Arizal later taught that in our times, it is a mitzvah to reveal its teachings, especially as interpreted through Hasidic thought.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that with the teachings of the Zohar, we will merit the coming of Moshiach. Today, it’s a mitzvah to study these teachings as they have been brought down to our level, not necessarily directly from the original Kabbalistic texts. The widespread celebration in Meron, where Rabbi Shimon is buried, with dancing and joy, comes from his request that his day of passing be a time of rejoicing, not mourning. There’s even a story of a student who recited a prayer for the destruction of the Temple on Lag BaOmer, and Rabbi Shimon appeared to him in a dream, upset that he was sad on his day of joy.
It’s important to note that Kabbalah is accepted by all Jewish traditions, not just Hasidim. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was a foundational figure in both the revealed and hidden aspects of Torah, and many laws are based on his teachings. While not everyone studies Kabbalah or Hasidism, belief in the Kabbalah is universal in Judaism.
When a tzaddik passes away, all the good deeds and spiritual accomplishments of his life come together and are elevated. This is described in the Tanya—that on the day of passing, everything the person did in this world is gathered and ascends with them, impacting those connected to them in an even more powerful way, since physical barriers no longer separate them. That’s why the day of a tzaddik’s passing is so powerful, and why we celebrate Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s yahrzeit with such joy.
Interestingly, the numerical value (gematria) of Lag BaOmer is the same as Moshe—345. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is said to have had a spark of Moshe’s soul, and their leadership is spiritually interconnected. The Zohar is the foundation of Kabbalah, with several sections, mostly based on the Chumash, written in Aramaic with esoteric meaning. There are many other Kabbalistic works, but the Zohar is the central text.