By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
Lag Ba’omer is one of those days on the Jewish calendar that the people themselves have turned into a day of great celebration. The Shulchan Aruch doesn’t mention anything special about the day. However, the Rama (493:2) writes, “In these countries, the custom is to take haircuts [on Lag Ba’omer], increase a little simcha, and we don’t recite Tachanun.”
Today, in Eretz Yisroel, the day is treated like a minor Yom Tov, and it is increasingly observed that way in our communities as well.
What is it about this day that has inspired Klal Yisroel to elevate it with such joy and celebration?
We know that it marks the end of the gezeirah that brought tragedy to the talmidim of Rabi Akiva. We also know that it is the day Rabi Shimon bar Yochai emerged from the cave where he received the full breadth of Torah, including Toras Hanistar, and the day he passed away. But clearly, there must be a deeper message, one that stirs the soul and energizes the nation.
We each carry within us the potential for greatness, and, tragically, the capacity to fall. The Torah captures this duality in the word odom.
The Shelah Hakadosh explains that this term is used for man because it encapsulates the full range of human potential. Odom is linked both to adameh, “I shall emulate,” referencing our mission to mirror the Divine, and adamah, the dust of the earth, the lowest substance.
Within this name lies both a calling and a caution: to ascend or to descend, to rise toward the heavens or to sink into the dust. Our life’s mission is to seize the daily opportunities that allow us to ascend to spiritual heights.
And yet, odom is written in the singular, because the journey is profoundly personal. Each person is born alone – odom shenivra yechidi – endowed with the power to shape their own world, to reach magnificent peaks or descend into deep valleys. Each soul is gifted by the Creator with potential, endowed with willpower, intellect, and energy. Every individual decides how – and whether – to use those gifts.
When Rav Aharon Leib Shteinman first visited the United States, he was relatively unknown to much of the American Torah world. Yet, during that visit, while addressing a massive crowd of Jewish children, he shared a seemingly simple Medrash that carries profound meaning.
The Yalkut Shimoni (Shmuel I, 1:78) recounts that before Shmuel Hanovi was born, a bas kol resounded across the world, proclaiming that a tzaddik named Shmuel would soon be born. In response, Jewish mothers everywhere named their sons Shmuel, each hoping that their child would be the one destined for greatness.
Eventually, as Shmuel’s noble conduct and brilliance became apparent, it was clear to all that he was the child to whom the bas kol had referred.
Rav Shteinman highlighted the depth of hope contained in that moment, the yearning of every Jewish parent that their child might grow to bring light and redemption to Am Yisroel.
Later that evening, after a long and exhausting day of meetings, public appearances, and shiurim, Rav Shteinman returned to his host’s home in Brooklyn. He had barely sat down when he was told that a young Russian immigrant boy had come to the house and was turned away. The child was sitting outside on the porch, weeping.
Rav Shteinman immediately asked for the boy to be brought in.
Through an interpreter, the child explained that he had recently arrived in New York from Russia and was attending a yeshiva for immigrant boys. He had come in the hope of receiving a brocha from the visiting gadol.
With the tenacity and inner resilience so characteristic of Russian Jews – traits that helped them cling to Yiddishkeit under brutal oppression – the boy persisted in his goal and ultimately received the brocha he had come for.
Rav Shteinman smiled warmly and bentched the boy, visibly moved by his determination. In that simple interaction, he showed everyone present that every Jew counts. Every child holds a spark of greatness and great potential.
We never write off a Yid. We never give up on anyone. No soul is too small, no background too broken. Every neshomah is a universe.
This eternal truth is at the heart of Lag Ba’omer, a day when joy radiates throughout the Jewish world. Why such exuberance on the day of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai’s passing? Because Rabi Shimon revealed the royalty hidden within every Jewish soul.
A powerful lesson from the Pnei Menachem, the Gerrer Rebbe, drives this point home.
A group of askonim once visited the Pnei Menachem, who was then rosh yeshiva in the Gerrer Yeshiva. They were trying to arrange a shidduch for a bochur with a difficult family background. They presented a suggestion; a girl they thought might be suitable. The rebbe listened patiently and then responded.
“I will share with you a principle that I’ve tried to live by. If you’re going to give someone an eitzah, if you’re going to offer advice, it must be something you yourself would accept. It is not proper to recommend a course of action that you wouldn’t follow. I understand that your situations are different and that you are more fortunate, but still, would any one of you consider this shidduch for your own sons?”
The room fell silent.
“If that’s the case,” the rebbe said, “then you cannot suggest it for this bochur either.”
Sensing their disappointment – they had clearly worked hard to help – the rebbe added gently, “I cannot endorse your idea, but I will give a brocha that he finds his true zivug soon and that your efforts bear fruit.”
As they turned to leave, the rebbe stopped them.
“Remember this always: Kol Yisroel bnei melochim heim. Every Yid is royalty. You can only truly help others if you see their dignity.”
Who taught us this vision?
Rabi Shimon bar Yochai.
It was Rabi Shimon (Shabbos 67 et al) who said, “Kol Yisroel bnei melochim heim,” and ruled halacha lemaaseh that every Jew may wear royal garments on Shabbos without transgressing the prohibition of hotza’ah, because every Yid is a ben melech. He perceived the splendor and majesty within every neshomah, recognizing the inherent greatness in each individual.
Where did Rabi Shimon learn this perspective? From his rebbi, Rabi Akiva.
Rabi Akiva began his journey as an unassuming shepherd, who no one expected would achieve anything extraordinary. But deep within him was royalty. He, too, was a ben melech. Through him, the Jewish people merited Rabi Shimon bar Yochai and received the legacy of Torah Sheba’al Peh.
On Lag Ba’omer, Jews across the globe light bonfires and sing songs in praise of Rabi Shimon and his rebbi, Rabi Akiva. They dance in circles, singing again and again the words, “Omar Rabi Akiva, ashreichem Yisroel – Praised be the Bnei Yisroel.” Thousands stream to the kever of Rabi Shimon in Meron, and those who are lucky are able to read the words – his words – painted atop the entrance, “Ki lo sishochach mipi zaro – The Torah will never be forgotten from the lips of Hashem’s children,” reflecting the greatness of Hashem, His Torah and His people.
When the shevotim sold Yosef and returned to their father, the posuk says, “Vayeired Yehudah.” Rashi quotes Chazal that the shevotim removed Yehudah from his position of leadership. Meforshim explain that they no longer treated him as a king.
My rebbi, Rav Elya Svei, asked that there is a principle of “ein melech belo am.” A king only maintains his position when he rules over a nation or an empire. Obviously, at that time, Yehudah didn’t rule over anyone, for Yaakov Avinu was alive and he was the leader of the family, so in what sense had Yehudah been treated as a king?
Rav Elya explained that the shevotim saw in Yehudah the traits and potential for malchus, so they accorded him the respect of a king. But when they returned home after selling Yosef and saw the pain that their act caused their father, they no longer viewed Yehudah as worthy of being a melech.
Yehudah wasn’t yet a king in title, but the brothers recognized his inner capacity for malchus. When he fell short of that, they withdrew their respect.
Rabi Akiva was the one who taught that “Ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha,” loving your fellow Jew, is not just a mitzvah, but the very foundation of the Torah. How could it be that Rabi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim didn’t follow that prime teaching of their rebbi?
Rav Elya explained that the talmidim of Rabi Akiva respected one another as they were, but not for who they could become. They failed to honor each other’s potential. That, Rav Elya said, was their fatal mistake.
The Torah demands more.
And because of that failure, the world became dark until Rabi Akiva began again with five new students. From them came to us all of Torah Sheba’al Peh. Through them, Torah lived on and was not forgotten.
On Lag Ba’omer, we don’t just celebrate an end to tragedy. We celebrate a second chance, a future reclaimed, for on that day Rabi Akiva began learning with his new talmidim.
And so, we dance around flames that flicker with memory and hope. We sing the words of Rabi Shimon and his rebbi, Rabi Akiva: Ashreichem Yisroel! Fortunate are you, the nation beloved by Hashem.
Rabi Akiva taught, “Ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha.” Genuine Torah growth begins not with intellect alone, but with the heart – the ability to see in others the same dignity and care we wish for ourselves. This commandment speaks to the very middos that define a Jew and rests on a deeper truth: that every Jewish soul is inherently precious, deserving of honor.
The Zohar tells us that Rabi Shimon bar Yochai looked upon his talmidim and saw radiant joy on their faces. In their unity and sincere love they held for one another, he perceived something greater than happiness. “Because of your joy and brotherhood,” he said, “you have been found worthy of receiving the hidden secrets of the Torah.”
The day after Lag Ba’omer, we will listen to the krias haTorah of Parshas Emor and hear the song of Shabbos and the moadim. We will feel the freedom of Pesach, the glory of Shavuos, the awe of Rosh Hashanah, and the purity of Yom Kippur, followed by the joy of Sukkos. It’s a reminder of how each of us can lift ourselves above the mundane and enter the realm of melochim once again. The Jewish year is framed by such opportunities – the moadim, the meeting places between man and his Creator – which catapult us into a different dimension.
We contemplate how the Ribbono Shel Olam looked at a broken, weary nation and saw splendor and beauty. We learn from this the significance of each individual, the greatness of all of Klal Yisroel as a whole, and the inherent greatness that each one of us possesses. We remember that we are a mamleches kohanim, that we are bnei melochim, and that it is incumbent upon us to live that way and to treat others that way.
We recall that on Pesach, Hashem redeemed us not for who we were, but for who we could become. Before Torah, before refinement, He lifted us with love.
And we look toward Shavuos, when Hashem gave us the greatest gift.
Between Pesach and Shavuos, we walk the shoreline between redemption and revelation, framed by fire. And in the heart of it all, we find Lag Ba’omer, a day that reminds us that we are all bnei melochim, children of the King.
The teachings of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai enrich our spiritual side and our neshamos, and energize us physically and mentally as we endure the golus. He reminds us of who we are and what we are about. The Torah he transmitted elevates us exponentially, transforming us into a deeper, more refined people as we immerse ourselves in his sacred words.
As the world mocks and vilifies us, as concerns are raised about the security of Eretz Yisroel, as its neighbors negotiate deals and agreements that may have negative impacts, studying the Torah that Rabi Akiva and Rabi Shimon bequeathed to us raises us above all and reminds us not to let those who scorn us define us.
We are not burdens. We are not broken. We are a mamleches kohanim, a nation of priests and princes.
Rabi Akiva was never broken by tragedies that would have shattered others. Rabi Shimon risked his life to study with his son as Rome hunted him. They persevered, armed with emunah and bitachon, and Hashem sustained them and enabled them to grow and flourish and remain beacons of light and faith to their generation and all those who followed.
As the firelight reflects in our eyes, let us remember that “Na’aseh adam ne’emar ba’avurecha” – the Divine decision to create man was justified because of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai. Yet, it is also justified in each of us, when we choose to see through the lens of Torah. In doing so, we are blessed with the clarity, strength, and determination to persevere, grow, and flourish until the coming of Moshiach, speedily in our days.
{Matzav.com}