Most yahrzeits are marked with quiet reflection. Lag BaOmer is marked with music, bonfires, picnics, and joy. Why?
Joy Through Tears
Very often, when someone passes away—especially if they lived a long, full, meaningful life—people will say things like, “Of course we are grieving, but we are also celebrating their life. We’re happy for the beautiful life they had.”
At first, that always sounded strange to me. The man died and you’re celebrating? What exactly does that mean?
But, as is often the case, Judaism has something similar.
There is an old Chassidic song with the words: Der Rebbe hot geheissen freilach zain—“The Rebbe told us to be joyful.”
Where did this song come from?
It is told about the Mitteler Rebbe, the second Rebbe of Chabad, that like other Chabad Rebbes, he was once imprisoned by the Russian government. He was eventually released on the tenth day of Kislev, and that date became a day of celebration among Chassidim.
The following year, his Chassidim were preparing to celebrate the anniversary of his release. But just a few weeks before that day, the Rebbe became ill, and his condition grew worse and worse.
Then, one day before the celebration, the Rebbe suddenly woke from the faint-like state he had been in. He called his Chassidim in and began teaching Chassidus. He told them to be joyful. That night, he continued teaching deep Chassidic ideas for hours.
Every so often, he would ask whether dawn had arrived yet. Finally, early in the morning, he quoted the verse, “For with You is the source of life” (Tehillim 36:10). And as he said the word “life,” his soul returned to Heaven.
All of this happened one day before the anniversary of his release. So, as the Chassidim walked in his funeral, they were crying and dancing at the same time: “The Rebbe told us to be joyful.”
A Joyful Yahrzeit
This week we celebrated Lag BaOmer.
The main reason for this celebration is that Lag BaOmer is the yahrzeit—the day of passing—of the great sage and mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.
Now, normally, a yahrzeit is a solemn day. For many people, the anniversary of a loved one’s passing is a day of reflection, sadness, and memory. Some even have the custom to fast on the yahrzeit of a parent. We find something similar with great Jewish leaders as well. For example, the day of Moshe Rabbeinu’s passing, the seventh of Adar, is observed by some as a fast day.
But when it comes to Lag BaOmer, the yahrzeit of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, we find something very different.
People celebrate. They make picnics. They gather outdoors. They sing and dance. Around the world, Lag BaOmer is marked as a day of joy. And the greatest celebration of all takes place in Meron, at the resting place of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, where thousands upon thousands of Jews come to celebrate this day.
So the obvious question is: What makes Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s yahrzeit different? Why did this day become a holiday of joy?
The Talmud tells the famous story.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai once sat together with two other sages, and they were discussing the Roman government that ruled the Land of Israel at the time. This was a cruel regime. They oppressed the Jewish people, outlawed the study of Torah, and Jews caught practicing mitzvos could be put to death.
One of the rabbis present, Rabbi Yehudah, spoke somewhat favorably about the Romans. He said, “After all, they have done some good things. They built bridges, marketplaces, and bathhouses. They developed the country.”
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai strongly disagreed. He said, “I don’t see anything noble here. Everything they built, they built for themselves. Their bridges, their bathhouses, their entire system—it was all about money, power, and control.”
But someone who was present repeated the conversation to the authorities. When the Roman government heard what had been said, they issued their verdict: Rabbi Yehudah, who praised Rome, would be honored. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who criticized Rome, would be sentenced to death.
When Rabbi Shimon heard this, he fled with his son and hid in a cave. They remained there for thirteen years, until the Roman official who had been pursuing him died (Shabbos 33b).
And according to one tradition, the day Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai finally left the cave was Lag BaOmer (Aruch HaShulchan 493:7). Perhaps that is one reason Lag BaOmer is called “his day of joy.” It was the day he emerged from hiding, the day his life was spared, the day he could return to the world.
But there is another, deeper reason.
The tradition says that before Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai passed away, he told his students to rejoice on the day of his yahrzeit. He revealed to them that the day a soul leaves this world is not only an ending. For the soul, it is also a moment of tremendous elevation.
Maybe we can compare it to business. There are days during the year when you work, invest, build, and put in the effort. And then there is the day when the bonus comes in. The day when the year’s work is recognized.
Spiritually, the day of a person’s passing is something like that. On that day, the soul receives the full spiritual reward and impact of all the mitzvos, all the Torah, all the goodness, and all the service of G-d that the person accomplished during their lifetime. As the Alter Rebbe writes, on the day of a tzaddik’s passing, “all his deeds, his Torah, and the divine service he performed throughout his life” rise upward together (Tanya, Iggeres HaKodesh, Epistle 27).
So Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai told his students: On my yahrzeit, I will be rejoicing in Heaven. And I want you to rejoice with me here on earth.
Rejoicing With the Soul
So usually, a yahrzeit is a sad day, but Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai taught us to look at it differently. Instead of focusing only on what we lost, he asked us to think about the person who passed away—the soul that is rejoicing and rising higher on this day. And if the soul is experiencing a special joy, then we can, in some way, rejoice together with the soul.
That is why, in Kabbalah, a yahrzeit is also called a hilula. In Aramaic, hilula means a wedding celebration. Because on this day, we are celebrating the soul’s elevation—its deeper connection with G-d.
That was the power of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. He could look at any situation, even something that seemed painful or dark on the surface, and reveal the deeper good hidden inside.
There is a beautiful story about him that shows this very clearly.
Jewish law says that if a couple has been married for ten years and has not been blessed with children, they are allowed to consider divorce, so that each one has the chance to remarry and have children.
There was once a couple in exactly that situation. They loved each other very much, but they had not been blessed with children. So they came to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and asked him what they should do.
Rabbi Shimon gave them a very unusual suggestion.
He said: “You are not separating because you hate each other. Just the opposite—you love each other. You are only doing this because you want to have children. So just as you made a celebration when you got married, make a celebration before you separate.”
Which, by the way, might not be the worst idea for some divorcing couples.
So the couple listened. They made a party that looked almost like a wedding celebration. And at a party, as happens at parties, the husband said l’chaim. And then another l’chaim. And maybe another one after that.
At some point, feeling warm and emotional, he turned to his wife and said, “As a keepsake from our marriage, I want you to choose anything from my home. Whatever you want, take it with you to your father’s house.”
He was a wealthy man, so there was plenty to choose from.
Later that night, after he had drunk a little more—and maybe a lot more—he fell asleep. His wife called the servants and told them to pick him up and carry him to her parents’ home.
The next morning, he woke up in his in-laws’ house, very confused.
He said, “What am I doing here?”
His wife smiled and said, “Last night, you told me I could take anything I wanted from your home. So I chose you.”
Now the husband was stuck. On the one hand, he was planning to divorce her. On the other hand, he had clearly told her she could take whatever she wanted—and she chose him.
So the couple went back to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Rabbi Shimon prayed for them, and they were blessed with children (Farbrengen of Lag BaOmer 5740).
What happened here?
Most people would have looked at this situation and seen only sadness. Divorce is always painful. A marriage that cannot produce children feels like heartbreak.
But Rabbi Shimon looked deeper. He turned the divorce into a celebration—and through that celebration, something hidden came to the surface. It revealed how strong their bond really was. Their connection was so deep that even divorce could not separate them.
And once that deeper bond was revealed, Rabbi Shimon’s prayer was able to help them, and they were blessed with children.
That is exactly what Rabbi Shimon did with the idea of passing away.
He transformed it from a yahrzeit—a day of death—into a hilula, a wedding celebration of the soul.
And with that same perspective, we can also look at the harsh words in this week’s Torah portion, the curses of the tochachah. As the Mitteler Rebbe famously said: “When Father reads them, you don’t hear curses.”
Because when you hear the words coming from a loving Father, you begin to realize that even what sounds harsh on the surface may be carrying a hidden blessing inside.
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