Sunday, May 23, 2004
Sparks From Israel
Rebbe Shimon
They say there is a kosher version of everything un-kosher. And so Hashem gave us Meron- a Charedi ‘Woodstock’. The sea of people dancing by the kever of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai was so intense, it literally lifted me off of my feet and carried me like a wave.
As I approached I gazed at the moon; the same moon that shed its soft light on the hills where Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Akiva walked. Imagine the conversations between the author of the Zohar and the greatest scholar of the Talmud. The rolling hills surrounding Tzfat remember every word that was spoken and if you listen closely you can hear them.
Later a friend asked me if I said tehillim. I answered that there were so many people and so much music I actually forgot, but I did something on an even higher level. I ate schnitzel.
In the cafeteria where they were passing free food out all night I ate very well. When I noticed that they were serving soup with lots of kenaidels in them, I went back for some more food. I stuck my hand out among the five other empty bowls requesting soup, and after filling each one with soup and lots of kenaidels, he took my bowl and filled it with only soup.
I sat down and at that point realized that by visiting the tzaddik, Hashem had forgiven me for my sins. I could have easily asked for kenaidels, but this time I accepted what was given to me, and by doing so accepted the forgiveness that was being passed out like schnitzel.
[To understand the deeper significance, read my kenaidel story from Pesach.]
Rebbe Shimon
They say there is a kosher version of everything un-kosher. And so Hashem gave us Meron- a Charedi ‘Woodstock’. The sea of people dancing by the kever of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai was so intense, it literally lifted me off of my feet and carried me like a wave.
As I approached I gazed at the moon; the same moon that shed its soft light on the hills where Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Akiva walked. Imagine the conversations between the author of the Zohar and the greatest scholar of the Talmud. The rolling hills surrounding Tzfat remember every word that was spoken and if you listen closely you can hear them.
Later a friend asked me if I said tehillim. I answered that there were so many people and so much music I actually forgot, but I did something on an even higher level. I ate schnitzel.
In the cafeteria where they were passing free food out all night I ate very well. When I noticed that they were serving soup with lots of kenaidels in them, I went back for some more food. I stuck my hand out among the five other empty bowls requesting soup, and after filling each one with soup and lots of kenaidels, he took my bowl and filled it with only soup.
I sat down and at that point realized that by visiting the tzaddik, Hashem had forgiven me for my sins. I could have easily asked for kenaidels, but this time I accepted what was given to me, and by doing so accepted the forgiveness that was being passed out like schnitzel.
[To understand the deeper significance, read my kenaidel story from Pesach.]
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