Elana Sztokman

Maybe I’m a little grumpy from the Pope’s visit to Israel, since it meant my having to spend three hours trying to get home from Jerusalem today, stuck parking half an hour’s walk from my friend’s son’s bar mitzvah, with no taxis in sight, and then waiting in line by the parking garage exit for 90 minutes because streets were completely closed off to all of us mere mortals (read, anyone but the Pope and his entourage).

But actually, I think I’ve been having grumpy Lag Ba’Omers for a few years now. It may have started the year our neighbor had his (wooden) front door frame removed by eager bonfire-makers. Or maybe it was before then, the year I forgot to take in my hanging laundry in the afternoon, and it took a few washes to get the smell of smoke out of the clothes. Or the time I left a window slightly open and the entire house stunk of fire for days. Plus, the entire Lag Ba’Omer scene fills me with dread about fire-related accidents — they happen every year, without fail. But mostly, it reminds me of some of the qualities of Israeli society that I find most disturbing.

For one thing, Lag Ba’Omer is obviously terrible for the environment. One has only to walk through the streets the morning after to feel the heat and devastation, the absolute waste and the turning of parks into mounds of ashes. The air is hot and polluted, the sun is completely blocked, and if there is one educational lesson from Lag Ba’omer it would be this: stop destroying forests and trees.

The actual content of Lag Ba’Omer itself is also suspiciously absent. Ask kids (or adults for that matter) about the origin of the holiday and they’ll mumble something about Rabbi Akiva or Bar Kochba — or that other rabbi, you know, the one who lived in the cave (if they are really good they might know the name, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai). They may be able to tell you about 24,000 students who died, and now stopped dying (so we celebrate? it’s all a bit odd). In the more esoteric circles, some will talk about bizarre kabbalistic mysteries of the day that, frankly, are too weird to even be said out loud.

Almost none will know the real story about Rabbi Akiva — that his 24,000 students died because he sent them to fight in Bar Kochba’s rebellion in 132 CE, that Rabbi Akiva risked his students’ lives backing what turned out to be a false messiah, that Rabbi Akiva’s misguided assessment of Bar Kochba’s military superiority came from his wishful thinking and desire to believe that the Jews would quickly regain autonomy through Bar Kochba, and that Rabbi Akiva’s wide-eyed misjudgment sent most of his students to their deaths. Actually, more death and devastation by Roman hands occurred during the Bar Kochba revolt that during the destruction of the Second Temple. The Jews lost Jerusalem in 70CE, but they lost the rest of Israel and were really massacred in the hundreds of thousands sixty years later.

There are many important conversations to have with our children about these stories. Issues like the tension between national survival and individual survival, or the shifting nature of a people in its own land versus a people that is landless, or even questions about taking all-out risks with someone else’s life — all of these would make fantastic discussions, perhaps even around the bonfire. But I can guarantee that none of my kids are going to be having these conversations tonight with their teachers and friends. They may be eating marshmallows and playing music and having lots of fun, and they will tell me that I’m a party-pooper for being more paranoid about closing the windows missing out on the fun. But none of this really has much to do with the actual holiday.

This is what really bothers me about Israeli society. It’s a place where everyone does what everyone does without thinking too much about why. So Lag Ba’Omer becomes the thing about the bonfire, so everyone goes en masse to these massive and dangerous fires, and the country is filled with smoke and ashes and the air stinks and parents are petrified about fledgling pyromaniacs who may be risking our kids’ lives… Everywhere everywhere does this with gusto though nobody can really tell you why. But if someone does something radical like, say, have a small bonfire with some friends and family on a DIFFERENT day, or maybe just NOT do a bonfire at all, it’s like there’s something wrong with you. I mean, sure, bonfires are fun, but in Israel, you are supposed to do it when everyone else does it, and do it with a large masses of people, and that’s how it’s done, and don’t even think about deviating from the norm. Like, we’ll all have fun around a bonfire when society and the Ministry of Education TELL you that we’re going to have a bonfire and it will be fun. And then don’t forget to invite everyone you know and their dog.

It’s this way with all the holidays in Israel. Purim, for example, becomes the holiday about the costumes, and thank heavens we have a holiday like that because costumes are a vital part of life — but imagine the poor kid who doesn’t feel like dressing up on Purim but maybe has the poor timing of getting an urge to dress up a week AFTER Purim. The poor kid, definitely headed for the loony bin. The entire country will look at him like he’s crazy, and some person will undoubtedly say to him with that annoyingly sarcastic laugh, “What, you think it’s still Purim?” And they’ll look at the parent and say, boy do you have to learn how to be a good Israeli parent. Like, you will all be creative and free-spirited when society TELLS YOU to be creative and free-spirited.

Same with Yom Ha’atzmaut. EVERYONE has to go to the parks for a barbecue. And what if we don’t want to do it that day because, well, let’s see, there are 7 million people trying to do the exact same thing at the exact same time and that kind of ruins the sense of quiet relaxation? What if I decided to, you know, just for fun, do a barbecue on an average Friday afternoon and, say, go to the movies on Yom Ha’Atzmaut instead of spending hours in the car driving to the nearest forest? I’ll tell you what would happen: people would think there was something wrong with me. You just don’t do that. Movies on Yom Ha’Atzmaut? How weird. If you’re going to be so out of touch, the least you can do is not tell anyone about it.

So this is what bothers me most about Israeli society. There is so much emphasis on doing what everyone does, even when it has little meaning or when the “en masse” element of it strips the event of its content and spirit. And that’s what Lag Ba’Omer symbolizes for me: a country in concert destroying the environment in order to not tell the the story that is supposed to be told.

That — and really smelly laundry.