(A) Watch(ed) Fire(s)
- Erin Conway
- May 18
- 3 min read
Similar to previous chapters, Pogrebin describes the multiple reasons for celebrating Lag B’Omer: the end of the plague that killed Rabbi Akiva’s students and the death anniversary of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the beginning of the great rabbis of a new generation. Then, Pogrebin hesitates. “This is the holiday that could finally stump me” (229). I have no connection to Lag B’Omer except for bonfire coloring pages.
I’ve visited Israel around the holiday, just before or just after, but never to watch Lag B’Omer fires. I can’t help thinking I’m missing something that I’m not really missing. When my niece encouraged choosing an intersection of travel dates that included Lag B’Omer, her parents discouraged it quickly. They didn’t see the point; it was a pain and too often droughts prohibited celebratory fires. For them the holiday appeared to be what most holidays are, according to my brother, “only enjoyable for kids.” And for me?
Years ago my niece visited during the summer. She was three, easily surprised by fireflies and excited by the idea of a campfire. My aunt obliged, hauling out her metal fire pit and roasting sticks. I bought marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers. We barely finished one s’more. The country night was too foreign. Too quiet. Too dark. Too likely to be full of monsters. Still, it's the only fire we've watched together.
Lag B’Omer is an intersection. Lag B'Omer is a question about meaning.
A kind of watch(ed) fire.
But…
Of what?
Counting. Flames.
For what?
Assumptions. Actions.
Pogrebin reminds, “If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that resonance affixes itself to a holiday depending on what’s happening in your life” (229). Throughout reading her chapter, I was drawn to my own intersection of counting days and tending fires. (Ironically, the scrap paper I picked up to write notes while reading her chapter has the word ‘experience’ in pencil. Left unfinished, it was waiting for this reflection.)
In fact, Daniel Matt, Kabbalah scholar, invited Pogrebin to her own interpretation. “One of the attractive things about Lag B’Omer is its undefined character. . . So it invites creativity” (235). Pogrebin hesitated to be creative, perhaps because she had a bit more experience in traditions than myself. I had been making up actions, reasons and connections for years. Her book generally helped me understand that I wasn’t too far off. In this chapter, Pogrebin also interrogates the assumptions and intrinsic value placed on ‘goodness’ and ‘righteousness’. My own similar questions brought me back to Wisconsin ten years ago. What I thought had counted, didn’t seem like it should. Burning things down, starting over was all I could do.
Counting.
To judge.
The literal translation of Lag B’Omer is ‘the 33rd day of Omer’. Ten years, this year, was supposed to herald writing success or at least significant progress.
To hope.
Two weeks, fourteen days, after interviews is the end of waiting for news of next steps.
To celebrate.
I count reps at the gym. I count the words I write in my first language and the words I learn in my new ones.
To determine meaning.
Actions should count for something, but not always what you intend.
In the literal Hebrew translation, ideas, plagues, fires all break out after the initial ‘spark’. None are not guaranteed survival. Conditions must be right; the initial spark must be tended. Lag B’Omer fires were lit a few days ago. The counting ended, but it also began. The fire that was lit in despair burned low to coals, leaving space for new roots, new meaning and new bravery. The fire smoldered. I no longer choose to tend it. I kick dirt over the top and splash its final heat with water. My attention is drawn to the after of Lag B'Omer. Flames destroy, but they also renew, nutrient restoration, accessibility to nutrients. Room for growth and the energy to do it. In this realization, Pogrebin and I conclude the same, connection not to a past, but what can now be.
My Jewish Year Series
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