Chapter 50

During the journey I asked people whether they were traveling to Meron or to Tzfas. All of them were traveling only to Tzfas; there was not even one person going to Meron. I also asked the driver whether he knew if Meron was open, and he said that he did not know. I asked people from Tzfas as well, and none of them knew. Consequently, I suffered greatly over what we would do if we alighted from the bus, which stopped at the roadside. From its stopping place to Meron—to the courtyard—was a considerable distance, and there was also a great mountain to ascend. After climbing there with the children and belongings, what would we do if the place were closed? Where could we remain there, in the wilderness and among non-Jews? The bus would not wait even a moment: as soon as it let us off, it would immediately continue on its way and would not wait for us.

If we then had to toil and return once again to the bus stop, all the buses would arrive filled with people, and we would be unable to board them. It is self-evident that my mind was exceedingly confused by this. I spoke with my wife about the possibility that we might travel to Tzfas, where she would remain with the children and belongings at my relatives’ home for Shabbos; on Lag BaOmer she would come with them to make the child’s peyos.

She, however, was adamant: ‘Wherever you go, I will go.’ She said that she was traveling to no person and no place—only to Meron and to Rabbi Shimon himself, may his merit shield us, Amen (zi fort nit, nor tsu Reb Shimon [she was traveling nowhere except to Rabbi Shimon]). This was what she argued and said continually. (Afterward she said that her heart had told her that something difficult would pass over us, and therefore she wished to save herself only beside Rabbi Shimon, of blessed memory. In truth, it had never been her way to be obstinate about anything.)

I said to her: ‘What, then, shall we do? Perhaps the place is closed, no one is going with us, and it is already near evening.’ She said that she would speak with men and women who would alight with us at Meron, and they promised us that they would do so.

Throughout the journey we spoke with these people, and they were prepared and ready to alight at Meron. Yet when we reached the place for Meron, where the bus had to stop so that passengers could alight, the people changed their minds and did not wish to get off. We alone remained. I said to my wife, ‘What shall we do?’ There was no time for me to investigate what course to take. I was already prepared to continue to Tzfas, learn there whether Meron was open, and afterward travel back to Meron.

My wife, however, pulled the bell so that the bus would stop and put the matter into actual practice—halachah lemaaseh—by alighting from the bus. I was compelled to alight with the children, and we waited for the belongings to be lowered from the roof. All the people looked at us in astonishment. I too regarded this matter as self-sacrifice and madness, for perhaps the place was closed, as the people had said it generally was; how would we remain overnight in the wilderness? I argued this point with my wife, and she said that perhaps we would find some means of climbing by way of the roof into the courtyard, and so forth. In sum, we would see afterward what could be done. Thus they let us and our belongings off the bus, and it continued on its way.

There now began once again the difficult and burdensome matter of walking and ascending to Meron. We wished to find an Arab whom we could pay to help us carry the belongings, but we found none. Meanwhile we moved the belongings to the side so that they would not lie in the middle of the road, where automobiles passed to and fro, and so forth. We then began to consider what to do and arranged matters as follows: I would load the heavy sack upon my shoulders, together with several other belongings, and carry a basket in my other hand; my son would likewise carry a heavy sack; and my wife, with the children in her care, would move the third sack little by little. This is what we did.

We truly endured labor of the hands and sweat of the brow, suffering and compounded troubles. The sacks repeatedly opened and their contents fell out, so that we had to load and tie them again, and so forth. Several times I fell beneath my burden and felt that I was actually about to faint, and so forth. With all our strength and with self-sacrifice we moved forward little by little, until at last I merited seeing the courtyard. With great toil and exertion I reached the courtyard and saw that a joyful crowd was already there; the Sephardi sages were there praying Minchah, and Ashkenazim were present as well. I immediately entered by the holy tziyun and saw that all the spaces upon the bench-platform had already been taken by people who had rented them from the Sephardi sages.

A narrow strip of the bench-platform beside the holy tziyun, however—a space so narrow that it sufficed for the seating of only one person, and which was always my place—was still vacant and empty. I immediately placed my belongings upon that spot, took possession of it for myself, and rejoiced over it as over all the wealth in the world. Throughout the journey I had been anxious and afraid that another person might already have taken this place, in which case I would have been literally like a fugitive and a wanderer. Now, however, since I had this place to which I was always accustomed, it was literally as though I were in my own home. In particular, it was in a corner and off to the side, so that my belongings could remain there undisturbed; I could also practice hitbodedus [secluded personal prayer] facing the wall, without contact or dealings with any person. It was moreover the place closest to the holy tziyun, together with other advantages.

In sum, I rejoiced greatly over this, like one who finds abundant spoil. I then went outside to help bring the remaining belongings and the children. My wife was still on the road with the third sack. I placed the other belongings upon the large bench-platform between the tziyun of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, may his merit shield us, Amen, and the tziyun of his son Rabbi Elazar, may his merit shield us, Amen, in the large outer hall. This too was a choice place, and women could also remain there, unlike the inner chamber where I had taken my place. That chamber was exclusively a men’s domain; women entered it only occasionally to plead for mercy and immediately went out, and even then the men shouted at them to leave, and so forth.

This bench-platform was a choice place from which everything could be seen, and the sanctity of the holy tziyunim hovered over it. From there one could clearly see the cries, weeping, and spiritual awakening at those holy tziyunim, as well as the rejoicing and dancing; all the great tumult generated by the immense crowd—‘Ben Poras Yosef’ [‘Yosef is a fruitful son,’ a conventional invocation against the evil eye]—likewise took place there. I guarded the belongings and waited for my wife, may she live, to arrive with the children and the remaining belongings. Meanwhile the Sephardim greeted me, and so forth. Wishing to secure a good place, I entered from the large hall into a certain room whose window opened onto this bench-platform and placed several belongings there. In the meantime my wife, may she live, arrived.

I wished to enter and remain in that room, but the Sephardim would not permit me under any circumstances. I asked them for another room within the courtyard, upon the roof, but they likewise refused, for they demanded a large sum—several pounds—to permit anyone to enter and remain in a room. I saw that no alternative remained except for my family to stay upon this bench-platform. Although it was a major public thoroughfare, requiring great vigilance against thieves, and although the noise and crowding there would be severe, there was no alternative. Since Divine Providence had arranged matters in this manner, it was certainly for the better, for there was greater spiritual awakening there and so much rejoicing took place there.

We therefore said that we would remain there upon the bench-platform. The Sephardim answered that this was proper and that we could take possession of the place, but that payment was required for it as well: no less than half a pound in my case, although another person would pay more. I knew, however, that one never paid for places occupied in the synagogue; large sums were paid only for private rooms. I therefore resisted and pleaded with them, but they wished to seize us and throw us outside.

I likewise saw that they had disputes with other people who had taken places in the synagogue. Even inside, beside the tziyun, where no money had ever been paid, they now quarreled with the people, and each person was compelled to pay several shillings for a patch of floor space. I saw that no alternative remained except to reach an agreement with them concerning the price. They demanded no less than half a pound, while I continued to resist.

I also asked our friend Rabbi Tzvi, the shamash—the Ashkenazi—and Chacham Aharon to arrange that I should pay only six shillings for half of the bench-platform beside the aforementioned wall and window. I stipulated with them that this payment was also to include the narrow strip of bench-platform inside, beside the holy tziyun, which I had chosen for myself, as stated above.

They had already agreed to this and asked for the money, but I did not have even a single perutah to give them. They were unwilling to wait, while I repeatedly put them off—‘a little longer, a little longer’—because I thought that members of our fellowship would arrive in the meantime, that I would borrow the money from them, and that I would pay the Sephardim. This did not come to pass. Several members of our fellowship arrived, as did Rabbi Yechiel, and I asked him to lend me the money; but he replied that he too needed to borrow money for himself. In sum, I was compelled to tell them the truth: I had no money.

Meanwhile they had major disputes with other people who refused to pay money, and matters actually came to blows, until the police had to mediate between them and require the people to pay, because the Sephardim were the proprietors. In other years they had not demanded so much money. Now, however, they had laid out large sums for extensive repairs, because the Arabs had broken the doors and windows and stolen everything; the Sephardim had been compelled to repair everything and restore it to order, and they had no other source from which to recover the money except by charging for the places.

Moreover, the entire sustenance of the Sephardi sages of the Meron yeshivah for a considerable period always came from these days of Lag BaOmer—from the hadlakos [ceremonial bonfires], the Mi Shebeirach pledges, and so forth. One therefore could not blame them too greatly for this. Rabbi Yechiel obtained from them a place upon a small bench-platform beside my wife’s bench-platform. Half of the bench-platform beside my wife had already been taken by another Sephardi, and the other places gradually filled as well.

My wife then looked for a certain utensil that I had placed in the room. I went to retrieve it, but it was already gone. I warned her that she must understand that great vigilance was necessary, and that she must not leave even for a moment unless she appointed someone to watch the belongings until she returned.