Reflections Following the Meron Disaster (Column 387)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

Although the blood is still boiling and the gates of tears have not been closed, around this bubbling there also bubbles a stupid and inflammatory discourse which, in my estimation, it is time to address rationally (yes, there is such a level of discussion, for anyone who has forgotten).

On Emotion and Foolishness

I will preface by saying that my main goal on this site is to push back against the bluster and emotionalism that characterize discourse in our parts and to try, even a little, to tilt it toward something more logical, substantive, and rational. This applies to religious thinking, but also to human thinking in general. Of course, in our world—awash in foolishness and emotion—this is a suicidal mission, but I realized long ago that I harbor self-destructive tendencies (as Ehud Barak once said: “If you were a Palestinian teenager, I would have been a suicide bomber.” A simple and obvious statement—though that didn’t spare him the predictable emotional outburst it provoked).

What triggers this column is, of course, the discourse around Meron, and also what developed here on the site about it. It faithfully reflects a situation in which intelligent people fall into a mental and emotional fixation that prevents the possibility of dialogue with them. Say something rational and you’ll get smacked straight from the raging gut (and their tearful eyes). So permit me, as is my way, to pour a bit more fuel on this bonfire of vanities, and you are certainly invited to respond and pour it over me in the talkbacks. I’m sure you will, but I write these words for those few who refuse to be swept away by the sentimental foolishness flooding our streets. Good luck to us all.

I have written more than once that feelings are overrated. Almost all of us have them, and of course they should be taken into account. But feelings are now regarded as something sacred that must not be offended. Indeed, one shouldn’t hurt people for no reason in any way—at least as long as it isn’t necessary. But emotion is not a guide and cannot tell us what is right and what is proper. Moreover, usually when a person writes and speaks out of stormy emotions, he will talk nonsense. The main reason for the shallowness of discourse in our milieu is the exalted status given to emotions. Emotion is the mother of all sin; it bears primary responsibility for the appalling stupidity and the bluster in our discourse.

The Cry of the “Robbed Cossack”

The fact that someone is sad—even if he has been deeply hurt by me—doesn’t mean he is right. Likewise, the fact that someone has hurt another person doesn’t mean he is wrong. One can lodge claims of courtesy and timing against the offender, but those often get mixed with substantive claims that well up from the depths of emotion.

This morning I received an email from someone who feels sharp criticism toward Haredi society (he himself grew up in it, and perhaps still belongs to it), and he wonders when his criticism is impolite and when it’s contemporary silencing under the tool of the almighty PC. I wrote back that there is no real connection between courtesy and PC. PC tries to change thought by changing speech and terminology, whereas courtesy only demands that we express things in a way that doesn’t hurt someone. I added that there are no rules of courtesy for thought—only for behavior and speech. In thought, the only rules are true and false. In speech and behavior, one must also consider consequences for others. In the critiques of Yaron London’s remarks that took up significant space here on the site and in the media in general, PC claims and criticisms of discourtesy are mixed together, and many take them into the realm of substance—usually without even noticing. This sharply illustrates what I am describing here.

Incidentally, the over-reliance on manners arises precisely when the claims are correct and you have no adequate response to them. Then you pull out the doomsday weapon and lament that it’s hurtful and impolite and inhuman, and altogether boorish. If you also make sure to be offended and say that the speaker is “dancing on blood,” you will certainly come out on top. Many people and groups who behave improperly—especially when they cannot justify their conduct, morally and/or rationally—when criticized for it, instead of answering, they take offense and accuse (which, of course, is entirely forgotten when they themselves criticize others). In Yiddish, this phenomenon is called “the cry of the ‘robbed Cossack’.” This is another reason it’s wrong to yield to accusations and shut up even in difficult hours. Various Cossacks exploit this for their purposes.

Initial Reflections on Lag BaOmer in Meron

One cannot escape a few opening words about the very “Rashbi carnival” in Meron. It is a bizarre event without equal—perhaps except for the graves-carnival and the tzaddik-cult in Uman. Here’s the recipe: take a day whose origin and meaning are unclear (see Responsa Chatam Sofer, Yoreh De’ah §§233–234), pour into it bizarre contents that our ancestors never imagined and that no one knows what they mean (probably nothing), add a pinch of customs whose foundation is on “mountains of holiness” (i.e., in the office of the middle Rebbe of Weisskvas-Piltz, the one who, after a legal struggle with his brother, managed to gain the slice of the dynasty covering the northern chain of the Shalshelet settlement and who sports a pink-and-gold gartel), mix well, cook for half an hour, and it will immediately become the biggest, most “religious” central event in the world—and all the multitudes of our wise and intelligent people will cooperate with this foolishness. Tried and tested.

As I understand it, this carnival and the mass hankering after it come from exactly the same place as the Boombamela festival or trance parties among secular people. It’s a well-known, if sad, fact that many people feel a deep inner pull toward emotion and ecstasy to lift them out of their a priori everyday life and give them a feeling of elevation. Those parties are just contemporary examples, but this didn’t start today. That was likely also the source of the ecstasy of idolaters who gaped to Peor, or those who danced around the Golden Calf and said to it, “This is your god, O Israel.” People seek an outlet for their longings toward the spiritual, the ecstatic, and the emotional. They want to flee the annoying, cold intellect that forces us to think and to distinguish between Shabbat and the six weekdays, between the essential and the peripheral (and the petty), and between one who serves God and one who does not. And if there is no intellect—whence the distinction?!

Instead of studying heavy theoretical subjects and using their brains, they prefer to ruminate on Hasidic bon mots that demand nothing and require no effort—even though they teach us nothing. But they grant us sublime experiences of depth without content. Hence the study days and lectures on such topics are packed and teeming with people, while rigorous, systematic learning in various fields is set aside like a stone no one turns. The priestess lies in the corner while the innkeeper sacrifices on the altar.

People prefer to separate challah with fervor and believe it will heal someone’s illness, rather than understand that challah is a commandment like any other that we fulfill because we were so commanded, and that performing it for such aims borders on a biblical prohibition. In the end, it’s just a prosaic acknowledgment of a grim reality. Far more satisfying and uplifting is to separate challah while murmuring (whose source is on those same “mountains of holiness” above), and then to avoid acknowledging that it did not help in any way. No tear and no lofty murmur ever returns empty, as is well known.

Back to Lag BaOmer. It starts with a few rebbes looking for a niche in which to stand out. Apparently they have nothing more interesting and useful to say or do, so how will it be known that they are rebbes? How will we all know they are scions of tarshishim and arelim, who themselves descended from other tarshishim and arelim (was there ever a real tarshish and ariel in such a chain? Who knows?!). I once heard that the Rebbe of Sanz took as a son-in-law for his daughter a “simple” young man who was examined by him on two thousand pages of Talmud. When asked how a prominent rebbe like him permits himself to match with someone so “simple,” he replied that he prefers someone who begins the pedigree over one who ends it. These rebbes enlist the services of gabba’im, fixers, and PR people, and all of them quarrel among themselves and run legal and other intrigues to secure exclusive rights to the sacred lighting ceremonies in Meron. These are rights to spaces in place and time—who will light a bonfire and who won’t—and who will enhance the name of his well-known ariel-and-tarshish rebbe. “My rebbe is a bigger tough guy, for he lit the Lag BaOmer bonfire of vanities with lofty, obscure murmurs at location X at time Y—unlike your rebbe, nebich, who lit only at location Y and time X, and who had only 10,000 foolish Hasidim, not 200,000 like ours. Besides, his face wasn’t really seized with holy rapture and supreme joy like my rebbe’s.” Thus the myths of “chai rotel” are born and become mass articles of faith; I suppose this is exactly how idolatry was born.

This PR machine—purely about money, power, and honor—bears fruit, surprisingly enough, because it clothes itself in those same longings for “spirituality” and experiences in a way that does not require intellectual effort, Heaven forbid (just a bit of pushing and suffering, and murmuring Psalms that will bring salvation in the merit of the tzaddik). The fact that there are serious concerns of several grave halachic prohibitions will not stop our idolaters, nor will it prevent them from staging the largest trance party in the world. When I see the mass, uniform, ecstatic swaying of the crowd at these worthless, tasteless events, I shudder at the immense power of mass suggestion and recall idolatrous experiences we supposedly were spared in these generations. I confess with shame that even I, small as I am, sometimes feel a sense of “experience” when present at various rituals (religious or not). We are all human. But I try to overcome it, and certainly do not turn it into something of value—i.e., into an ideology. At most, it is a surrender to our baser needs—and even that is permissible from time to time. An “experience” is merely a kind of leisure activity (and when it is mass, it is usually base and herd-like, in my view), nothing more.

“All Mockery Is Forbidden—Except Mockery of Idolatry”

I think I have already brought here the words of R. Yitzchak Hutner in his Pachad Yitzchak on Purim. He explains the Sages’ dictum (end of Megillah 25b):

Rav Nachman said: All mockery is forbidden, except mockery of idolatry, which is permitted, as it is written, “Bel bows, Nebo stoops,” and it is written, “They stooped, they bowed together; they could not deliver the burden…” Rabbi Yannai said [we learn it] from here: “The inhabitants of Samaria shall fear for the calves of Beth-aven, for its people shall mourn over it, and its priests shall tremble over it, over its glory, because it is departed from it”—do not read “its glory” (kevodo) but “its heaviness” (kevido). Rav Huna bar Menoach said in the name of Rav Acha the son of Rav Ika: It is permitted for a Jew to say to a gentile, “Take your idol and place it on its shin and tav [i.e., on its posterior].” Rav Ashi said: One whose name is offensive is permitted to be mocked with a gimel and shin [i.e., to distort it disparagingly]; one whose name is pleasant is permitted to be praised; and one who praises him—blessings shall rest on his head.

Why is mockery—apparently not much liked by the Sages (though I do like it)—permitted with respect to idolatry? R. Hutner explains after first clarifying what is bad about mockery per se: it punctures a hole in the balloon of anything important and lets out the air (like a shield anointed with oil). And what is bad about idolatry? There we encounter great importance accorded to things that are intrinsically devoid of importance (wood and stone). Therefore, R. Hutner explains, mockery is the right and proper tool for dealing with idolatry: it pricks the empty balloon of importance and returns it to its natural size. One must understand that indeed the idolaters are hurt by such mockery, and it is certainly impolite to behave that way. True—but no less important is puncturing the balloon of idolatry than avoiding hurting its worshippers. If they worship idolatry, they must bear the consequences of the war against it.

You will surely be surprised to hear that I often engage in the craft of mockery, since it is very dear to me. But I think I always do so (at least this is my policy in principle) where I see a whiff of idolatry—i.e., where disproportionate importance is given to something devoid of importance. In cases of mere mistakes (in my view) or in a debate about a topic that truly has two sides—even if I hold one of them—I do not usually resort to mockery; I conduct the debate in a more serious tone. But where disproportionate importance is accorded to something unimportant—be it a person, a text, a concept, or an idea—there I stand by R. Hutner’s words. Note that precisely in such places people are hurt by criticism, for it touches what seems to them very important. Yet precisely there the Sages instruct us not to recoil from causing that hurt. In a sense, this is the cry of the “robbed Cossack” that I discussed above.

I will add that even in debates of the second sort I present arguments, but I certainly allow myself to present them cynically. This is the important, delicate difference between irony/cynicism and lack of substance. Lack of substance is unacceptable to me in any situation. Lack of substance is when one jokes without presenting arguments—not when one presents arguments in a cynical formulation. When I present a position and people attack it as heresy or mock it—this is non-substantive. But if they present arguments against it—even if phrased cynically—bless them. I very much enjoy such phrasing; it adds some salt and pepper to our lives (you see, I too am drawn after “experiences”). When I am offended by someone’s words, I know I’ve been caught without an answer, and then I make a point of trying to overcome it. That reaction is irrelevant and certainly no substitute for arguments. If I have no counter-arguments, I must honestly admit I was wrong and not use offense to exit the debate with dignity (the “robbed Cossack” effect). In short, cynicism and substance are not necessarily opposites.

Yaron London

I assume there’s no need to present Yaron London’s words about the Meron disaster, which are now appearing under every green tree. Nevertheless, I bring them here in full so your eyes can see them straight. I suggest reading them attentively and critically, without falling captive to emotional traps and distortions that appeared in the media:

Words of steel. He wrote the truth with praiseworthy honesty. There isn’t a word of antisemitism here, nor anything shameful. There is a description of the feelings of a liberal Israeli who feels alienated from the Haredim and, from his perspective, they are like Rwandans or members of another people far away—so their disaster does not touch him on the emotional plane. He of course shares their sorrow, as with the sorrow of any human being who suffers, but he doesn’t feel toward them as toward family whose grief touches him personally. What here is not self-evident? What here merits criticism? This is an authentic, honest description of emotions that many Israelis feel but do not dare articulate because of consideration for the Haredim and because of PC.

These words come after years and generations in which the Haredim maintain an ideology of alienation and separation from all around them; of non-contribution and narrow, sectoral self-interest; of extensive exploitation without a drop of gratitude toward the systems that surround them (health, defense, justice, police, education, psychological counseling and guidance, academia, and more); of laying the blame for every disaster on others and their views and refusing true soul-searching; of primitivism and ossification of thought; of insane, monopolistic coercion of their norms on the general public that does not believe in them, does not acknowledge them, and does not want them—some not even anchored in halacha (Shabbat, kashrut, marriage, conduct at the Western Wall, the content of state ceremonies, and more)—who cares?!; of irresponsible, heavy-footed conduct that harms all of us—economically and in security, and in the past year, in health as well. And after all this, Yaron London, as an atheist and a liberal, honestly admits that he feels alienation toward them, though he even lightly rebukes himself for it (after all, he is a leftist, no?). Isn’t that exactly what they wanted to achieve? This is their policy. So why the rage? He doesn’t belittle anyone’s grief, and if he met a person in sorrow he would surely share it. Here he describes his feelings facing a collective sorrow of some public—not meeting a specific grieving person.

This is truly the “robbed Cossack” phenomenon. Yaron London held up a mirror to them, and suddenly they have no answers or justifications. You do all this to us—flout the rules, revel with graves, and dance with the stars—we protect you, organize for you, and fund you; we are the ones who save you from your own hands (sometimes—we don’t always succeed). And you, in return, despise us and coerce us. And suddenly you discover you’ve succeeded (not really, since the overwhelming majority of the public displayed remarkable empathy). Now you complain. You want consideration and feelings of solidarity—since, after all, we are sons of one father. As noted, when there are no substantive answers, the Cossack takes up the craft of taking offense.

Beyond that, Yaron London expressed a feeling, not a moral or value position. The disaster of any person is sad and we should be saddened by it, and I’m sure that when he sees such a disaster up close he will be sad. He only wondered why, for him, the Haredim’s disaster in Meron differs from that of the Rwandans. The Rwandans did not suffer less (indeed, far more). The claim is that the Haredim are closer to him. But that is an emotional, not a moral, claim. On the emotional plane, London’s feelings are what they are. Those are facts and he merely reports them. There is no value or moral stance here, and therefore I see no room for criticism.

Back to the Difference Between Courtesy and Substance

In passing, I cannot avoid pointing to the words of a teacher named Liat Winder Nokad, who wrote a wonderful and moving post on Facebook—truly a faithful planting, a craftsman’s work, a jar of manna. Very few texts I’ve read are written at that level. I highly recommend reading it.

If you read it, you surely noticed that between the lines there is criticism quite similar to London’s—and just as sharp in substance—but written with great gentleness and empathy (though with no small condescension), and therefore it does not arouse similar feelings in the reader. It would be truly fascinating to compare the content of her words to London’s (they are almost one-to-one) and, alongside that, to compare readers’ reactions to the two posts. The difference between her words and London’s lies mainly in intonation and phrasing, which illustrates just how much people read from the gut rather than the head, and how much they mix courtesy with substance, and form with content.

As I understand it, she does not describe any closeness to the Haredim and certainly not that they are members of the same people as she is. On the contrary, I sense not-so-hidden mockery toward such statements (as Haredi slogans) and a condescending disdain for their primitive conceptions. But in her writing there is extraordinary empathy and an exquisitely gentle style (beyond the very act of going to console mourners in Bnei Brak). The tense combination she achieves is genius—truly an art. I immediately wonder what would happen if she took a similar step toward a disaster that befell Palestinians living here (I can assume that, from her perspective, it is quite similar: not one people—but there is room for empathy and knowing/understanding the other). I am fairly sure that such a step would not elicit a similar response from most readers here—not to mention that they themselves would not take it.

You know what—why speak theoretically?! Ask yourselves what Haredim do in the face of disasters at a song festival or a soccer match. Will you find there empathy of the kind they expect from others here? Will no one there attribute it to the sins of secularism? (“They all engage in nonsense and wasting time—and this is what happens. The hand of God struck those unfortunates!” After all, the Chazon Ish and the Brisker Rav already said wars are because of, and the fault of, the secular.) Would it, for them, be the same sorrow as over the Meron disaster? I have no doubt that for many—the answer is no. Go and see their attitude toward Memorial Day for IDF fallen. It’s not only non-participation in the official ceremonies—that’s entirely forgivable. I’m talking about their principled attitude—what is reflected in the streets and in conversations in the study halls. About the fiery speeches of “what have we to do with them.” I was there and I heard it. Not all, of course—but it is the basic ethos. Incidentally, Yaron London is not “all the secular,” either. On the contrary, the great majority among the secular publicly express remarkable empathy—which (like London) seems to me a bit hypocritical (courtesy obliges). And regarding IDF fallen, these are people who gave their lives for their protection—not just unfortunates who suffered a calamity. And what is the reason for the lack of empathy? Alienation and distance, of course. Most Haredi families do not know soldiers, even less fallen ones. It doesn’t happen in their garden bed—therefore there is little empathy (I’m not speaking of meeting grieving people personally; I mean the public plane). So why should they protest London’s feelings? “Robbed Cossack,” as I said?!

And What About Me?

Contrary to the Greek chorus here on the site that accuses me of identifying with London, nowhere did I write or say that I am not sad about what happened, nor did I express agreement with his words (if only because he makes no claim—he only expresses a feeling). I wrote and said that I fully understand London’s feeling according to his approach and in light of his place and views. I wrote that it is entirely to be expected—natural and fully understandable in my eyes. I also reject with contempt the inflammatory, emotional critiques of him. But I, unlike him, do feel closeness to the Haredim (despite the harsh criticism of them with which I fully agree)—if only because of family connections, religious faith (shared to some extent—after all, they are the sect closest to me), and my personal biography. Some of my best friends are…. But I will not deny that when I heard about the disaster, a few feelings similar to those he describes also passed through me: things like “I told you so,” “a blow to idolaters in the Holy Land,” “a herd of wildebeest,” and the like—and even a bit of schadenfreude (a natural, if undesirable, feeling).

None of this has any connection—nor does it contradict—the sadness one feels at the loss of life and at families in such profound grief and sorrow. On the personal level, that is certainly no less than the personal sadness I would feel if I knew the victims in Rwanda (who, unlike the Haredim, did nothing to me and are not to blame for their situation—but on the other hand, they are also less close to me). I am sure that this is also London’s state. But at the collective level you are not standing before a specific deceased person or a specific bereaved family—you are facing a public that brought disaster upon itself by its own negligent hands, and that constitutes a bitter, harassing, and thoroughly immoral adversary, as I described above. Exactly as Yaron writes—it is the feeling of an adult faced with something that happens to a foolish child who did not heed his voice and brought this upon himself—especially when that child bullies, scorns, and exploits him all his life without any gratitude. Is he expected to feel empathy? But the criers of emotion here, like the media’s PC-soaked ranters—eyes awash with tears and hearts brimming to bursting—are incapable of listening to arguments, let alone understanding them. They cannot see their own blemishes and ascribe their faults to the other. No wonder I feel like I’m speaking to a wall. So instead of talking, I wrote—and pleasant to the one who will hear.

A Theological Note to Conclude

To cap things off, I’ll end with a small point that occurred to me following the disaster, joining the two parts of this column. In Jewish thought it is customary to say that we must engage in soul-searching and learn from everything that happens to us. Personally—as most of you know—I do not think so. Soul-searching—certainly, that’s always good. But understanding reasons for what happens and drawing conclusions—absolutely not. In my view, what happens is (at least usually) the nature of the world, not the handiwork of the Holy One. But for one who thinks that events that occur do come to teach us something, I ask him: what, in your opinion, are we to learn from this event? (Besides strengthening in modesty and sleeve length for women, Torah study, and the prohibition of lashon hara, of course.) If I believed events come to teach us, it would be very hard for me to escape the conclusion that perhaps our intent is acceptable (and perhaps not), but our actions certainly are not. That the cult of graves in Meron is a trance revelry not pleasing before Him.

As you may recall, Rabbi Yitzhak Peretz (rabbi of Ra’anana and former Shas minister) explained to us in toto-d that the “Bnei HaBanim” disaster—the deaths of dozens of schoolchildren from Petah Tikva in a collision with a train—happened because of Shabbat desecration in Petah Tikva (the “Heichal” cinema). And I only wonder: will there be one honest person among the many (almost all) who disagree with me—perhaps Rabbi Peretz himself?!—who would be willing to reconsider his attitude toward the Rashbi carnival in light of what happened? Is this not the hand of God which burst forth a fierce, painful breach among the revelers of idolatry in Meron? This would appear to be a Mount Carmel moment in our day—by their own logic. If one cannot learn this obvious lesson from the disaster that occurred here, then truly events teach us nothing.

For my part, I repeat that from every event that occurs, each person learns what he thought beforehand (as always happens in studying aggadah, Tanakh, and ethics)—that is, he learns nothing from it. From this I also conclude that there is nothing for us to learn from events (on the theological plane), and that the Holy One probably is not trying to teach us anything (otherwise He has failed miserably as a pedagogue—which does not befit an omnipotent being; see my second book in the trilogy). But here I throw down a gauntlet to adherents of the opposite approach. If none of you can be found, that itself will be an admission by the litigants and evidence for my basic position on learning from events. As I said, I think this about the Meron celebration regardless of the disaster, and I also do not think disasters come to teach us anything. But here I argue that anyone who disputes me on both points is presenting a self-contradictory doctrine.

That’s it. I’m done. You may begin to revile and curse me…