Lag Ba’omer (the 33rd day of the counting of the Omer) is the largest pilgrimage in the Jewish world. Every year, tens of thousands flock to the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, the undisputed hero of the Zohar.
The Zohar describes at great length the death and burial of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, also known by the moniker Rashbi, in Meron, near Safed (Tzfat). His significance and the presence of his grave in Meron seem to be the main impetus for the development of Safed as an important Jewish center of Kabbalah in the 16th century. While some scholars have explained the rise of Safed through economic developments (in particular, the burgeoning wool industry in the Galilee), these explanations underestimate the esteem in which Jews exiled from Spain in the late 15th century held the Zohar and its hero.
This text recounting Rashbi’s death and burial is recited at his grave in Meron every year and many kabbalistic Jews also say it at the time of a person’s death. Just as the death of Moses draws the Torah to a close, Rashbi’s death appears near the end of the Zohar, creating a parallel between Moses, giver of Torah, and Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, giver of the esoteric Torah.
While Moses’ death is mournful and private, attended only by God, the death of Rashbi is marked by gathering, Torah teaching and the revelation of secrets. There is weeping, yes, but also joy and exaltation, because his death is understood as a longed-for union with the divine. For this reason, the day of Rashbi’s death is called a hillula — a wedding celebration.
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The Zohar has much to say on the subject. With the assistance of the Pritzker translation, I will focus below on just a few selected passages from this 20-page homily.
On that day when the companions gathered in the house of Rabbi Shimon, and he was arranging his affairs to depart from the world — and before him were his son, Rabbi Elazar, Rabbi Abba and the rest of the companions, and the house was full …
As they were sitting down, Rabbi Shimon opened his eyes and saw what he saw; fire whirled through the house. Rabbi Shimon said, “This hour is an hour of favor, and I want to enter without shame into the world that is coming. Here, holy words that I have not revealed until now, I wish to reveal in the presence of Shekhinah — before they say that I departed deficiently. This is why they were concealed in my heart: to enter with them into the world that is coming.”Zohar 3:287b–296b
Rashbi’s death becomes the moment of his final revelation, complete with flames reminiscent of the smoke on Mount Sinai that accompanied the revelation of Torah. That revelation comes, naturally, in the form of an interpretation of scripture. Rabbi Shimon tells his disciples:
“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me” (Song of Songs 7:11). All the days that I have been bound to this world, I have been bound in a single bond with the blessed Holy One. Because of this, now his desire is for me — He and this whole holy entourage — to hear in joy concealed words and praise for the Holy Ancient One, concealed of all concealed. Separate, separated from all, yet not separate; for all are joined to it, and it is joined to all. It itself is all! Ancient of ancients, concealed of all concealed. Arrayed and not arrayed. Arrayed in order to sustain all; not arrayed, for it cannot be found.
All of Rashbi’s life, he was bound to God. Death is not separation or severing of that bond, but consummation — the fulfillment of the bond.
As death approaches, Rabbi Shimon proceeds to offer up his secrets, sharing kabbalistic wisdom until his final breath. And like his teacher Rabbi Akiva, whose soul famously departed with the word “one,” Rashbi also dies with a significant word on his lips, as reported by one of his companions:
Rabbi Abba said: The Supernal Holy Lamp had not finished saying “life” before his words subsided. I was writing, intending to write more, yet I heard nothing. I did not raise my head, for the light was too great and I could not look. Just then, I trembled. I heard a voice saying, “Length of days and years of life and peace they will add to you” (Proverbs 3:2). I heard another voice: “Life he asked of You — You gave it to him, length of days forever and ever” (Psalms 21:5).
Rashbi’s final word is “life.” And as he says it, Rabbi Abba, furiously scribbling notes, is unable to lift his own gaze from the page because so much light emanates from the bed.
There is no sharper paradox than marking death with the word “life,” but here it is fitting. Rashbi’s final exhalation of the word “life” emphasizes the idea that, more than physical states, life and death are spiritual ones: one may be physically alive yet spiritually dead, or physically dead yet full of life — through having lived a meaningful life close to God.
Let’s look together at one more piece of text, which describes the flames:
All that day, fire did not cease from the house. No one reached him — no one could, since light and fire surrounded him all day long. I flung myself on the ground and wailed.
After the fire disappeared, I saw that the Supernal Lamp, Holy of Holies, had departed from the world — enwrapped, lying on his right, his face smiling.
Rabbi Elazar, his son, rose, took his hands and kissed them. As for me, I licked the dust beneath his feet. The companions wanted to weep, but they could not utter a sound. Then their weeping began.
After his bier emerged, it rose in the air, fire flaring before it. They heard a voice: Come and enter! Gather for the wedding celebration of Rabbi Shimon. “He shall enter into peace; they shall rest upon their couches” (Isaiah 57:2).
This homily of Rashbi’s death, which is not merely studied in the abstract but, as previously mentioned, recited and even performed year after year, presents the quintessential kabbalistic model of holy death: not an ending but a completion, not a loss or separation but a union. Rashbi’s death is the final revelation of the giver of the hidden Torah. On Lag Ba’omer, people ascend to Meron not only to mourn, but to participate in the joy of that hillula.
The Zohar tells us that Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai did not leave this world through gradual decline, apathy or loneliness. He departed surrounded by his disciples, still teaching Torah and leaving behind a life fully lived. His death — with the word “life” on his lips — offers a model not only for a worthy death, but for life itself.
This piece was originally published as part of A Year of Zohar: Kabbalah for Everyone, an original series produced by My Jewish Learning and Sefaria. Sign up for the entire series here.
