So, last night in Meron…
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the dude who hid out from the Romans in a cave for 13 years, promised great things to anyone who came to his tomb on Lag b’Omer — as long as they were happy. Very happy. I don’t know what feeling exactly that stirs up in the pit of *your* stomach, but man, was mine churning — and I mean that in a good way. Me and half a million of my closest friends came to eat massive amounts of food, build bonfires, cram into a tomb and pray. And I — not the biggest fan of people generally, and specifically egotistical people who push other people out of the way — was loving every minute of it. Like, where else would you see a huge, marshmellow-stomached Israeli guy throw a 98-pound Hasid with a beard down to his pupik out of the way so that he could throw himself, sobbing, onto a grave? I know it sounds horrible — and sometimes it was — but there was also something so beautiful about it. Five seconds later, they were chatting each other up like old friends, pumping each other’s hands and laughing about the Lag b’Omers of years past.
While outside, these old Moroccan women heaped out massive ladles of rice and vegetables and chicken, giving them to strangers like their own children. I have never seen so much free food in my life.
Okay, so. We got on the bus, and the typical bus riot was happening — if you’ve ever been in an Israeli bus station, you know what I mean. “Lines” are not something that people in Israel are so interested in. Especially in Meron. These tough old ladies started pounding on the bus, shaking it, almost toppling it over. The driver finally gave in, opened the rear door, and it was scary for a moment. No one was sure what was going to happen. Then the crowds rushed in. Somewhere along the line, my wife and I realized that our suitcase was on the bus, and we had to store it under. I started down the stairs. Bad idea, right? The mob didn’t stop. These two little ladies burst on, one pushed half a dozen garden gnome-size kids in ahead of her, and, as I was halfway down the bus stairs, this 80-year-old Orthodox lady ran straight at me. My stomach was at ground zero.
And this is me, right? The only Orthodox person on the bus who wasn’t in black and white, me with my t-shirt and jeans and this crowd just asking for bloodshed. So what could I do? Right before she hit, I screamed out, “HEY! I’M RELIGIOUS, I DON’T TOUCH WOMEN!”
There was a moment of silence.
Then the entire bus — old Hasidic ladies, stony-faced rabbis, and all — started laughing.
And that’s how I saved my little Orthodox tush.