By Daniel Shasha in Jerusalem, Israel
It was a time of great darkness in a Jewish town in Eastern Europe. On Lag BaOmer, the Jews walked the streets not with joy, but with sorrow and exhaustion. The Cossacks had broken into the towns, plundering and destroying everything in their path. They killed mercilessly, sparing neither women nor children.
The houses stood silent and broken. Those who remained had fled into caves and hidden pits, trembling for their lives. The sound of Torah learning had stopped. The songs that once filled the air were gone. A heavy fear pressed down on both young and old, and Lag BaOmer itself had become a day of pain.
The Ba’al Shem Tov, who was present in the town at that time, felt the suffering deeply. He saw the brokenness of the Jewish people and understood that such darkness often signals the moments before redemption—when the night is at its deepest just before dawn begins to break. But more than anything, his heart ached for the children, who could no longer experience the joy and beauty of Hashem’s world.
“Why,” he wondered, “should the children of Israel not celebrate Lag BaOmer?”
And so, the Ba’al Shem Tov went from hiding place to hiding place—from cave to cave and pit to pit—calling out to the children, “Lag BaOmer!”
The people did not understand him. What did he mean? Was he suggesting they go out as they once had, in times of peace and joy? He said nothing further. Instead, he placed small bows and tiny arrows into the hands of each child.
“Come,” he said gently, “we will go out together.”
The parents were alarmed. It sounded dangerous, even reckless. At first, they refused. But the Ba’al Shem Tov spoke softly to their hearts, assuring them, promising them, until finally, with hesitation, they agreed.
Slowly, the children stepped out from their hiding places. They breathed in the open air, feeling the sun on their faces, seeing the world they had not seen in so long. The Ba’al Shem Tov led them forward—and to their amazement, not a single Cossack appeared in their path.
Then he gave a signal.
And the children began to sing.
Their voices rose into the sky, light and pure, carried by the wind. The song seemed to merge with the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the trees, until it felt as if all of creation was joining them—the heavens above and the earth below, the fields and forests, the mountains and valleys. Everything seemed to come alive in song.
And from that moment on, something changed. The violence stopped. The destruction ceased. And a measure of light returned to the world once again.
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This story has been adapted from Kol Sipurai Ba’al Shem Tov Vol.1 pp. 24- 25. Lag Ba’Omer begins the evening of Monday, May 4, and ends the evening of May 5.