[Avodah] The Omer and Koolulam

Ben Waxman ben1456 at zahav.net.il
Tue Apr 17 22:27:14 PDT 2018


A Post by Rabbi Alex Israel.

In this essay (originally posted on Facebook for public consumption), 
Rav Israel talks about his feelings about participating in a Koolulam 
sing along. If you don't know, Koolulam is an organization which gets 
hundreds, even thousands of people together to teach to sing one song in 
unison. They took this idea from the US with the twist of having regular 
folks and not just stars singing. For an example of what Koolulam does, 
here is their Yom Atzmaut video (described by many as a tefilla 
b'tzibbur): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxzR9Z-kG6Q (Al Kol Aleh by 
Naomi Shemer).

Rav Israel's post is an excellent example about how people are dealing 
with inner conflicts of the Omer (and Three Weeks) mourning period and 
living in modern Israel.

Note: There are rabbanim who wouldn't have allowed participation, during 
the Omer time or any other time.

You can read the comments and discussion here: 
https://www.facebook.com/alexisrael1/posts/10157199448378942

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you have been following me on FB, you will know my obsession with 
Koolulam, especially their ‎‎70th Yom Haatzmaut event. Prior to the 
event I was asked by 7 or 8 people, friends or talmidot/im, ‎whether 
they could attend during the Omer. (If you watched the video, about half 
the participants ‎were religious-looking.) ‎

I am generally halakhically conservative (small "c"!) and I try to keep 
halakha even if it disrupts my lifestyle. I ‎am committed to halakhic 
practice and I don't knowingly contravene the law. So was it forbidden?‎

On the one hand this was a live event. So is it a problem? The Shulchan 
Arukh restricts weddings ‎and haircuts as modes of marking the death of 
Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim. Magen Avraham ‎adds dancing and revelry 
to the list and I grew up not even going to movies in the Omer. Koolulam 
‎isn’t a wedding and did not include dancing, but was very much a public 
celebratory event. Could I ‎go and allow others to go? I went to 
consult. One authoritative Posek said to me "It's not really assur (not 
dancing); it's not really muttar (public mass event). Go if it is 
‎important to you." ... But is that satisfactory?‎

The fundamental issue is deeper than the technical definition of 
“music”, dancing” etc. In truth, ‎I was going as part of my Yom 
Haatzmaut experience, as a celebration of life in Israel, of a people 
‎revived. This was not simple entertainment. Having participated in 
Koolulam, it was incredibly ‎uplifting. My wife has described the 
evening as “tefilla betzibur,” as the song’s words are essentially ‎a 
prayer! - Just watch the "kavanna" in the video of the event! This was 
not merely a fun night out, although it was great fun. It was for us a 
Zionist ‎expression, it touched a far deeper chord; it reflected faith, 
national unity, pride, hope, and so much ‎more.‎

On the one hand, I see Halakha as embodying values which we aspire to 
imbibe. As such, I fully identify with the mourning of the ‎Omer. It 
recalls Rabbi Akiva’s students who did not regard or interact with one 
another respectfully. In Israel ‎today, we desperately need to be 
reminded annually about the need for a sensitive and respectful ‎social 
environment and public discourse. The Omer contains a critical message. 
We wouldn't want to be without it. The mourning of the Omer, especially 
for Askenazi kehillot, also marks ‎massacres and Crusades throughout the 
ages; another important feature, (although they may have tragically been 
eclipsed by the Shoah.‎)

But here is the problem. These practices totally fail to absorb the huge 
historic shift that is Medinat ‎Yisrael. There is a gaping dissonance 
between the traditional Omer rhythm and our Israel lives. The 
‎traditional Omer rubric doesn't match the modern days of commemoration. 
For example, one ‎does not recite Tachanun on Yom Hashoah because it 
falls in Nissan. If there is one day to say ‎Tachanun, it is Yom Hashoah 
(I wrote about my struggle with this here 
‎http://thinkingtorah.blogspot.co.il/…/davening-on-yom-hasho…). And is 
Yom ‎Haatzmaut merely a hiatus in a wider period of mourning?
Moreover, in general, on a daily basis, ‎as I read the Siddur, I wonder 
how we can ignore the huge chessed of HKBH in our generation of ‎Jewish 
independence and the restoration of land and nationhood. How can my 
Siddur be the same ‎‎(excluding the prayer for the State) as my 
great-grandfather? ‎

In this period of the year, we should be thanking God, celebrating our 
good fortune, revelling in ‎the gifts that we feel as we move from Yom 
Haatzmaut to Yom Yerushalayim. Fundamentally, the ‎Omer is a happy time; 
Ramban perceives it as a “chol hamoed” of sorts between Pesach and 
‎Shavuot where we mark “the love of our youth, our marriage with God, 
how we followed God ‎through the wilderness” (Jeremiah 2) as we followed 
God from Egypt to Matan Torah at Mount ‎Sinai. Where is the joy? ‎

So, I felt that this was a sort of Yom Haatzmaut event which yes, 
contravened the traditional Omer, ‎but in some way lived up to our new 
reality. I keep the Omer - not shaving; watching how I speak ‎to others 
and how I interact in a positive and respectful way - but we are not in 
the terrible era of ‎Bar Kochba when the Romans massacred Rabbi Akiva's 
talmidim, and we are not in the period of ‎the Crusades. We are in 
Medinat Yisrael, our thriving sovereign State, and I want to praise 
Hashem and celebrate my people for ‎the ‎ניסים ונפלאות שבכל יום עמנו, על 
גאולתינו ופדות נפשינו ועמינו‎ - and so I went to Kululam. ‎

I don't know how to square the two systems.‎

Later I saw a post by an amazing Rav, Rabbi David Menachem, whose post 
reflected similar sentiments, going even further than my thoughts. See 
his post here: 
‎https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=963243270498844&id=276752372481274 
‎(h/t Yael Unterman)

I’m sharing these thoughts without the ability to articulate a solution. 
Maybe time will change ‎things. Maybe we need to push these questions to 
halakhic authorities and thinkers greater than ‎myself.‎




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