You won't believe this. But then again, maybe you
will.
I walk home from the old city of Zefat down the staircase.
The yellow daffodils breathe rhythmically throughout the
hilldside. The fresh spring grasses wave their overgrown tips
all the way down to the cemetery. The graves are surrounded
by dry, hot earth with an occasional large bourgeoning tree
guarding the holy site. There are sounds of the nearby
drilling and banging where the new Breslov building is being
constructed, gravel crunching below a car's wheels, the
flapping of the green canvas that protects the trinket tent
on the road above the Ari's mikve, and a jet echoing
far away. "The graves look so much like neatly made beds," I
think to myself. "Tucked in tightly with such perfectly
pointed corners." Perhaps an apt example, since
"Tzaddikim are alive even after their passing."
I put my heavy shopping bags on the bench that is situated
halfway down the stairs that curve down to my apartment
complex. I stand relaxed as I often do, looking out at the
blue painted tombstones: the Ari Hakodosh, the Alshich, R'
Yosef Caro, Hoshea Hanovi, as well as so many non-blue stones
under which I am sure other great figures repose as well.
My eyes alight on the kever of the Ari Hakodosh with
two large trees almost touching, making a shady archway for
all to pass under. As always, it draws me. Calls to me. And
even though I stand on these stairs so many meters above it,
I feel humbled, and prayers from my heart overflow from my
lips. Prayers for Moshiach, for the resurrection of
all Jews so that we can finally be together. Everyone
together. For the past and the present to unify.
Before the tears even fall from my eyes, I feel movement. A
pulsating through the ground. Having grown up in Los Angeles,
I realize that I am about to live through one more
earthquake. I can't remember: am I supposed to lie down or
stand near a tree? Then I notice the quiet. Earthquakes are
noisy, with walls crashing down and people screaming. Why is
it so quiet when the whole hillside is swaying from side to
side?
Standing rooted to my spot, trying to keep my balance, I
watch the graves moving. The stones of the Ari Hakodosh's
tomb rise higher. I can see the top of the grave sliding off.
"This is no earthquake!" I tell my quaking self. I stumble
forward and hold on to the quivering branch of a nearby fig
tree.
And I watch.
Many of the other graves are stirring and slipping as well.
Sand is rolling down the mountain slope. Earth is shifting.
Tremors break the stone pathway that leads up to the Ari
Hakodosh's tomb.
My mouth feels parched. I can't tell if it's the ground
that's trembling now or just me. The top of the Ari's grave
has slid off completely and is lying diagonally, leaning
against the side of the grave. I grip the fig tree's branch
so tightly that I can no longer feel my fingertips as a
venerable, though not aged, man sits up from the grave. A
flowing beard spills down until his pure white garment. My
heart is palpitating wildly. Me eyes are begging me to blink,
but I can't. The blinding light from this holy tzaddik
sears my eyes, but I cannot tear them away.
He stands. He turns and looks about. Others have risen as
well. The graves are now rubble. Soundless rubble. Then the
vibration of these tzaddikim's voices reaches me. A
rumbling even louder than the rumbling in my spinning
head.
The Ari Hakodosh is walking towards R' Yosef Caro. They
embrace. The twin light is so powerful, so incredibly
intense, that I feel myself sinking to the ground and my eyes
close.
When I awaken, my heart is pounding, my eyelids flutter.
It didn't really happen. Yes, only a dream. I sit up on the
couch and shake my head, looking out the living room window
as the cars pass by. Everyone is hurrying along their
business, to their respective destinations. My heart slows to
a normal pace. What's a dream, anyway?
I get up from where I fell asleep and go into the kitchen to
start preparing lunch. How often have I passed the cemetery
and not thought about what could happen? What will happen? I
do daily await the Resurrection, as I do the arrival of
Moshiach. I do request the Redemption three times
every day.
But I must admit that ever since, every time I descend that
staircase cutting through the cemetery, down to my home, my
heart quickens.
