Most of the religious related dialogue involving paranormal concepts centers around Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Native peoples beliefs and so forth. Rarely if ever does the relationship between Judaism and the paranormal surface.
In fact I have heard know-it-all pseudoskeptics crow that the Jews do not accept these beliefs and are more pragmatic about life and death. It was interesting, therefore, to see the following atory in yesterday's NY Times which clearly defines an aspect of Judaism we rarely get a glimpse of:

February 14, 2003
A Mystical Part of Israel to Visit (for Keeps)
By JAMES BENNET


AFED, Israel, Feb. 12 — To attract the living, this antique center of Jewish mysticism has sent out an invitation for the dead.

The town fathers are appealing to Jews overseas to make their final resting place among the holy men in the hillside cemetery, partly in hopes that their families will become frequent visitors here in the green, mountainous Galilee in Israel's far north. Tourism has all but collapsed during the conflict with the Palestinians.

Safed regards itself as Judaism's second-most holy city, and it is setting its sights on No. 1, Jerusalem, which it sees as its chief competitor for the foreign dead.

Safed is selling safety, exclusivity, price, and the possibility of swifter resurrection.

"We have such big potential here," explained Itamar Bouhnik as he ducked into a 16th-century tomb to escape a chilling rain. To help his hometown, Mr. Bouhnik, a 22-year-old law student, came up with the idea of marketing graves abroad after he finished his army service last year.

"They think about Jerusalem, of course," he said of potential customers. "But there are problems with Jerusalem: first, there is the security situation, and then, the people are being buried in stacks." That was a reference to an innovation, mothered by the limited space available in Jerusalem, of burying bodies on top of each other in separate compartments.

Shlomo Hadad, 42, the chairman of Safed's religious council, said that many Jews worried that the Mount of Olives, the choicest location for Jewish burial in Jerusalem, might ultimately be ceded to the Palestinians. That would leave their graves on the wrong side of a new border. "There's a fear: will it be inside Israel?" he said, as he futilely waited out the rain.

Safed claims another edge. If the dead are to be raised, they may be raised here first. So say those who follow cabala, the Jewish mystic tradition that flourished in Safed more than 400 years ago.

According to Rabbi Isaac Luria, the leading 16th-century cabalist, the messiah will reveal himself here, which means those buried here will be first to be resurrected. It may be no coincidence that Rabbi Luria, who is known as the Ari, or Lion, is buried in this cemetery.

"There are people to whom it is important to be redeemed first," Mr. Bouhnik said. In line with this, the Web site promoting the cemetery — *****usttrustg-d.org — declares: "The resurrection will start here."

Some overseas Jews long to be buried in Israel for Zionist reasons. Some also hold the belief, Mr. Bouhnik noted, that the bodies of Jews buried elsewhere will have to travel through underground tunnels to Israel before being redeemed.

Safed is promoting one more advantage: price. To break into the foreign market, it is offering its graves starting at $3,950. A plot on the Mount of Olives ranges from $6,000 to $10,000.

Mr. Bouhnik said that he had sold about 25 plots overseas so far, and was negotiating with American synagogues to bury whole groups.

It might be said that as a resting place, Safed seems to offer greater potential than Jerusalem for actual rest. For all the devotion to Jerusalem of the three religions that pivot upon on it — perhaps partly because of it — that city can sometimes seem like a less than spiritual place.

But in the misting rain, Safed was quiet, pensive. Facing the cemetery to the west, a gray cloud clung to the dark green slopes of Mount Meron. No sirens were heard. No men with guns were seen.

A secular resident of a kibbutz arrived to bury his mother. Far up the steep hillside, an older man blew a shofar, the ritual horn, intending its somber note to safeguard the state of Israel. Among the tombstones, an occasional young man in a black hat and coat prayed, with a back-and-forth swaying motion.

In the general stillness, the one slightly discordant sound was the rustling in the icy breeze of hundreds of plastic bags knotted around the otherwise bare branches of some trees.

The trees were near the graves of holy men, and their roots are believed to reach down to the bodies. People seeking blessings — for health, marriage, safety — knot the bags, or handkerchiefs or hair-ties, to branches to communicate more directly with the deceased.

Some Jewish liturgy describes Safed as the refuge for priestly families after the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago. In the 12th century, Crusaders encamped on the heights, fortifying their redoubt and calling it Saphet. The Muslims who chased them out eventually made this a provincial capital. A small Jewish community grew gradually over the centuries.

In May 1948, during the Arab-Israeli war, Jewish troops drove out Arab troops, as well as most of the Arab residents.

The first blow to the tourism industry, locals say, came in the 1970's, with the spread of air conditioning. Israelis stopped flocking to the cool mountain air of this town, whose name they pronounce "Sfadt." But the real tumble came with the latest Palestinian intifada.

Along with the klezmer festival during the summer, the cemetery has emerged as a remaining attraction.

Twenty years ago, the cemetery was a wreck. Rainwater coursing down the hill had scrambled the untended graves and even exposed some bones. Mr. Hadad has been leading the restoration. The graves have been secured and marked with concrete boxes. The newly buried are placed down the hill, where the land flattens out.

Oren Afriet, 29, purified himself today by immersing himself in the mikva, or ritual bath, near the top of the cemetery. Then, with a damp yellow towel over his shoulders, he made his way to the tomb of the Ari.

About four years ago, Mr. Afriet's father was near death when his son prayed here for his recovery, promising to embrace religion in exchange. The father recovered two days later; the son kept his word.

He has become a regular worshiper at the Ari's grave. "I came to pray for the messiah to come, and to get all the bad to go away from the Jewish people, and for people to be close," he said. "And I want to get married."

Mr. Hadad and Mr. Bouhnik were quick to say that mystic tradition was only one source of Jewish attachment to this cemetery. But Mr. Hadad said that more and more visitors were appearing at the tombs.

"It's people's distress," he said.

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