Purim has ended, but what seems to have been its anthem here in Jerusalem this year, is still reverberating in my head.
You’d think the anthem for a very difficult, painful and challenging time such as this would be a song of utmost profound words. Perhaps consoling words from prophets past or perhaps poignant lyrics penned by a poet.
Instead, the song that had already taken Israel by storm last fall, and that this past Purim could literally be heard across Jerusalem — in the streets, on the train, in the central bus station, in short, everywhere — are words of immense simplicity.
Granted, the melody is super catchy.
But the words. Everyone across Israeli society — from secular to religious, enthusiastically belt out the words as they exuberantly dance to it — so it’s not just due the catchy melody.
The message itself seems to have moved the country.
The title of the song is “Od Yoter Tov” and its chorus is:
“Hashem Yitbarach tamid ohev oti v’tamid yihiye li rak tov. Sheyihiye li, od yoter tov, v’od yoter tov [repeated 6x] . . . v’tamid yihiye li rak tov.”
The popular chorus translates:
“And blessed G-d always loves me / And things will always be only good for me / Even better and better.”
It’s an interesting refrain to catch on like wildfire at a time when things all around seem to be so challenging, tense and even heartbreaking.
When the song hit the scene, I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Lyrics like “things will only get even better?”
I mean, things were pretty bad.
Heartbreakingly, young brave and beautiful soldiers falling; their young budding lives truncated. Captives in the dungeons of Hamas hell. Families destroyed. Survivors traumatized. A massacre.
But the song kept rolling off the radio, the dance floor at weddings, in the street.
Something about it, spoke to people. Speaks to people.
To people in pain.
In November I was at a wedding, and when I saw the response of the crowd when the song came on, I felt the tangible hope it gave people.
Something to grab onto.
It’s not so much a demand of G-d, or even a summoning to be manifested. It felt like it was simply a desperate piece of hope to grab onto.
Or perhaps, like a mantra that if it’s said enough times, you hope the repetition or audible expression of it, will bring about the deeply desired transformation.
Maybe it’s a defiance of sorts, an answer of sorts. That by hook or by crook, things will ultimately turn out to be good! So much drilling in the media about how terrible everything is, so here are simple words that distill the complexity of so much worry and hope into a simple — almost childlike — sentence.
Child-like.
Not to get Freudian. But maybe that’s part of what it is — reaching the frightened child within us, and feeding us a sentence that says things will all be OK in the end. The ending that a part of us, always wants to hope for.
In the spirit of Isaiah 35:10, “. . . to attain joy and gladness while sorrow and sighing flee,” there is the possibility of the escapism of it all, as engaging with this song banishes sorrow, even if just momentarily. There are times when even that reprieve is worth everything.
The psychological defense this song can bring. To give ourselves a glimpse into another possibility, into another horizon, so very different and seemingly so very far from we are at right now.
This song is not a simplistic prediction of the endless good that will come, but rather, a supplication.
When Am Yisrael bursts into singing these words together, it is nothing short of collective prayer.
After the destruction of the temple, when Rabbi Akiva, together with two of his beloved disciples, was strolling through the ruins, they suddenly saw foxes roaming the ruins. His students wept at the sight of such destruction, at the fulfillment of such a dark prophecy that had been borne out before their eyes.
To his students’ great surprise, instead of joining in their weeping, Rabbi Akiva laughed in the face of the very same sight that they witnessed. At their puzzlement to his reaction, he explained: “Since I see the prophecy of destruction has been fulfilled, I am now certain that the prophecy of redemption will be fulfilled”
“Akiva, nichamtanu” — Akiva, you have consoled us,” came their fast reply. In fact, they expressed it twice.
Rabbi Akiva opened a new mental horizon for them as they were mired in the pain of destruction, as they walked in the wake of tangible destruction.
Rabbi Akiva countered their tears, with laughter. A laughter of hope. A laughter of reframing their current pain into a vision beyond what was actually possible.
The book of Psalms encompasses 149 complex, multi-faceted, emotionally nuanced and deep, poetic expressions of a long, and at times, painful journey. The spectrum of emotion is embraced, from joy to worry to pleading.
Yet comes along the final 150th psalm, and it seals the book in a brief few simple verses, repeating a one note expression in praise of G-d.
Basically: Hallelujah.
Perhaps this new song that has touched a nerve in the heart of the nation of Israel is part of the same language and outlook of Rabbi Akiva and King David, combined.
A way to see beyond the current situation whose sadness and worry can sometimes overtake the spirit.
A way to reduce all the complexity to an encouraging phrase that opens a new horizon of possibility for joy and sweetness.
And carries us mentally into a space of “od yoter tov.”
For now in Jerusalem, that beat goes on.
© IJN 2025
