After “Od Yoter Tov,” it just keeps getting better for Yair Elaytzur

Photos: Elchanan Kotler

Since the release of Yair Elaytzur’s “Od Yoter Tov,” the song about Hashem’s love and goodness has become a banner of optimism and hope among all sectors, a source of strength through more than a year of war and national trauma. While Elaytzur had a small niche following before, he says what’s saved him from flying away on his instant fame is hisbodedus — the daily conversation with Hashem that keeps him grounded

ITwas the last Shabbos of 5784, a year filled with immense pain and challenges for the Jewish people. During that Shabbos of parshas Nitzavim-Vayeilech, a small sign was hung at the entrance of the building where I was staying, in the mixed religious-secular neighborhood of Givat Shmuel, outside Bnei Brak. It was hung by secular residents who wanted — despite the halachic issues involved — to update their Shabbos-observant neighbors about a breaking news item.

“To our Shabbos-observant neighbors,” it read, “we wanted to inform you that Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, yemach shemo, has been eliminated (most likely) by us. Besuros tovos!”

As we made our way to shul that day, we were overjoyed. Another historic moment, another mass murderer who had instilled fear throughout the entire region was no longer. The joy lasted into the long Shabbos afternoon; we sat and sang and savored the day. But some of the people around the table warned us that a response would surely come, and it would be a harsh one.

Shortly after six in the evening, the sound of a siren cut our singing short. It was deafening. As usual, panic erupted. Where do we run? Where do we go? Yes, the apartment had a safe room, but it wasn’t large enough for all the people spending Shabbos there. “To the stairwell!” someone shouted.

We all ran to the stairwell, where we encountered dozens of other residents and guests. The sound of doors slamming echoed loudly through the stairwell, but still could not drown out the sirens. “Here comes the Hezbollah response,” someone said. “They won’t let the assassination go unanswered.”

The sirens stopped, and silence ensued. Hundreds of people stood tensely, waiting to hear the sound of explosions. Over the last year, it’s become a familiar, heart-stopping routine: Fear grips you. You think of your loved ones and wonder if they’re okay. Some daven, some say Tehillim, others just stand mute, paralyzed with fear.

But that Shabbos, the routine was broken. In the tense silence, an energetic young man started to sing, and the words of the song seemed to have been written for precisely our situation: “Hashem Yisbarach tamid oheiv oti vetamid yihiyeh li rak tov — Hashem always loves me, and things will always be only good for me.”

The singer chose to begin with the chorus, quietly, almost a hum, and then gradually grew louder: “V’od yoter tov, v’od yoter tov, v’od yoter tov, v’od yoter tov — and even better, and even better.”

Within seconds, dozens of people, who just moments ago had been anxious and frightened, dreading the sound of explosions, joined in the singing, which rose through all the floors to the top of the building. “V’od yoter tov, tamid yihiyeh li rak tov.”

Within a short time, the singing segued into a spirited dance. Soon it was drowning out all other noises. No sirens, no explosions. Just powerful singing, from deep in the heart, serving as a release for so much fear and anxiety.

Od yoter tov. Even better.