It’s Adar. A time for joy. And although it’s a joy mixed with sadness, it’s also a joy mixed with emunah
It’s just an ordinary Monday when I step out of my apartment into the bright sunshine of an Israeli winter. Wrapped in my lightweight coat, I smile as the wind tickles my cheeks and the sunlight and its shadows play hide-and-seek between the cars.
The faintest sounds of music come down the block, and I realize with a start that it’s Rosh Chodesh Adar, and the school down the street is engaging in its usual minhag of singing before starting lessons for the day. The songs waft in the air, giving the atmosphere the feeling of joyousness. As I walk, a bounce comes into my step.
Coming closer, the music begins to take form as words. I slow to listen.
“Hatov, hatov, hatov!” the rebbi sings with gusto. “Ki lo chalu rachamecha,” the boys join in excitedly. “V’hamerachem, ki lo samu chasadecha….”
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