Under the golden light of Jerusalem’s morning, I joined hundreds beneath the ancient walls of the Old City for a musical Hallel organised by Rabbi Shmuel Eliyahu’s organisation. Men and women, young and old, Sephardi, Ashkenazi, and Haredi — all stood together, lulav and etrog in hand, voices rising in “Hodu LaHashem ki tov, ki le’olam chasdo.”
In that moment, Jerusalem was not just a city — it was a melody, the living heartbeat of our people echoing through the generations.
The Music of Hallel
Hallel is one of the most uplifting and transformative moments of Sukkot — not just a recitation of Psalms but a living song of gratitude, faith, and joy. Sukkot, Zman Simchateinu — the Season of Our Joy — reaches its peak when voices rise together in praise, merging heart and soul.
When sung musically, Hallel transcends words. It becomes a spiritual symphony — the heartbeat of the Jewish people through generations. Barriers fall away. The elderly and the young, the observant and the questioning, all join in one chorus. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote, “Hallel is the soundtrack of Jewish joy.”
Reb Shlomo Carlebach and the Soul of Prayer
To understand the power of musical Hallel, we must speak of Reb Shlomo Carlebach — the singing rabbi who reawakened the voice of the Jewish soul.
Before Reb Shlomo, prayer was dignified but restrained; he reintroduced the language of the heart. Through his niggunim and melodies, he infused timeless words with new spirit, turning prayer into song and song into connection.
And yet, his legacy is complex. Many who sing his melodies no longer mention his name. We must hold both truths: the pain of those who were hurt and the spiritual revolution he inspired. That tension — between imperfection and inspiration — mirrors the words of Hallel itself. We are flawed, yet we sing. Hallel is not sung by angels, but by people who know both sorrow and gratitude.
Kohelet and the Fragility of Joy
It is no coincidence that on Sukkot, the festival of joy, we read Kohelet — perhaps the most somber book in Tanach: “Hevel havalim, hakol hevel.” Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
Why bring such melancholy into our Season of Joy? Because Judaism never confuses joy with escapism. The sukkah itself is fragile — open to the wind and rain — yet it becomes a space of light, laughter, and song. We celebrate not despite life’s impermanence, but because of it.
Life itself is fragile — and this year, that truth feels closer than ever. The horror of October 7th tore through our illusion of safety. Families broken, communities shattered, children hiding in fear. Once again, Israel faced not only terror but the oldest and cruelest patterns of history — blood libels, false accusations, and the twisting of truth into hatred. The sukkah’s frailty became the story of our nation — exposed to the storms, yet still standing.
And yet, amid the pain, something remarkable happened. Out of darkness came unity. From grief came courage. From despair came the will to sing again.
Kohelet reminds us that joy and sorrow are not opposites; they are threads in the same divine tapestry. To sing Hallel after such pain is an act of defiance — a declaration that life is sacred, that faith still breathes, that Am Yisrael Chai.
We do not rejoice because the world is perfect, but because our souls refuse to give up on hope. The sukkah stands fragile, but it stands. And so does Israel.
Hallel, Kohelet, and Moral Justice
Together, Hallel, Kohelet, and the pursuit of moral justice form the spiritual harmony of Sukkot. Kohelet teaches humility — that life is fleeting. Hallel teaches gratitude — that even in fragility, we can praise. And moral justice teaches responsibility — that faith without compassion is incomplete.
It is not enough to sing; we must also listen. Not enough to celebrate; we must also care. That is the true joy of Sukkot — the joy that comes from living with awareness, compassion, and purpose.
The Song of Israel
Today, the message of Sukkot speaks louder than ever through Israel itself — fragile yet enduring, exposed to the winds of history, yet filled with light. Its existence is a testimony to divine providence and moral calling.
To sing Hallel in Jerusalem today is to declare that life, hope, and holiness are stronger than hate and despair. To live with the awareness of Kohelet is to remember that everything is temporary — except the soul of a people who refuse to stop praising God.
Closing Reflection
As the echoes of Hallel fade into the year ahead, may we carry its melody within us — to live with gratitude, act with compassion, and sing even in a broken world. For every act of kindness, every note of faith, and every song of the heart brings us one step closer to redemption.
Jeffrey Levine is a CFO, writer, and grandfather living in Jerusalem. He writes regularly on Jewish identity, ethics, and resilience, blending personal reflection with historical insight. His blog series “The Soul of Israel” can be found on the Times of Israel, Substack, LinkedIn, and other platforms. He is also the founder of Upgrading ESG—Empower Society for Good, which explores how business, faith, and sustainability can align for a better world.
He is also the founder of PersoFi – Empowering AI Financial Automation for SMEs – www.persofi.com
To learn about me, here is a link to my personal website – www.jeffreylevine.blog