Avremi G., as he’s known, hails from South Africa. He spent his yeshivah years in Crown Heights, and he stayed there after he got married. On Succos he would eat with a certain family, and their favorite song was the popular “A Succah’le, a Kleine.” The song is a metaphor for Klal Yisrael — even though we’re buffeted by winds from all sides, our succah will not fall, and we will stay strong in the face of all kinds of challenges, be it for our physical or spiritual survival.
Decades had passed since he had last heard it sung officially, although he sang it with his own family every Succos. Avremi had a close friend in South Africa who also loved this song very much, and from time to time they would discuss the lyrics, until they came to the conclusion that there’s probably a missing paragraph in the popular version.
This was way before you could research things easily online. The known version, “A Succah’le,” indeed appeared to be missing one paragraph. The song told of a simple little succah that was erected, a wind blew in through the cracks, and the candles were getting extinguished — followed by the last four lines of the song, seemingly delivered by a reassuring father: “Don’t be silly, don’t be upset, our succah has been clearly standing for 2,000 years.”
What happened in the interim? Who was the father talking to? Did I have any way of finding out what the missing lyrics were?
I told him I would do my research and get back to him, and I called the one person I could think of: my father. He has a real nostalgic affinity for old, traditional music and plenty of resources at his disposal. In record time, he checked an old Yiddish zemiros and supplied me with the missing stanzas:
Beim ershten gericht [At the first course]
Mit a blassen gezicht [With a pale face]
Kumt tzu mir mein tochter’l arein [My daughter comes in to me].
Zi shtelt zich avek [She stops right there]
Un zugt mit grois shrek [and exclaims in fear]
Tatteh! Di succah falt bald ein [Tatteh! The succah soon will fall!]
Now it made more sense! The daughter of the presumed composer of the song is the one who gets told, “Don’t be foolish, don’t get upset, our succah will never fall, it’s been 2,000 years and we’re still standing strong.”
Truth be told, several years later a lot more research was done on this song, its origins, and its varying lyrics. I’m still not sure that the version my father discovered in the old songbook is the most accurate one. But for what it’s worth, I was able to help out Mr. Gourarie, who thanked me profusely. He wished me a freilechen Yom Tov and we moved on.
Or so I thought.
A year later, sometime between Yom Kippur and Succos, he called me again, out of the blue. I was surprised and asked him how I could be of help. He didn’t need any help — he had simply called to thank me again for helping him out with the lyrics, as the song meant very much to him and his family. He asked me how I was doing and wished me a good Yom Tov. The call lasted probably two or three minutes, and it was very sweet and unexpected.
It soon became an annual tradition. I almost always forget to expect it. I would be busy up to my neck in Yom Tov prep, dodging the kids underfoot, handing decorations up the ladder, turning down the flame on the roast — and the phone would ring with “Gourarie, Avremi” on the screen. A smile would spread on my face, and I would take advantage of that, the respite in the workload. I would sit down on the nearest chair to exchange pleasantries, then we’d fill each other in on how our respective families were doing, and wish each other “A gut gebentsht yahr.” It became a steady, predictable staple of Succos, year in and year out.
As time went on, both of us went through a fair share of ups and downs in our respective lives. Some years there were happy updates: a new baby in the family, a new engagement, a new grandchild. Other years were filled with sadness: health issues, struggles, heartbreak. But the phone calls were always two or three minutes long, with a quick recap of the past year, hakaras hatov for helping supply those missing words, and blessings for the coming year. Good Yom Tov.
Until one year, it took a turn. During the phone call I related a heartbreaking situation I was going through with one of my children, and Mr. Gourarie replied with a shocker of his own.
“Please daven for my daughter Yocheved. She is struggling terribly with mental health issues and an eating disorder. ‘A Succah’le’ is one of her favorite songs. Every Succos she sits next to me, and we sing it together. This song is a powerful connection for us all.’”
I was saddened and shaken and told him I would indeed daven. The next few years were up and down; there seemed to be some improvement, but it was always one step forward and two steps back. I could hear the worry in his voice every year, and I felt his pain.

Then came 2020, with its fair share of challenges and hardships. During our annual Erev Succos phone call we talked about Covid, of course. But besides commiserating about the governor’s draconian rules and worrying about family members who were sick, there was a more urgent matter at hand: Yocheved was in a treatment facility at that point. I expressed my good wishes that she would get better soon. Shortly after Yom Tov he let me know that she had indeed come back home, and there was some hope.
Avremi G. had gone on to become a legend in my family. One of my nephews who has a strong musical bent was thrilled that I was in touch with such a bigwig in the industry, and he regularly asked me to procure sheets of musical notes for him through my connection. Eventually he moved on from his musical hobby, but I continued regaling my family members with little stories about this unusual connection.
On a random day that December, I was shocked to receive a text message from my sister. “I saw a news article online that Yocheved Gourarie from Brooklyn passed away. I hope it’s not our Yocheved. Can you find out?”
I was numb. No! This couldn’t possibly have happened. But a quick search online revealed that my sister was sadly correct. I was devastated. I cried for Yocheved and for her parents. Their worst nightmare had come true. What could I even say?
I sent him a very short email.
I just heard about the terrible tragedy that befell your family. I just want to express my sincere condolences. I know that your family has been through a lot and I’m sure this isn’t easy in the least. May Hashem comfort you all.
He replied immediately, again stressing the connection we shared through the song, which was Yocheved’s favorite Succos song. My heart hurt.
The next year, through following Mr. Gourarie’s online posts, I watched him struggle mightily through myriad emotions — grief, guilt, and sadness. The Yocheved Gourarie Kindness Award was established in her memory. I commented on his posts that I was in awe of how he was working through this unspeakable tragedy and there was no place for guilt here; Yocheved’s own posts were testament to what an incredible father he had been to her through all the ups and downs of her struggles.
I watched multiple clips of father-and-daughter musical sessions, with Avremi playing the keyboard and Yocheved singing — in a most mellifluous voice! All kinds of beautiful tunes. It was all heartbreaking and exquisite.

And then Elul rolled around. For the first time, I anticipated the phone call with dread. What can you say to a father who has lost his child in such a difficult fashion? I couldn’t think of any light and fluffy banter that could make up for what would undoubtedly be a gut-wrenching phone call.
At the same time, my then eight-year-old son got a yen to learn to play the keyboard. Like most beginners, he practiced with songbooks with numbers and corresponding keys on the keyboard. Soon he learned a few rudimentary songs. Then he turned to the next page in his songbook, and to our surprise, there were the chords for “A Succah’le a Kleine.” The wheels started turning in my head; I knew exactly what I would do.
Slowly, patiently, I taught him to play “A Succah’le.” We practiced multiple times a day. When he had finally mastered it enough to play in one take without mistakes, I filmed it and put it aside to email to Mr. G.
The days between Yom Kippur and Succos found me anxious as I waited for the phone call. I still did not know the right thing to say, but I hoped that the offer of my son’s keyboard playing would make the phone call less awkward. Two days before Succos, he posted something new, and my breath caught in my throat.
“A Succah’le.” A tune sung by Jews world over, speaks of the eternity of the succah. This song is also a metaphor for the eternity of the commandments we perform, which remain ever standing and non-changing since they were given to us at Mount Sinai.
As I built my succah today, shedding a tear or two, I found myself humming this tune in my head; how Yocheved would snuggle up to me as we and all the guests sang this beautiful melody. I could picture it.
I have to unpack the final 2 chilling verses, which speak of a daughter’s conversation with her father. I can actually hear Yocheved say those exact words…. Hard to process and harder to understand. Just as the tune, I believe, is a metaphor for all we do and believe, so too, I must (it will be hard), to internalize the final line, ‘Yet the succah’le continues to stand.’
Yes, my darling Yocheved. You’re physically not here, but your soul and spirit is. I will continue to take you with me. We will sing ‘A Succah’le,’ and you will sing with us. I will never forget you. I will forever be inspired by your beauty. I hope you will sing with us this year…. ‘And the succah’le continues to stand’….you will always accompany us in whatever we do. Do your part. And we’ll feel the comfort. And through the pain, we will gain strength.
I cried.
By Erev Succos, I realized that he would probably not call this year; the pain was too great. So I sat down and emailed him.
The past few days I’ve been anticipating your annual call with a different set of emotions. Considering what you’ve been through since we last spoke, I couldn’t even imagine what we would talk about when you’d call. I knew that whatever I’d say would probably be the wrong thing at worst, or inadequate/trite at best.
I actually prepared a list of little topics so it wouldn’t be too awkward. I even prepared a little surprise for you; my 8-yr-old son got his first beginners keyboard and songbook, and he taught himself flawlessly to play “A Succah’le a Kleine.” I filmed him playing it and was going to send it to you to show you how this tradition is carrying on to my next generation as well.
Then someone pointed out your post to me. I was bawling. I hadn’t even begun to fathom the endless, deep extent of the pain you’re living in, day in, day out. This song means so much more to you than can ever be explained. It will forever be a reminder of dear Yocheved, and brings back memories of the times you sang and played the song together in the succah.
And I realized that there’s no way you can make that phone call this year. It’s too much. It’s too hard. It will be impossible to put into words how different this year feels. Having a bland conversation about this song is not doable right now, with all the heavy overtones and meaning of the song.
So, I’m reaching out to you instead, to let you know that I read your posts. And I’m letting the music play. From here on, “A Succah’le” has a bigger meaning for me too. Whenever I hear it, it will remind me of your beloved daughter and how special she was. Like you wrote in the post, just like the succah endured for all these years, her memory will live on. She touched my life without ever having met her.
Hope you have a good Yom Tov and that it’ll be as happy as you can make it be.
A short while later, the phone rang. He hadn’t forgotten; he hadn’t even seen my email. And he was in a surprisingly upbeat mood. I breathed a sigh of relief. We talked about Yocheved, about the song, and made regular small talk. Good Yom Tov, have a gut gebentsht yahr.
The years have marched on. The annual phone call continues. And the song has a deeper meaning now. Until now, I saw it as a metaphor for how Klal Yisrael will continue on despite our challenges. But it also speaks to us as individuals. Yes, as a klal, we are beset by outside winds that seek to destroy us. But each of us, in our own lives, weathers unique storms unseen by others. And it’s up to us in our own individual circumstances to keep that powerful message in mind.
A freilechen Yom Tov Succos.

L’illui nishmas Yocheved Tovah bas Avraham a”h

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1081)