When we met, I told this story to Yair Elitzur, also known as “Elaytzur,” and his eyes moistened. “Wow. I keep hearing stories like this, and every time I thank Hashem for the privilege that has been given to me. It warms my heart to know that this song has had such a big impact in difficult moments.”

Since its release this past summer, Elaytzur’s song has become the unofficial anthem of the war, an expression of optimism and hope among both the religious and secular communities, a source of strength even in the hardest moments.

And though he had a niche following before, the song has positioned Elaytzur as an instant sensation in virtually every sector across the country. It’s also forced him to process unexpected and unprecedented fame — clearly a struggle for his introverted personality. Now, he is telling his story: his journey to teshuvah, and the story of the song that has become the national soundtrack during its most protracted and draining war.

Lost and Found

Yair Elitzur was born 35 years ago to a national-religious family in Rechovot. His father is a career musician and young Yair dabbled in several modern musical genres, including rap and hip-hop. He composed, wrote lyrics, and performed with major Israeli artists. Along the way, he abandoned mitzvah observance.

His journey back to his roots took place during his mandatory military service, and he describes it as “almost incidental” — except, as he knows now, nothing is really incidental.

“My father bought the book The Garden of Emunah, by Rabbi Shalom Arush. I didn’t believe in that stuff and I told him it was a pointless book. But he insisted, and one day I sat down to read it. The book changed my life. I started to get to know Hashem, to have a daily connection with Him, and I got the sense that He was answering me. Ultimately, I returned to my faith.”

The book also led Elitzur to connect to its author, Rabbi Shalom Arush. “I was twenty-one, and had just been discharged from the army. It was clear to me that I was going to study at Rabbi Arush’s yeshivah, and that’s how I found myself on the outskirts of the Meah Shearim neighborhood, at the entrance to the Chut Shel Chesed yeshivah. As soon as I stepped inside, I immediately felt, with total clarity, that the sweetest thing in the world was Hashem and His Torah. I just wanted to be as close as possible to Him.”

The yeshivah, founded by Rabbi Shalom Arush, one of the most prominent machzirim b’teshuvah and a well-known Breslover mashpia, welcomed him warmly.

“I was in the best place in the world. I studied Torah most of the day, I deepened my understanding of the world of the spirit, and invested a lot of time in hitbodedut, in conversations with Hashem,”  Yair relates.

Two years later, he got married, and he and his wife settled in the Beis Yisrael neighborhood of Jerusalem, where they are currently raising their five daughters.

“I reached a very pure and good place in my avodas Hashem,” he says. What more could a Jew need in life besides being in yeshivah and sitting and learning Torah from morning to evening? There’s no greater happiness than that.”

“Go Make Music”

At first, he thought that his return to observance spelled the end of his musical dreams. “When I became a baal teshuvah, I felt that I didn’t need music,” he says. “I was happy with where I was. I was happy with Hashem, with the Torah, and with everything Judaism had brought into my life. I didn’t feel any need for the world of music that I had been in.”

But music needed him. Seven years ago, while still learning full-time in yeshivah, a friend from the past contacted him and began to persuade him to return to creating music.

“This guy had been following my music for years and insisted that I must get back into it,” Yair relates. I explained to him time and again that I wasn’t interested anymore, that I had more important and meaningful things in my life. But he wouldn’t relent.

“Seeing that he wasn’t going to stop pushing, I told him I would ask my rabbi, and I really went to Rav Arush with the question. I told him that someone from my past was pressuring me to return to music, but I wasn’t interested because I didn’t feel it was lacking in my life. The rav surprised me. He said I must return to creating music.”

Yair pushed back. He told Rabbi Arush that all he wanted was to learn full-time; there was so much to accomplish and to know within the walls of the beis medrash.

“You can do both,” Rav Arush said. “You can learn, and also create music. It’s important.”

“If the rav means that I should be spreading Yiddishkeit through music, I’d rather give out pamphlets, like the other Breslovers do,” Yair suggested.

Rabbi Arush laughed. “Go make music,” he said. “Go bring Jews closer. This is your mission in the world.”

Reluctantly, Elaytzur returned to the world of music. At the age of 28, he released an album that combines his talent for dense, clever lyrics filled with internal rhyme with a new, contemplative, and spiritual sound.

“After the first album, which was very successful, I thought I’d stop because I felt I had fulfilled the mission the rav had given me. But then Rav Arush instructed me to continue, so I did.”

Yair continued releasing singles, some of which became massive hits. Virtually all his songs openly express his striving for the world of the spirit and his closeness to his new mentor. In one hit, titled “Lo Chozer l’Rechovot” (I’m Not Going Back to Rehovot), he begs Rav Arush to help him become a “tzaddik yesod olam” and reminds him, “you promised I can be a tzaddik like you, and you don’t lie.”

Another song, “The Keys to the Handcuffs,” is a powerful repudiation of the life he left behind, with references to the drugs, gambling, and alcohol of the secular entertainment world — lures that seem to enrich a person’s life, but end up enslaving him.

“I want to live a life of pure freedom,” he sings, and it’s clear that what makes the freedom real is that it’s all about purity and closeness to the Creator.

A New National Anthem

And then came “Od Yoter Tov.”

“Contrary to what people think, I started writing this song long before the war, almost two years ago,” Elitzur says. “It was during the conflict over the judicial reform, a time of very difficult divisions. The discourse was very unusual, very heated. Everyone was arguing with everyone. Then Rabbi Arush called me. He told me that the Jewish people were in a state of spiritual collapse and we needed to lift them up. We needed to infuse people with faith and strength, and to empower them.

“I sat with him, and the Rav pulled out these words: ‘Hashem tamid oheiv oti, vetamid yihiyeh li rak tov, Hashem always loves me, and I will always have only good.’ Every Jew should always know that Hashem loves him, and that Hashem will ensure that only good comes to him.”

Yair sensed immediately that there was a powerful message in these very prosaic words. “The words seem simple, but they carry immense depth and power,” he says. The rav told me that if people say these words with true faith, then Hashem will lead us from Above, and we will truly have ‘od yoter tov, even better.’ He said it was an important message and it had to be instilled in the Jewish people — and what better way than by composing a melody they could all sing?”

And so Yair sat down with a good friend, Oren Levi, and together they composed a melody for the chorus. “Honestly, back then I thought it was pretty simplistic. But it had the Rav’s brachah. So I trusted.”

The rest of the song — it contains several stanzas of original Hebrew lyrics — Yair composed and wrote later on, to support the existing chorus.

Even after it was ready, the song wasn’t released for a long while. “You know, Rav Arush invested a lot of prayers in this song — he hoped it would become an anthem for the Jewish people. And we planned to release it right away, when there was so much conflict and tension and we needed a song of unity. But Heaven ordained otherwise, and its release was delayed, until it came out only five months ago — at what we later understood to be exactly the right time.

“Today, it’s clear to me that every time it was delayed, sometimes very frustratingly, it was the Hand of Hashem. Hashem delayed its release until the perfect moment.”

Immediately upon its release, the song captured hearts — and kindergartens, and dance floors, and airwaves. “The stories I hear move me every time. A month ago, I heard the story of a five-year-old girl who had never spoken before. She was completely mute. And suddenly, one day, she started singing this song, and as a result, she started to speak. What a miracle!

“Not long ago, I heard a story about someone who was in a car accident. She has been listening to this song the whole way — and then she had the accident and emerged without a scratch. The car was totaled. She was certain that this song saved her.”

With every passing week, Yair keeps hearing more and more stories about the incredible power of the song to arouse faith and hope. “Today, I understand why Rav Arush insisted that I return to creating music. Today, I understand the meaning and power of one song that can change the world.”

Breaking Down Walls

Yair Elitzur’s outward appearance — he appears in public with a Breslov white knit yarmulke and long beard, but often adds a hoodie to his getup — places him in a position that can serve as a bridge between different sectors. It’s not just the song that succeeded in breaking down walls, but also the man behind it.

Two years ago, he performed at Tzamah, the annual Chabad event held on 19  Kislev, and this year,  he released the theme song for the Tzamah event, “Tatte, Taher Li Et Halev, Purify My Heart.”

“It’s a very special song that connects Breslov and Chabad,” he says, “a song that’s all about unity. I end it with a new rendition of the familiar melody of ‘Sabeinu Mituvecha.’ It’s a very original, unique fusion, something people can really connect to and enjoy.”

Elaytzur has also brought his message of faith and spirituality to audiences and forums very distant from religion, appearing on Israeli television and radio, and garnering fans on digital channels. He is aware of this and isn’t afraid to be there, standing in that place to serve as an ambassador, a connection, between them and the Creator.

The song and its lyrics ignited a fascinating theological debate among the religious public: Does Hashem allow for negative or evil to result from our poor choices? Can we say that things will be “even better” without implying they are not good already?

But “Od Yoter Tov” got a decidedly poisonous reception among the progressive elites, who see both singer and song as a threat to their values. A secular kindergarten sent out an apology note to parents after the music teacher sang “a song containing religious elements” with the children, and assured them she had been disciplined and warned to tailor all future programs to the school’s ethos.

Leftist journalists repudiated the bearded man who can sing “Od Yoter Tov” at a time when soldiers are falling in battle and hostages are still being held. They refuse to see the hope embedded in this phrase, or to give voice to the Divine promise of salvation and better times ahead.

An opinion writer for the far-left Ha’aretz claims that the song “isn’t an Israeli hit but rather a sectorial anthem, symbolizing an identity-focused stance… It is a distilled representation not only of the spirit of the times, but primarily of the ideological and cultural shift in the right-wing camp.”

There is a reason these circles fear any expression of connection to Hashem and faith. Elaytzur is well aware of it.

“Clearly, I am on a mission,” he says. “Every Jew comes into this world with a job to do. Not every Jew knows what his mission is, but I have found mine. My aspiration is to continue doing good for the Jewish people. To bring Jews closer to Hashem. To encourage Jews to return to their faith, to return to their Father in Heaven, and to bring them to a place where they will have it ‘even better.’

“The absolute truth is that Hashem decides what a person’s mission is. In my case, He wanted me bring the Jewish people closer to Him through music. But that doesn’t mean I’m doing this on my own. People think I have some secret method of breaking down walls, of reaching people in very distant places. But really, no human can break down walls. It’s Hashem who manages it all. He gives a person the tools, the strategy, and the right managers. I feel every day that I am His messenger, and the message is about so much more than the song itself.”

The Real Yair

Even as he got involved in music, Elaytzur was very careful not to give up his learning hours. “I still maintain my routine. This includes an hour of hitbodedut every day. It’s more important to me than anything else. My conversation with Hashem every day, the self-reflection, keeps me going.”

And though his songs are played on radio stations and personal devices across the country, Elaytzur himself stays off social and digital media. He relies on his managers to deal with all publicity — and also to report just how meteorically successful his song has become.

Has that success changed him? “Not in the slightest,” he says. “But,” he quickly qualifies, “that’s only thanks to my daily remedy for the soul: hisbodedus. You know, I meet a lot of artists — we work together, create together — and I know that unfortunately, many people in this business carry deep emotional scars. But a person who’s constantly engaged in conversation with Hashem can spare himself a lot of the pain.

“It’s l’havdil like meditation. No matter what’s going on, no matter how stormy or disturbing your world is, that daily conversation brings you back to a state of equilibrium. Spiritually, it’s a tremendously valuable tool. A person stands before his Creator, tells Him what happened since their conversation yesterday, and along the way, he asks for forgiveness, says thank you, and prays for success the next day.

“During my next hitbodedut, I’ll tell Hashem about this interview we’re doing right now. I will thank Him. I will consult with Him. I will share with Him. I will thank Him for giving me the ability to answer correctly, and for things that were less successful, I will ask for forgiveness. And I will ask that Hashem continue to help me succeed.”

Yair’s seen the sad reality experienced by those who don’t have this conversation built into their lives. “Sometimes I see friends of mine, famous artists, who put up a show of success and glamour — but really, behind the scenes, they’re crashing.  All that exposure, all that success, and they’re collapsing on the inside — because it’s just too much, too big, for a person to handle on their own. If you’re connected to the Creator of the world, then He’s with you on your journey. And that makes all the difference. When I’m struggling, I speak to Him. When I’m happy, I share it with Him. When I want something, I turn to Him. I say thank you, I ask for forgiveness — this is the daily rhythm of my life.

“And one more point. Sometimes Hashem wants to shake a person so he will recognize Him, so that he will come and speak to Him. But if you’re already talking to Him, and His presence fills your life — Hashem doesn’t need to shake you up because you’re already with Him. More importantly: He is with you.”

One more question: Why did Yair create the stage name Elaytzur? What does it mean?

Yair smiles, thinking for a moment. “First of all, I didn’t want to perform under my real name. I wanted that separation between the different parts of my life. I gave it a lot of thought, and decided to take my last name and modify it a bit. ‘Elaytzur’ is essentially Elitzur with two yuds, and yud is the first letter of my first name, Yair.

“On a deeper level, ‘Elaytzur’ contains two yuds, symbolizing two versions of Yair. The personal Yair, which is my true self — a man of Torah, home, family, and avodat Hashem — and the public Yair, who puts on his uniform, leaves his safe personal sphere, and goes out to fulfill the mission for which he came into this world.

“I am very, very grateful for this mission, and I thank Hashem for every single moment, but I always remember that deep inside, I am Yair who seeks to serve Hashem, learn as much Torah as I possibly can, and be a good Jew. The name ‘Elaytzur’ — the name I hear under the lights and near the cameras — is my constant reminder of which Yair is the real one.”

Vote for the Best

The new song on the block, “Tamid Oheiv Oti” (“Od Yoter Tov”), as Israeli as it is in origin and language and flavor, is the blowout winning song on 24Six’s much-touted most-popular-song-of-the-past-year vote.

“ ‘Tamid Oheiv Oti,’ especially Itzik Dadia’s version of Yair Elaytzur’s mega-hit, has created such a huge impact that it’s constantly been ahead in the vote,” says Chaim Weiss, creator and director of the favorite kosher streaming app. The contest, which they’re running for the first time, has been happening on 24Six for the past two and a half weeks, and has attracted over 200,000 votes, subscribers and nonsubscribers alike.

Listeners could vote from a choice of 12 nominated songs, all of which have streamed in impressively high volume this year. “You can vote as many times as you like,” Chaim clarifies. The vote is no serious statistical rating but a fun gauge of listener excitement, promoted on statuses by involved fans and reflecting the current mood as well as the feel of the year. “I know the year begins with Rosh Hashanah, but I didn’t think that the music vote really fit in with the Elul zeman atmosphere, so I decided to work with January,” he explains.

In a year framed by ongoing war and hardship, it’s not a surprise that people are hanging on to a song of faith and unbridled optimism. Itzik’s happy vocals are filling a simchah void for so many.

In addition to the song votes, there were two other categories: Votes for Artist of the Year recognized the wide-ranging appeal and incredible talent of Ishay Ribo, and a receptiveness to his soulful style, while Shmueli Ungar’s Shalom Aleichem Shmili was nominated Album of the Year. “It came out back in February,” Chaim Weiss notes, “but the songs’ popularity has endured at the top of the streaming charts through the months.”

All the votes focused on this year’s new material, meaning that veteran superstars like Avraham Fried and MBD were not on this year’s shortlist. Chassidish albums, which are heavily downloaded and distributed on non-online platforms, and niche albums, which have a devoted following but might not draw big numbers on 24Six, were also out of the running.

Another Chanukah present: Every 24Six subscriber has received a tailored “Rewind” in honor of Chanukah, with the highlights of their year’s streaming, followed up by the results of the 2024 contest. —Riki Goldstein

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1042)