It began as a personal search. After a difficult summer marked by multiple health challenges, I found myself scrolling the internet for something deeper, a Torah perspective on how one year’s curses end and another year’s blessings begin. I was looking for reassurance that hardship does not last forever, that even pain can give way, in time, to renewal.
The first result that appeared on my screen was a piece titled “May the year and its blessings begin.” It was written about the Torah portion recited before Rosh Hashanah by Rabbi Avi Goldberg.
The second result stopped me short.
The article, “The tune of a tzaddik” by Rabbi Aron White, began: “On Oct. 26, Shabbat Bereshit, Rabbi Avi Goldberg was killed in Lebanon.”
One year ago this week, on the English calendar, Goldberg became the first Israel Defense Forces’ military rabbi killed in action since the Yom Kippur War. A friend, teacher and musician, he had fallen just days after his article was published.
The timing was more than a coincidence. Goldberg was someone who lived the very words I had been seeking—the belief that light can emerge from darkness, that song can rise even from sorrow.
Goldberg was a beloved teacher and an educator at Himmelfarb High School in Jerusalem. He was known for his calm demeanor, humility and deep empathy, qualities that made him a natural leader and mentor. During the war that erupted after Oct. 7, 2023, he volunteered and served as a reserve military rabbi in Battalion 8207 of the Nahal Brigade. He was responsible for offering spiritual support, prayers and guidance to soldiers on the northern front. Goldberg was killed by an anti-tank missile while accompanying soldiers near the Lebanese border. He was only 43 years old.
Many knew Goldberg and his wife, Rachel, through their music. Together, as a young couple and a young family, they spent time in Memphis, teaching and inspiring the community. Together they brought music to Shabbat gatherings, performing before it began and again as it ended, filling rooms with harmony and heart. Their instruments blended in a way that made participants feel part of something larger; something peaceful, joyous and sacred, where the worries of the week seemed to melt away. Their music was never a performance; it was a connection, a shared elevation of spirit.
But Goldberg’s influence went far beyond melody. He carried a quiet strength and calm joy that drew people in. His humility and unwavering faith left a mark on all who met him. He taught, by example, that holiness is not confined to prayer or study—that it is found in how we uplift one another in unity with shared laughter, hospitality and song.
His final written words, reflecting on the transition from a year of curses to a year of blessings, now read like a message to those he left behind: That renewal and hope are not abstract concepts but living truths, sustained by faith and community.
Encountering his words again as the new Jewish year began felt like a gentle reminder: Even after hardship or loss, blessings endure. The Torah teaches that curses can turn to blessings. Goldberg embodied that message through his life, and he continues to inspire it in memory.
What began as a search born of frustration and a longing for healing ended with gratitude, a renewed awareness that a year can indeed begin with blessing. Those who fill the world with music, as Goldberg did, leave echoes that continue to resonate long after the final note fades.
Today, Goldberg’s community in southern Jerusalem is channeling that legacy into something lasting. They are constructing a new synagogue in his memory—a place to carry forward his spirit of music and learning.
As the Jewish world marks one year since Goldberg fell in the line of duty, may his memory continue to be a source of light and harmony. And may his family and community find comfort in knowing that his song endures, stronger, deeper and eternal.
