Israel’s national anthem, “HaTikvah,” (“The Hope”) is an ode to the Zionist hope of being a free people on our land, the land of Zion and Jerusalem. It is sung at every ceremony in the country on Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day. But after October 7, everything, even Israel’s anthem, changed meaning. Now a new song has become a perhaps unlikely Israeli anthem — and perhaps a reflection on how Israelis are, and aren’t, envisioning hope.
If you’ve been in Jewish circles since the fall of 2024, you’ve likely heard it. The tune was originally titled “Tamid Ohev Oti,” (always loves me) but is now known as “Od Yoter Tov” (even better). It was originally released by Breslov Hasidic musician Yair Elitzur on June 2024, based on a prayer written by Rabbi Shalom Arush. The rabbi peppers all his Torah lessons with the line of the now iconic chorus: “hashem yitbarach, tamid ohev oti, vetamid yihiye li raq tov,” which translates to “blessed be Hashem, he always loves me and things will always be good for me.” It was Arush’s words that made Elitzur, originally a secular rapper from Rehovot, become Hasidic, and Arush was also the one who urged him to make music again, saying that rapping and music were his calling.
“Tamid Ohev Oti” and those words from the Breslev rabbi have become so ubiquitous in a post-October 7 Israel and in Jewish circles that there are videos of it being sung everywhere: at concerts for soldiers, by families of hostages rejoicing about their return, in Time Square celebrating Israel. It has been sung by America’s two biggest Jewish a capella Jewish groups, Six13 and the Maccabeats. Some even reported that the song made it to the tunnels in Gaza and that hostages returned knowing its lyrics.
Yet when it was first released in the summer of 2024, it wasn’t an instant hit. Then came Sasson Ifram Shaulov — or rather, then the song came to Shaulov, a singer from Haifa who became a TikTok star. Two people in his professional entourage sent it to him, telling him he needed to do something with it. He started singing it at his shows, and then he decided to record it, though he almost didn’t release his version when he realized other singers were already releasing covers. The young singer realized it was going to be a hit when he was shooting the video of the song in Jerusalem’s shuk Machne Yehuda and everyone who was part of the video started singing it to themselves during and after the shoot. Shaulov takes Elitzur’s lyrics and basic melody and turns it into a Mizrachi tune — the most popular genre of music in Israel. It’s easy to see why it was his version that became such a smash hit — his isn’t the only Mizrachi cover of the song, but there’s a youthfulness and a vitality to him that works perfectly with the spirit of the energizing song. And beyond the lyrics, the reinterpretation of the melody makes it even more infectious.
Shaulov released his “Tamid Ohev Oti” in September of 2024, a month when Israel exploded Hezbollah operatives’ beepers and took down Hassan Nasrallah. The song, one right-wing commentator said, had a perfect upbeat tone for celebrating the death of Israel’s enemies, from Nasrallah to Yahya Sinwar. But the song has had staying power beyond that. It topped the charts for months, it’s still part of so many cultural moments, and it’s spreading far and wide, with covers in Yiddish, English, French and Spanish.
“Tamid Ohev Oti” starts out as a song about the individual; the singer talks about God’s love for them, how they see the good in them even in their failure, even when they fail to act in a good way. Yet the song also contains prayers for everyone: for good health, for financial wellbeing, for those looking for love to find a match, for light and wisdom and faith, and for the Messiah to come and for there to be no more wars. For Elitzur, the song is about God’s love for all — religious and secular. Shaulov, who is observant, said that people who are completely secular come up to him and tell him that the song has made them more optimistic. And who doesn’t need more optimism in their life in this moment?
Not so long ago, a song so overtly religious would not have had a chance at mainstream popularity, but Israelis have been more comfortable with religious themes in pop music as of late. A lot of religious stars are incorporating their faith into their music, and some music from the Haredi sect has made it to mainstream, though nothing like the big hit that is “Tamid Ohev Oti.” Maybe it’s the Breslov sensibilities of music — danceable, repeatable mantras, the refrain that God loves us — that makes this song resonate so deeply.
Who doesn’t want to be told that they’re always loved by a higher power, no matter what? So many Israelis feel such a sense of abandonment and loss since October 7, and here is a song that promises them eternal affection. How irresistible is that?
Yet, the song holds a promise of a good that’s hard to find at a time when hostages still remain in Gaza and a war with an immeasurable cost still rages on. Which for many begs the question: Is this a song about a good to be manifested? Is this song just escapism? And is this escapism, this zealotry, actually dangerous? If we are all good, and all we’re missing is a few prayers, as the song’s intro claims, will it make us feel like failures because we didn’t pray hard enough if things aren’t, in fact, good? And on the flipside, is this kind of thinking a way to absolve ourselves from self-reflection and hard truths? Isn’t it a symptom of a bigger ill among Israelis, who can’t stand to look in the eye of the terror around them? Who struggle to see active ways to change their future?
There has been a lot of debate about this song. Religious figures don’t all agree about its virtue. One Haredi rabbi even originally called it heresy (he later apologized to Arush, because he didn’t know the song was written by a fellow Haredi Jew). And many listeners, myself included, struggle with it. It’s a natural reaction many people have to any overly cloying and positive pop song. Even Elitzur once said that in his eyes, the song is quite silly. But with “Tamid Ohev Oti” there is something more profound than that. The forced happiness feels in some ways more tragic than any sad and somber songs written after October 7. If you can’t buy what “Tamid Ohev Oti” is selling, it almost looks like an entire nation singing lies to itself in the mirror.
Yet, on the eve of Israel’s 77th Independence Day, where “Tamid Ohev Oti” will be played on many a stage, I can’t help but understand its draw too — even if it gives me such a visceral negative reaction. And still, I too, can’t help hope that there is something there, after all, in its promise of good.
