This feels like a strange email to send today.

Because by the time it reaches you, I’ll be thousands of miles away from the desk where I wrote these words.

I will have just finished a morning at the Kotel, watching my son Elimelech don tefillin for the first time.

I cannot know exactly what I will have felt; writing this ten days in advance, but I still remember how it was when I watched my son Shimi do the same five years ago.

No one warns you about what it really means to become a parent. They tell you life will change, that you’ll have sleepless nights, messy beds, exhaustion, and moments of awe. 

They tell you that your heart will sometimes leave your body, take up residence in your throat, thump like padding footsteps down the hall at midnight, and break into a million pieces more terrifying than shattered glass on the playroom floor.

But they don’t tell you that it’s forever.

That parenting doesn’t get easier. 

That there will never be a time you don’t feel it.

And yet, there are moments.

Moments when you watch your child, utterly focused, winding the leather straps of tefillin down his arm. And suddenly, every sleepless night, every argument, every moment of doubt fades into something smaller.

Because there’s something about witnessing transformation in the ones we love that reminds us to trust in something greater than the loneliness of wondering if we are ever enough.

We’re part of a bigger picture. Life amounts to so much more than just the sum of our yesterdays.

Life is about what we choose for today, for tomorrow, and for every breath that follows.

I truly believe that. And it’s still overwhelming to hold that truth as my son steps into his future, shaping the man he is becoming.

So many of us carry the quiet guilt of believing we’re not enough.

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov teaches that even in struggle, doubt, and brokenness, goodness is always there, waiting to be found, within ourselves and within others. He tells us to gather those notes of goodness, to weave them together until they form a melody. The song of our soul.

Azamra. I will sing.

Rabbi Nachman’s teaching on Azamra is a song of revelation. A voice rising from the broken and the whole alike, each adding their note to the song of creation.

Azamra L’elokai. I will sing to Hashem. 

Because isn’t that what it’s all about? To lift our voices even when they shake. To find the notes hidden in sorrow and joy alike. To trust that even in the silence, the song is still there, waiting to be heard.

Azamra L’elokai B’odi. I will sing to Hashem as long as I live. 

With all that remains. With every breath.

Elimelech was born blue, unable to breathe, the umbilical cord wrapped four times around his tiny neck. For the first week of his life, he carried the bruises of that fight.

I will never forget the relief and joy of hearing his first cry. His breath was a hallelujah, a triumph. A voice declaring, “I’m here. Ready to add my song to the world.”

And thirteen years later, we bring that song to the Wall where our people have raised their voices for generations.

It is the perfect moment, the perfect place, to honor the new name of our breathwork facilitator training.

Azamra.

Breathwork is the embodied art of finding goodness within. Trusting that even in the unknown, Hashem is there, waiting for us to come home. Azamra is a return to the divine spark within each breath.

The Kotel is a place of longing and connection, where the Jewish soul instinctively reaches out. Just as in breathwork, we reach for something deeper with every inhale and surrender to it with every exhale.

This morning, my family will have stood at the Kotel, celebrating Elimelech’s step into this next chapter of life.

I will have stood at the Kotel, slipping a name into the wall, knowing it will carry its own transformative power into the world.

Both are acts of Azamra—finding and naming the goodness that was always there.

And in that sacred space, where countless prayers have been whispered, where so many breaths have been held and released, where so many souls have cried out, “Ayeh?”

We answer with the song of creation itself.

Because breath is song. 

Because transformation is melody. 

Because today, in this moment, we step into the world we are creating together, a prayer on our lips and a song in our hearts.

Mazal Tov, 

Fally

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Made it just in time to attach pictures of our big day! (It was everything and more B"H!)

If you’re on the waitlist, watch your inbox for the invite to our Zoom call happening Monday, March 24, at 12:15pm EST. 

If you’re not on the waitlist, you’ll want to get on it.

This is an advanced cohort for dedicated, growth oriented professionals, who are seeking more than just the acquisition of a skill set. This is a year long commitment to self growth and transformation. 

We will graduate as facilitators not based off what we will have learned, but rather based off who we will have become. 

This call will not be recorded or sent out. If you’d like the opportunity to hear more about the training, ask questions, meet graduates, and get early access to applications, the waitlist is where it’s all happening.