The bochurim, voices strong yet yearning
Wrapped in the yeshiva’s quiet grace
Let go of months of toil
And found themselves in sacred space

No grand productions, no major hock
Just strings and song, and whispered prayer
And in the chords, a Light Divine
Descended gently through the air

The kumzitz pulsed with holy light
A crown atop a zeman well spent
A taste of cheirus in the night
Grateful for gifts Heaven-sent

With every rise, with every swell
They tasted what no shiur could teach
The part of them that can’t be held
The spark that songs alone can reach

Bein hazemanim comes and goes
Like tides that pull and stars that set
But nights like this — the neshama still knows
It holds the song, it won’t forget

And the postscript: After the kumzitz, Moishy Katz’s car got stuck in a ditch, and besides for the bochurim helping him out, a bochur came with a special check from the rosh yeshiva to cover his losses, a gesture of gratitude for a night of chizuk provided.