W hen Aaron Razel completed his army service, his search for something more took him to Tzfas. In Yeshivas Shalom Rav, in the alleys of the ancient holy city, he found himself transformed, turning to serious Torah learning that would change the trajectory of his life. Behind the yeshivah there was a cheder, and in between chavrusas, Aaron sometimes found himself gazing at the little boys playing, at the purity of their eyes and their innocent chatter. One of his early compositions reflected this experience — “Ein ha’olam mitkayem ela b’hevel pihem shel tinokot shel beit rabban” (loosely translated, “the world is sustained by the pure breath of children learning Torah”) — as he strummed and sang.