Written by Yosef Michael on March 16, 2026.

When I first became conscious of my being, alone, on a path, which was my destiny. On a precipice overshadowing the deepest ravine. Clear skies above, radiant sunshine, lovely scenery painted upon the mountains and in the fields, brooks, and meadows; such a joy! This was the calm before the storm.

Young, immature, confused, inexperienced; stormy weather, sadness, lightning, and thunder; seeking calmness, tranquility, serenity, and gentleness. I descended a little way into the ravine until I felt secure, my shelter for the storm. This was my peace. 

From time to time, clouds would appear, and with them, storms, lightning, and thunder, and again, I would descend just a little more until I felt secure. After all, this was my peace.

One day, after many storms, I wondered why only darkness surrounded me. I had fleeting memories of having seen sunlight, but I had descended to such a depth into my shelter that, from my vantage point, all I could see was the bottom of the ravine. I lost hope. Alone, weary, and sad, several times I tried to be silent forever. Fortunately, I can live with those failed attempts, both literally and figuratively.

A ravine is an unnatural dwelling place for a person. I felt lost in my shelter, my secure place, miserable, alone, and desiring a better life. I determined to ascend back to the place I was before the first storm. I feel incomplete. I long to be reunited with the missing part of my soul, but here I am alone in a ravine.

Long have my eyes looked downward towards the bottom of this ravine. Desiring to feel hope again, finally, I raised my head, lifted my eyes, and saw for the first time in years, some light like one sees when exiting a tunnel or cave. I was going to make an effort to return home. I remembered a nursery story, “The Little Engine that Could” (Watty Piper), and found inspiration in her story to slowly climb back up to where I was also destined to return.

Part 2. Written by Yosef Michael on March 22, 2026.

With my head up and eyes focusing on the approaching light, I slowly ascended, and with each step, I thought of each storm that I had descended a little deeper into the ravine to avoid. Yes, some storms had been worse than others, but it was all of these in one way or another that had brought me down deep. 

Wait a minute. What’s this? This is new. No, it can’t be! Didn’t the weatherman say, “NO PRECIPITATION!”

“NO PRECIPITATION?” Isn’t that why I descended into this ravine in the first place: to avoid the rain? Yes. I had descended into the ravine so deeply, trying to avoid the rain, and what did that gain for me? The only gain it had brought me was loss! So much loss.

What is wrong with letting it rain? Rain is good. It causes nature to blossom and turns the grass green. Rain causes trees to grow tall. It cleans the air, causes dirt to settle down to the ground, and refreshes it. Wise Shlomo Hamelech (King Solomon) said, “…there is a time for every matter under the heaven…a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time of wailing and a time of dancing…” I’m not afraid of a little water. As they say, “Whatever doesn’t kill one makes one stronger.”

Part 3. Written by Yosef Michael also on March 22, 2026. A few hours later.

As I continued ascending homeward, the light overhead grew brighter, drawing greater warmth closer as I approached. As I carried onward, I revisited my resting places where I had sojourned on my descent into the ravine. With each place I passed through, ascending this time, no longer descending, briefly, I had the remembrance of the storm for which I had sheltered in this particular place for peace. For most, the deeper places in the ravine received little to no rain. I marveled, wondering how it was that this or that storm had caused me to descend deeper. It had been the cumulative effect of the entire drought that had motivated me.

Not only did the warmth from above continue to increase on my face, arms, hands, and eyelids; whenever I closed them, I considered how the gentle heat from the light caressed my skin, and it also gradually rose from within me. What is this?

I had become a block of ice the size of the glacier that sank the Titanic, and now warmth was gently rising up from within me. I was so unused to the warmth that, although it felt pleasant, it was, to say the very least, uncomfortable at first, but it is the kind of thing that grows on you, and you begin to like it. The ravine had not only been a dark, miserable, and lonely place but also cold. I had unknowingly adapted during each descent deeper into the ravine, but now I was finally coming home.

As I exited the ravine, this is what I saw: clear skies above, radiant sunshine, lovely scenery painted upon the mountains and in the fields, brooks, and meadows; such a joy! Now, I can also hear and enjoy watching the birds fly and listen to them sing, with a warmth in my heart.

From the ravine, I have learned that when the storms come, there will be rain; I need the rain; we all need the rain. In fact, the next time there is stormy weather, don’t be surprised if you see me celebrating, dancing, singing, rejoicing, and playing my guitar with rain pouring down my face. It’s okay; be brave; rain-it’s only water. Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.

G-d, I’m ready for Mashiach to come now! Bring on Mashiach! Baruch Hashem!