In exile from home and family, perhaps he began his canticle after days of being cold when a single ray of warm sunshine touched his skin, like the comforting touch of a friend, and this was enough to inspire him. Rather than moan about all that was going wrong in his life, he looked around and discovered the simple glories of the day and celebrated what he had left.
We look for bits of light after a tragedy. We weave the tattered scraps. We listen in the silence for presence. With roots in the Holocaust, Yitzhak Perlman said, “Our task is to make music with what remains.”