Goli was such a neshamah.

Her name hints to her mission. Goli, from the same root as גלה, to reveal. As we plead in davening, גלה כבוד מלכותך עלינו — Reveal the glory of Your Kingdom upon us. In her quiet, steady way, Goli revealed the hidden greatness and power of a Yiddishe neshamah. She showed that true strength lies in spirit, that the glory of Hashem’s Malchus can be seen in a radiant heart anchored in unwavering faith.

Goli’s story cannot be measured by hardship alone. She wouldn’t want it to be. Rather, it’s a story of aliyah, a life where the physical grew smaller and the neshamah grew stronger and brighter, filling every corner of her world and every heart that entered it.

Goli’s journey began with bravery. Mountains blocked her path, yet she climbed them, injured and hurting, carried forward by a neshamah that could not be stilled. Later, when illness wrapped around her body, the true climb began. As her body gave way, her heart and her neshamah expanded — in hard-to-believe ways. 

The weakening of Goli’s limbs uncovered a deeper force, a strength of spirit and a hope shaped by an emunah that could not be broken. Each passing day, her neshamah blazed stronger, teaching that power is measured not by motion, but by resilience; not by voice, but by the silent song of a heart tethered to the Borei Olam.

Her world grew physically smaller, but spiritually it expanded. Within the modest walls of her room, holiness took root. The air carried the melodies of Shabbos. Sefarim lined the walls. Visitors came burdened and left lighter, steadier, blessed. Goli became the living embodiment of the Beis HaMikdash, a Kosel Maaravi, thereby revealing that there is strength in softness and grandeur within simplicity.

On Purim, Goli dressed as a queen, her garments bright with joy, though her true crown rested on her neshamah, polished by perseverance and glowing from within. On ordinary days, she reigned with a simple smile, the kind that reached into broken hearts and lifted what life had crushed.

Her body remained still. Yet her neshamah soared. Higher. And then, even higher. 

As her physical strength diminished, her spiritual strength grew vast enough to carry others. Goli listened with attentiveness that few possess. She remembered what others overlooked. She celebrated others’ simchos as her own and carried their sorrows tenderly.

Nothing escaped Goli’s eyes. A fallen ribbon became a solution for a sefer that needed to stay open. A bird’s flight became a song of gratitude. A simple kindness became a treasure. Goli revealed that when seen through the lens of emunah, every moment holds meaning and purpose. 

Those who knew Goli understood the power of her tefillos. Names were whispered to her. She closed her eyes and the room filled with a presence so real it could be felt. Goli’s tefillos rose from a place of such purity that no barriers separated her from her Creator. She taught that tefillah is not only a request but a revelation; גלה כבוד מלכותך עלינו, an unfolding of hidden light. Her prayers soared because her neshamah lived between heaven and earth. And people were drawn to that. To her. 

Goli lived forty-nine years, the gematria of לב טוב, a good heart. If there ever was a life that embodied a good heart, it was Goli’s. A heart that rejoiced in others’ triumphs. A heart that mourned with others’ pain. A heart that expanded into kindness and simchah again and again.

She noticed people deeply. She remembered birthdays, milestones, and small victories others had long forgotten. She treated every visitor as royalty, because to Goli, each individual carried infinite dignity.

Chazal teach that Moshe Rabbeinu was an ish tzurah, a being whose body existed to serve his neshamah. His physical frame mattered only because it contained something limitless. Because Moshe’s neshamah climbed so high, words became too small to contain the truth within him. He became כבד פה, heavy of speech, not because of weakness but because his neshamah had outgrown human language.

This, too, was Goli. As Goli’s neshamah soared, speech slowly faded. The vibrant voice that once taught and laughed grew quiet, because language could no longer carry the vastness of her world.

Yet her silence spoke volumes. Her gaze, her smile, her presence became the song through which her neshamah continued to bless and to lift. Her physical frame grew almost translucent, leaving only the brilliant glow of her inner being shining through.

And that light touched every heart privileged to stand before it.

Those who cared for Goli most deeply, those who stood by her side day after day, became her talmidos. In their devotion, their patience, and their unyielding respect, they, too, revealed the Malchus of Hashem. They learned through Goli how to love with no conditions, how to see the Divine image even when the body is frail. Through their care, the hidden glory of Hashem’s world was uncovered anew each day, a livingגלה כבוד מלכותך .

When a tzadeikes like Goli leaves This World, her light does not vanish. It weaves itself into the very air around us. Goli lives on in every whispered tefillah said with a full heart, in every act of kindness offered without applause, in every decision to live with gratitude and appreciation. In every moment of acceptance of Hashem’s plan. 

Goli discovered true greatness hiding in the folds of daily life.

She revealed that holiness shines brightest when least expected.

She taught that the neshamah soars far beyond what the eye can see.

Again and again, Goli revealed the glory of Hashem’s Malchus, through her living, through her loving, through her perseverance.

Those who knew Goli still hear her melody, a melody woven of strength, sweetness, and an unbreakable bond with the Ribbono shel Olam.

Goli taught us how to live.

Goli taught us how to believe.

Goli taught us how to reveal, to bring forth the hidden greatness tucked inside every neshamah.

A  גלmeans a wave, as in theגלי הים , the waves of the sea. 

Goli’s circle of life has closed.

But the ripples of Goli’s holy waves will never fade.