About 20 years ago, when I was in my late teens, I would travel around with a musician friend looking for opportunities to make people happy. We carried a guitar, a darbuka, and lots of positive energy. We wanted to break down walls between people, open hearts and forge new connections. We wanted to relate to others in a spontaneous and loving way. Several nights a week we would drive around Israel—even after a long day’s work. We were that inspired.

In the course of our excursions, we found that there were places where it was easy to interact with people and places where it was more difficult. If you enter a military base, for instance, or come across a group of young people in a park, it’s the simplest thing to stir their hearts. People are already waiting for an emotional connection, and as soon as you start playing, they join right in. With all the music, singing and talking, by the time the evening is over you will always have several new friends.

Other nights, however, we had no specific destination. And so, we would randomly knock on doors. Beautiful mansions, simple apartments — it didn’t matter to us. But the hardest part was always the moment after we rang the bell.

“Who’s there?” the reply would come.

“A couple of young guys trying to spread some happiness.”

“Must be a mistake,” they would say, “we didn’t order it.” or “I already gave at the office,” or “Sorry, I don’t have the key.” We once got that last answer from every apartment in the building. Imagine that, a whole building of people hopelessly locked in their apartments without keys. At times like that, my friend and I would exchange wry glances and move on. But I honestly don’t blame people; I’m not sure that I would have opened the door, either.

But when someone did open the door, ah! The events that would unfold, the stories we could tell — they could fill a book.

Late one night, we knocked on a door in a Jerusalem apartment complex and waited through a long moment of silence. Then, from inside, we heard a meek reply, “Who’s there?” It was the voice of a woman who sounded truly broken.

“Two guys trying to spread a little music and happiness,” we answered.

Another moment of silence and we prepared to leave. Then, the bolt turned, and a middle-aged woman opened the door.. Her graying hair was unkempt, her clothing disheveled. Her face was wet with tears. Behind her, we could see that the house was a mess, and it was obvious that something tragic had occurred. But she invited us in, and we played and sang for her, until, finally, we saw some light in her eyes.

When we finished, she asked us, “Are you sure that you’re human beings?” Her voice trembled.

We looked at her, questioningly, and she continued.

“I’m going through a very hard time in life right now. It’s too painful for me to bear. Just before you knocked, I was sitting on the couch … I couldn’t even move … but I said to G‑d, ‘If You are really there, please, please, do something. Send an angel to bring a little joy to my heart.’ And then, you knocked. And so, I’m asking, are you sure you aren’t angels from heaven?!”

We smiled and thanked her and played another song. When we left, she closed the door, but another door remained open.