There is a place, my own I call it,
Where fiery winds blow messages -
Spirits of old -
Where graves of sages tell the tale,
History of our people…
Their trials, tribulations, pain and loss,
Written in fiery letters on tablets of stone,
Universal law, cherished by generations,
Eternal concepts,
Treasured, accepted, acknowledged,
Forever .

In the cool breeze of night
Cramp my heart,
Knowing that peace is but a dream,
A seed, firmly planted in hope,
Not quite ready to flower and bloom,
Yet deeply rooted in the essence of my nation.

I walk on byways carved through mountains,
In awe of trees that reach the sky,
Singing psalms of a king,
Believing in the power of a G‑d,
Who watches and protects this land.

I cry for sons, who gave their lives for freedom,
Shedding their blood,
So it may grow,
Expand, increase, cultivate, nurture, and flourish.
Souls who came from far to kiss its soil
Faces of children shining with liberty and pride…
Basking sun-glow,
Light of Independence,
Fleeing from tyranny and tears.

This is my land, my home, my garden
And though I am far, it beckons me-
This earth, abundant, fertile, rich….
Enlightens my spirit, calls to my soul,
Nourishes my being, feeds my better nature.
My heart longs, is bound, protected, sheltered
In the radiance of its walls.
Inheritance - innate knowing !

Bring me home O G‑d, in Your time…
To the beloved bosom of your earth,
That I too may bloom in harmony and joy
Opening the blossom that is "I".