(A psalm for my beloved Israel. Am Israel Chai.)
I stand in the Valley of Achor
and wonder
at this desert now blooming
rosy, glowing,
filled with laughter.
The harps in the willows
are in the hands of the
Ancient People again.
With furrowed brows
and closed eyes
remembering
when the sound of bone on bone
like cymbals, ringing from the nations
coming to the land
from the river to the sea.
Would these bones live?
They wondered.
Suntanned faces
of boy-men and maidens,
Old Yishuv and New,
Arab brothers
and Druze,
broke bread and shared stories
of the marshy land
with salt springs and rocks,
sickness and snakes.
They tamed this wild land
that was waiting for the return
of the People of the Book.
From Hermon to the seas,
Ezekial walked unseen
his words like a banner
unfolding
until it stretched full-length
blue and white
over this baby-nation
born in a day.
Can these bones live?
He answers with a slight smile,
stooping down, hands brushing the sand
speaking to this army
as a voice on the wind.
Look to the mountains,
where does your help come from?
He whispers
it comes from the Maker
of heaven and earth.
Again He says
to look to the hills,
for they are filled with horses
and chariots of fire.
Watch and see, O Israel,
sons and daughters
be bold and very courageous.
Has He not commanded you?
Has He not commanded and promised?
Look to the hills
and know
now and forever
your future is
hope.