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  • Writer's pictureDawn

Israel Psalm

(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.

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