Our brother/sister -
All the house of Israel,
The conditions of tribulation and captivity.
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I am personally responsible –
apologize,
I haven't written a poem yet, not even a verse.
And not without my desire -
To write the pain,
To be amazed by the strength of fathers and mothers.
And not because I didn't want to -
To pour out the heart's content,
To be moved by unity – to wipe away tears.
But after the illness -
I have not yet eaten the nightingale,
When the waves of free love flow.
Olim B'Fata -
Memories,
When we were children, the brothers fought among themselves.
Look, my son -
Shelter and listen,
My mother then leaned over and said to me.
When many brothers -
Or you cut the beds, then what?
This is completely normal!
I am sorry –
When silence remains for him,
And there is no beating or quarreling.
It must have happened -
What a disaster,
It is necessary to check the grandfather's welfare.
Then the children will cry out -
Come back home, oh my!
And they gave us, at our request, a grave, to continue the fight.
The drink.
In Agla.
And in the near future.
