68 Words, 68 Years
© Rabbi Menachem Creditor
From the fiery furnace we rose
knowing what it is to be hated,
Jewish blood spilled
every century
every continent
hasn't erased our hope,
to be free, to be a blessing.
Wielding weapons we wish we didn’t need,
we fight with tears in our eyes,
praying that same prayer we've always prayed:
peace.
What new songs will we teach our precious
children?
Our home, our land, our choice.
