68 Words, 68 Years
© Rabbi Menachem Creditor
From the fiery furnace we rose
knowing what it is to be hated,
Jewish blood spilled
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:
What new songs will we teach our precious children?
Our home, our land, our choice.