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I saw a picture of a street,
A Jewish street in Palestine,
Where Jewish families like to meet
On Yom-tov, when the day is fine.
The little houses were their own,
The sun, I knew, was shining clear
Because I saw their shadows thrown,
And what they said I tried to hear.
My heart with longing almost broke
Because I heard them: they were home,
And Hebrew was the tongue they spoke,
And one I heard. He said, “Shalom!”
This poem is in the public domain.
It’s a far, far road from Egypt
To our own, our happy land,
From the pyramids of Egypt
Built beneath the tyrant’s hand;
Its road so strange and marvelous
That few can understand.
See, the Lord had passed us over
For his sign upon our gate!
He has spared the crushed and driven,
He has judged the proud and great.
When the hosts of Israel rise to go
He makes the crooked straight.
It’s a far, far road to Zion
For the slave afraid to flee;
Tell me, what is Exile’s light?
Is it candles burning bright,
Little candles in the night?
Exile’s light is this old man.
Ere the morning he began
Israel’s holy page to scan.
And he teaches from this page
Israel’s law in every age:
Exile’s light is Israel’s sage.
Blessed art thou, O God our Lord,
Who made us holy with his word,
And told us on this feast of light
To light one candle more each night.
(Because when foes about us pressed
To crush us all with death or shame,
The Lord his priests with courage blest
To strike and give his people rest
And in the House that he loved best
Relight our everlasting flame.)
Blest art Thou, the whole world’s King,
Who did so wonderful a thing
For our own fathers true and bold
At this same time in days of old!