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!”