THREE HEBREW SONGS

HAZOR'IM BALEILOT (They Who [That] Sow at Night)
Poem: Sh. Shalom (Shalom Joseph Shapira, 1904-1990)
Sung in Hebrew

Go slowly, go slowly, oh moon, upon your way. We are sowing by your light,
Sowing the fields of Galilee.
Enemies rise against us from all sides, the roaring human desires close upon us-
And we go out to sow at night,
For we want only to sow, and our soul longs for grain.

Go slowly, go slowly, oh moon, upon your way.
Divided and cleft are the fields of Galilee, precious and holy is the seed we scatter ...
We need your light, we need your light.
Let us see our way and let them not see us.
Let our seed sprout, let not the cruel uproot it.
Make our night-sown grain grow, for the sun has surely betrayed us,
And the days are given to annihilation.

Go slowly, go slowly, oh moon, on your way. Do not be alarmed by our moving shadows,
We are Hebrew men sowing their fields at night.
We have no voice and no sound.
There is no sound in our horses' hooves and our wagon wheels are muffled.
Secretly, secretly we walk; the surrounding mountains do not understand us.
You, understand our deed. Let them not plunder us.
Guard us from the wandering bullet, from the knife out of the ambush.
Guard us from war's baltle cry, from blood spilled on the furrows.
Guard the seed we have sown, guard ij from theft and from scorching wind.
May our children eat and be satisfied. May they rise lofty and remember us for good.
Only for them do we sow at night, for their sake are our steps alarmed.
For we are Hebrew men, sowing our fields at night.
Go slowly, go slowly, oh moon, upon your way.

Translation: Ruther Finer Mintz

HA'AMNAM OD YAVO'U (Will There Yet Come Days of Forgiveness)
Poem: Lea Goldberg (1911-1970)

Will there yet come days of forgiveness and grace,
When you walk in the field as the innocent wayfarer walks,
And the soles of your feet the clover leaves caress
Though stubble will sting you, sweet will be their stalks.

Or rain will overtake you, its thronging drops tapping
On your shoulder, your chest, your throat, your gentle head bowed.
And you will walk in the wet field, the quiet in you expanding
Like light in the hem of a cloud.

And you will breathe the odor of the furrow, breathing and quiet,
And you will see mirrored in the gold puddle the sun above,
And simple will be these things, and life, pennitted to touch,
Pennitted, permitted to love.

Slowly you will walk in the field. Alone. Unscorched by flame
Of conflagrations on roads that bristled with horror and blood. Again
You will be peaceful in heart, humble and bending
Like one of the grasses, like one of man.

Translation: Mintz 1966