MISHIREI ERETZ AHAVATI
Mechorah sheli, eretz noi evyonah -
lamalkah ein bayit, lamelech ein keter.
Veshiv'ah yamim aviv bashanah
vesag'rir ug'shamim kol hayeter.
Ach shiv'ah yamim hav'radim por'chim,
veshiv'ah yamim hat'lalim zor'chim,
veshiv'ah yamim chalonot p'tuchim,
vechol kab'tzanaich omdim barechov
venos'im chivronam el ha'or hatov,
vechol kab'tzanaich s'mechim.
Mechorah sheli, eretz noi evyonah,
lamalkah ein bayit, lamelech ein keter.
rak shiv'ah yamim chagim bashanah
ve'amal vera'av kol hayeter.
Ach shiv'ah yamim hanerot b'ruchim
veshiv'ah yamim shulchanot aruchim,
veshiv'ah yamim halevavot p'tuchim,
vechol kab'tzanaich omdim bit'filah,
uvanaich b'notaich chatan kalah,
vechol kab'tzanaich achim.
Aluvah sheli, evyonah umarah,
lamelech ein bayit, lamalkah ein keter -
rak achat ba'olam et shiv'chech amrah
ug'nutech cherpatech kol hayeter.
Ve'al ken elech lechol rechov ufinah,
lechol shuk vechatzer vesimtah veginah,
mechurban chomotaich kol even k'tanah -
alaket ve'eshmor lemazkeret.
Ume'ir le'ir, mim'dinah lim'dinah
anudah im shir veteivat neginah
letanot dalutech hazoheret.
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FROM THE SONGS OF MY BELOVED LAND
My homeland -- land of beauty and poverty.
The queen has no home, the king has no crown.
There are seven spring days in the year
And cold and rain all the rest.
But for seven days the roses bloom,
And for seven days the dew drops shine,
And for seven days, windows are open.
And all your poor folk stand in the street
And lift their pale faces toward the good light,
And all your poor folk are happy.
My homeland, land of beauty and poverty,
The queen has no home, the king has no crown.
There are seven holy days in the year
And hunger and toil all the rest.
But for seven days the candles are blessed,
And for seven days the tables are set,
And for seven days, hearts are open.
And all your poor folk stand in prayer,
Your sons and daughters are grooms and brides,
And all your poor folk are brethren.
My miserable land, impoverished and bitter,
The king has no home, the queen has no crown.
Only one in the world your praises has spoken;
Your infamy and shame all the rest.
And therefore I’ll visit every street and corner,
Every market and courtyard and alley and garden.
From the rubble of your ruins I’ll gather little stones
To keep for souvenirs.
As from town to town, from country to country,
I’ll wander with a song and a music box
To relate your glorious penury.
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