By Simcha Wasserman
The light in this distant city,
thousands of miles and years
away from where the Holy
Temples once stood, still
illuminates the souls of those
aware of their inherent
G-dliness, aware they are a
remnant of a nation on fire,
once consumed in supernal
love and fear.
These souls, today, out-distance
the spiritual giants who drew
down and set ablaze legions of
angels with every holy utterance,
scorching the heavens in flames
of divine ecstasy.
These are the souls that will
signal the final ingathering;
they, who have marched across
the ages, steadfast, believing
victory could come at a
moment’s notice.
In their merit, we will enter
the land, immortal.
And simple faith, intangible,
no longer blind, will shine in
open miracles and wonders;
and the deepest secrets of
creation will sing out in
elemental purity.
And the children, all of us
children, will dance in the
radiance of a new song, with
self-abandon, along the old
streets in this distant city,
suddenly drawn close.
