Is the Kosel Ma’arovi on the west.
Hoping the rest will soon be raised.
The wall of the Mikdosh Hashlishi.
About Hashem they should know.
Ten words that He spoke
From nothing the world did become.
Let there be there light
The darkness of night.
And makes it brand new.
The way the world should go.
For everyone to live.
That Moshiach is coming any day.
To greet Moshiach Tzidkeinu.
Hashem is truly everywhere.
Hashem is truly everywhere.
Up, up, down, down
That’s where He can be found.
That’s where He can be found.
Yarmulka and Tzitzis
(T.T.T.O. Al Kol Aileh)
Amidst the noise of busy traffic
People running to and fro,
Little Moishy stands, bewildered,
What can he do, where should he go?
He sees the world all about him
A tear, a distant stare
But from then on, his eyes are busy
With the good that’s everywhere.
He puts his lips upon his Tzitzis
Takes a closer look, and he sees
That they remind him, taryag Mitzvos
That Hashem has given you and me.
Lift
your eyes up, set them to heaven
Hashem awaits our call,
And from the earth’s four distant corners
He soon will gather us all.
Benjy
Once there was a soldier, and Benjy was his name
Since he joined the army, it hasn’t been the same,
All the men wore helmets and uniforms of gray
But Benjy wore a Kippah and Tzitzis, anyway.
Reveille was early, right at the crack of dawn
The men lined up for roll call, their faces pale and drawn
But Benjy was all bouncy, he wasn’t feeling blah,
He always got up early to say Krias Shma.
Chorus:
Ki, ki bicho, bicho botochnu
Melech Kel rom vinisa
Ki, ki bicho, bicho botochnu
Melech Kel rom vinisa
He once was taken prisoner, his captor had a knack
For torturing his captives, until he made them crack.
He said, “Come on, start talking,” but Benjy answered, “Nope
It’s time to daven Shacharis, so please untie my rope.”
Benjy blew a siren before a sneak attack.
His unit was alerted, and beat the bombers back
“Hey Benjy, how’d ya know to blow before those planes were showing?”
“It’s Rosh Hashonoh morning, that’s a Shofar I was blowing.”
Chorus:
Benjy forgot his password, one dark and dreary night
The sentry roared, “Who goes there?” and gripped his rifle tight.
Benjy said, “Shma Yisroel Hashem Elokeinu”
Replied the guard, “Hashem Echod,” and let him pass on through.
Meals were very tasty, but Benjy had his own
Kosher cheese and pickles, and chocolate ice cream cones,
His buddies always snickered, but he just laughed at them,
Because he was enlisted in the Army of Hashem.
Chorus:
Torah
I was Made Way Back in 1842
I was made way back in 1842
By a humble man a real G-d fearing Jew,
Who did his work with honesty, feeling and with pride,
He was known in Kiev as Yankele the Scribe.
With
loving care, his hand so sure and still
He formed me with some parchment, ink and quill.
Each day he’d slowly add to me just a few more lines
With words to last until the end of time.
And on the day that I was finally complete
The whole town came and filled the narrow street.
And they sang and danced and held me high and carried me away
To the little wooden shul where I would stay.
And as the Rabbi held me close against his chest
He spoke out loud and clear to all the rest.
He said no matter if you’re very young or even if you’re old,
Live by the words you’ll find inside this scroll.
Three days a week they read from me out loud
It filled my soul with joy, it made me proud,
They followed each and every verse with fire in their eyes
The words that told them how to live their lives.
I watched the generations come and go
I saw the old men die, their children grow,
But never in a century did I miss my turn once,
For the fathers they had left me with their sons.
But the hatred
from the west came to Kiev
And they rounded up the Jews that had not fled,
But Moishele the Shammosh, he was brave and he was bold
He hid me in the cellar dark and cold.
And for years and years I waited all alone
For the people of my town to take me home,
So they’d sing and dance and hold me high when they carried me away
To my little wooden shul where I would stay.
But it was someone else who found my hiding place,
And to America they sent me in a crate
And the men who took me off the boat they said I was a prize
But they were Jews I did not recognize.
And in a case of glass they put me on display
Where visitors would look at me and say,
“How very nice, how beautiful, a stunning work of art,”
But they knew not what was inside my heart.
And across
the room I saw upon the shelf,
Some old friends of mine who lived back in Kiev,
A silver pair of candlesticks a menorah made of brass,
We’d all become mere echoes of the past.
So if you hear my voice why don’t you come along,
And take me to the place where I belong,
And maybe even sing and dance when you carry me away
To the little wooden shul where I would stay.
And as the Rabbi holds me close against his chest,
He’ll speak out loud and clear to all the rest
He’ll say no matter if you’re very young or even if you’re old,
Live by the words you’ll find inside this scroll,
Live by the words you’ll find inside… my soul.
Share with your friends: