I know that she’s not asking Him for diamonds,
Oh, when I grow up, no matter what life brings
And the tefillos of my mother who always has her candles lit.
My mother turns our home into a palace
Her wisdom and her warmth both make it so,
She bentches licht, and I can hear her tender feelings speak
Without any voice or words, but the kiss on my cheek.
My mother’s candle light is so gentle and so soft,
I think of how it hurts my mother when I’m doing wrong,
Each mitzvah that I do will be a diamond,
I feel my face aglow -
Exhilaration in my heart.
That curious elation has returned again
I’m back with what I feel a part.
The siren sounds, and all around a peace descends
Relieving worries of the week.
The Kosel stands, a wall so grand receiving friends -
They’ve come to pray for all they seek.
Please come and spend with us a Shabbos
So come and feel the kedusha, let it in!
We surely hope you’ll see
That special quality
There’s nothing like a Shabbos Yerusholayim!
We wait so anxiously till it begins.
We’ll spend this holy day
A sacred city’s way
We call it Shabbos Kodesh Yerusholayim!
Something’s in the air, we can’t describe it well,
Ancient wonder all around -
Stirring up the souls of all who travel there,
They’re warmed by beauty that they’ve found.
While strolling through the quiet street.
Shabbos has that simple soft serenity,
Yerusholayim makes it all complete!
Treating Shabbos disrespectfully.
Stop the desecration! No more violation!
Preserve the city’s sanctity.
Shabbos comes on Friday night
We light the candles
They burn so bright
We bless the wine
It tastes so fine
We eat the challah
It’s shabbat time!
Before I eat I bless.
On Friday night
The candles I light,
I’m Olive Oil the Sailoress.
And if you dare -
Of the Shabbos He does take great care.
Even if it’s far
We’re gonna sing and shout out loud.
Six days a week we wait for Shabbos,
A gift from Hashem, and we’re so proud.
Let’s sing together, “Shabbos!”
Whisper together, “Shabbos!”
Tell it to the world, “Shabbos!”
My mother’s Shabbos candles
And then around the table
Our humble home became a mansion
And yet the tragic stories
No weekday is the same,
I’ll always hold it
Always keep it dear.
Who lives in my neighborhood,
She has a cook to stock every shelf.
But Wednesday night she yells “Hooray”
And she shoots her cooks away,
Because she wants to bake the challah herself.
It’s a mitzvah she won’t ever shirk.
Smells so good that I suppose -
That if you follow your nose -
You will find the challah lady at work.
And she kneads, kneads, kneads her challah dough.
The only thing she needs is challah dough.
With the wealthiest people in town.
“Well if you want to attend,”
Said her fine and fancy friend,
“Then you need, you need, you need a new gown.”
But the store would only sell the gowns on Wednesday night.
The challah lady said, “I cannot go.
I’ll put some new lace on my wrist,
To give the old gown a new twist
Like the twist I give to my challah dough.”
Now the challah lady went to visit Dr. Smith,
And he told her she had to lose weight.
He said, “Here’s a nice surprise -
There’s a class in exercise
For the ladies every Wednesday at eight.”
Now the challah lady said, “I just cannot come,
But you say, I’m heavy so.
I’ll just have to put more might -
Into kneading Wednesday night,
So that I’ll be as light as my dough.”
It was a hundred degrees in daylight.
Said repair man Yirachmiel,
“I’ve began a great new deal,
I’ll be selling my tools Wednesday night.”
“It’s the only time I’ll fix the air conditioning,
Or you’ll wait till I buy new supplies.”
And she said, “I’ll wait a week,
While the heat will help my challah dough rise.”
And she wanted it handsomely, brushed.
But the stylist said she might -
Only do it Wednesday night,
But any other time she’d be rushed.
Now the challah lady said, “I just cannot go.
But my sheitel needs setting I know.
So I’ll just dye my wig a shade,
And I’ll give it a new braid,
Like the braid I give to my challah dough.”
Now the challah lady had a daughter Sara’le,
And she was old enough - almost eighteen.
But the shadchan said, “I might
For no other time can I be seen.”
Now the challah lady said, “I just cannot go,
But my daughter needs a shidduch I know.
The only mixing she will do -
Is the mixing I do too,
Like the type I do to my challah dough.”
Now the challah lady told me why her baking is -
More important than all of these things.
It’s because ladies have alone
This mitzvah as their own,
And so when she bakes the challah she sings.