Rabin’s Assassination

Rabin’s Assassination



As the noonday brightness fades, a soft glow follows evening shade.

City of light on a distant hill, your transparent gold flickering still–

Jerusalem, when shall I return? A nation’s love born in eternity, of ancient

memory and soulful quest—only now being shamed by a blood-stained breast.

His peaceful refrain no more—Jerusalem, I thought I knew you. Whether a

place of national appeal or, beyond time or space, a mystic ideal– Your light,

however dim, still steadies the course, ably reflecting a common source,

Jerusalem, when shall I return?


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