And perhaps you wonder, What is it like To be in the land, At Seder time? To stand at the shores of the sea, To walk the longed-for sands? I rode my bike in wind today, Along much of Israel's coastline, Seeing the wildflowers that decorated The hagaddahs of my childhood. A mild haze at the sea's horizon, Blurred any line That might separate Sea from sky, Past from now, Promise from pipe dream, Blessing from curse. There are no lines, But the ones we etch On this earth's flowing cloud. Mirrors of mirrors, We vision and reminisce, Fight and believe. Still, here, The hills running down to the sea Bob with the wildflowers that decorated The hagaddahs of my childhood, Amongst the words Next year in Jerusalem! The young people won't sit at Seders here. They'll be guarding the borders, The entries to hotels, The gates to the city. We are here, And not here. The message, though blurred, Like today's sealine horizon, Mixing wave with sky, Above with below, Whispers to us, There is still work to do. Hoist the matzos to your back, Gather the little ones And don't forget to bring along Your timbrels, your tambourine! The time is here And we are here To lift our voices, Next year! Next year! Next year! The gates of the city.