In Egypt, we were beautiful

As G-d’s children, recognizable,

Kept our language and names,

As Hebrews, we were clad.

Kindness promised to each other,

The sole integrity we had,

But we were weltering in blood,

We were bare and naked there,

Our souls sinking lower,

Towards the brink of despair;

Worshiped the idols of our masters,

The cruel Mitzri

Had no problem with their culture,

But with the brutal slavery

Hashem factored in our future,

For we’d run out of time,

Almost lost forever

At level forty-nine.


Just when Pharaoh thought

He’d sealed our fate,

Like the express elevator

At the Empire State,

Hashem zoomed us to the roof top,

On eagle’s wings,

Exalted first-born of

The King of Kings.


King Nevuchadnetzar

Had a dream;

He asked the prophet Daniel

What it could possibly mean:

An idol, massive and colossal,

Made of different materials,

Each part depicts an empire.

The prophet Daniel said

Bavel was represented

By the idol’s golden head,

Persia represented by its

Silver chest and arms,

Greece represented

By its belly of bronze

Its iron legs, Rome

Its feet of clay,

Depict the weak and strong

Empires of today.

A giant rock in Nevuchadnetzar’s dream

Smashes the idol’s feet

To smithereens;

The rock becomes a mountain

That fills the earth,

Heralding a new era’s birth.

When we can fall no lower,

Hashem will send

Mashiach to establish

A kingdom without end.


Please help us, HaKadosh Baruch Hu,

We’re falling fast;

Deliver us at this time

As You did, in Nisans past;

Let David’s slingshot

Smash the giant once more,

Turn the Idol to chaff,

Your righteousness, restore.


Our bondage now

Is a pervasive kind,

At a nadir of darkness,

Oppression of the mind;

Evil is called good,

Wrong is called right,

A plague casts a pall

On this long, dark night.

We’ve again misused the gifts

Your favor brings;

Guess we’ve made a mess of things,

But, like the empires of the idol,

Those of Chad Gadya,

Our saving grace through history

Is still Your emunah.

Please save us once again, Hashem,

Before we cross the line,

For it seems we are nearing

Level forty-nine.

By Sharon Marcus