On The Hill

On the hill, there in Galilee,
A watchman sits, a flute in his mouth.

He plays a shepherd's song
To the lamb, the kid, the wandering colt,

To every naughty child chasing a butterfly,
To the wayfarer coming from city and village.

He plays, saying: Shalom!
To me, to me, come here!

There are melodies, in the flute's mouth,
There are legends, here in Galilee.

Once upon a time, there was an ancient Hero,
He smashed rocks, he moved boulders,

In the path of the ruins, in the caves,
His voice roared, he lit lights.

Singing, alive, he went to battle,
Against a big and great crowd.

"It's good to die on the watch,
for our land!" so he said.

Once upon a time there was an intriguing hero,
He had only one arm.