The Silver Platter
by Natan Alterman

(1910-1970, Israeli poet, called “the conscience of the people” by David Ben Gurion)

And the land grows still, the red eye of the sky 
slowly dimming over smoking frontiers
As the nation arises, torn at heart but breathing,
To receive its miracle, the only miracle

As the ceremony draws near,  it will rise,
standing erect in the moonlight in terror and joy
When across from it will step out a youth and a lass
and slowly march toward the nation

Dressed in battle gear, dirty, Shoes heavy with grime,
they ascend the path quietly
To change garb, to wipe their brow they have not yet found time.
Still bone weary from days and from nights in the field.

Full of endless fatigue and unrested,
Yet the dew of their youth. Is still seen on their head
Thus they stand at attention,
giving no sign of life or death 

Then a nation in tears and amazement
will ask: "Who are you?" And they will answer quietly,
"We Are the silver platter
on which the Jewish state was given."

Thus they will say and fall back in shadows
And the rest will be told in the Chronicles of Israel (hebrew - Toldot Yisrael)