The Hymns of the Feast Are Choking in the Quarries

It pleased her to mingle with the world, if only for a while..
So she walked quickly, driven by longing for the mountains, for truth, for life.
She walked with bitterness in her heart and pain in her soul.
She walked seeking light.. seeking truth.. seeking freedom.
She walked seeking peace on the seashore..
Clamor and calm.. disorder and stability.. noise and silence.
She listened to the stillness of the night and heard the birds singing, unbound.. free.
Then she let her gaze drift through the pitch-black darkness of the night, and saw something drawing near the shore. Hurrying toward her.. to where she stood nailed in her place, shaken and dazed. She saw in it a person foreign to her land.
Bare of head and feet.
She looked at him in dread and fear and tried to flee, but his bitter smile and pained gaze stood between her and going on..

As for him, after standing a moment he whispered: Where?? Where are you going.. and what, what is it you seek?
And how, in Heaven's name, can you leave this beautiful land.. and on such a night?
Why, it is the night of the feast.. the night of gladness and joy.. the night of song and life.
Listen to the echo of the merry songs.. The whole city is rejoicing this evening.. The grown welcome the feast with hope, and the little ones with gladness and cheers — and you, where are you bound?
This road will lead you, without fail, to prison.. to fetters and shackles... to captivity and enslavement..
I spent long years there, and only today managed to escape, by a miracle.
I fled my captivity to come back to life.. to freedom.. to my home and my homeland..
And you — will you not come back with me?
Do you not hear the bells calling us?
Look behind you.. Do you not see the glow of the lighted candles?
They are the glimmer of hope that scatters the darkness of souls.
They are the gleam of peace.. the ray of life
... the strivers.
Here is my hand — pledge me to work. We shall turn our days into feasts that never end.

She looked at him, her eyes flashing with a strange light, then said, addressing him:
You are deluded, O man.
You do not know what ground you tread, nor toward what country you are bound.
We, my friend, are strangers in our own homelands.. guests in our own country.
You come from the prison — and how light a thing is the life of prisons!
There, humiliation is for a time.. here, the humiliation is everlasting.
There, the fetters are on the hands.. here, the chains are on the necks.
There, captivity is for bodies... here, captivity is for souls and minds.
There they show mercy to the weak... and here, woe to the weak.
There they take pity on the poor — and here, death to the poor.
Our homelands are being stripped from us to be offered up as a sacrifice to the covetous.
So what is left to us but to depart?
And what feast is this.. and what candles are those you burn, that burn us with them?
The hymns of the feast are choking in the quarries,
and the cheers of the feast are drowned by sighs and groans.
Is this the feast you would rejoice in?
Is this the land you are making for...?
For God's sake, leave me — or come back with me to your prison, and let us bury our souls there.
Take me back to your prison, that we may find a wall to lean on; for the darkness is black, and the light of hope has died away..

No, my sister — leave despair no path into your soul. If there must be death, then let the last drop be spent for the homeland.
You can work with me, share the struggle with me, wake the sleepers and hearten those who labor.
Come, let us go back, for the country is calling us.. our sacred soil is in need of us.. of us together.. and of every single one, old man or youth.. lad or lass.
Come, make haste, and do not turn back.. The country is ours, and we must live to bring it to life.
This is the hour of work and sacrifice, and there is no escaping them.
Make haste, for time is short.
...

She seized his hand and hurried on, heedless of everything; she struck against a tree and fell to the ground — and before she could rise to go on her way, she opens her eyes to see, beside her bed, her little brother, a simple, innocent smile drawn on his face, about to break into a morning greeting — or a greeting of the feast....

Acre — Palestine