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  1. I also hope that Israel is ready to “rock & roll” at a moments notice.

    The lessons of 1973 should never be forgotten.

    L’Shona Tova to All!

  2. To CiF Watch and everyone who supports it and its work and to all whom they care about, shana tovah.

    I found the following online but there was no indication of who wrote it:

    I’ve never understood the content and the words,
    Only the melody of the prayer.
    While my eyes I close, I see again
    Reminisces from my childhood
    The yellow grayish glow of candle light,
    Sad movements of arms and beards,
    I hear a cry, wailing
    And immense plea for mercy, a miracle…
    Whipping of the chest, clasping hands –
    The glory of old books,
    Fear of verdicts unknown and dark.
    That night I’ll never tear off my heart,
    A menacing mysterious night,
    And the grieved prayer Kol Nidrei —

    I know by now, when I feel bad
    Or tomorrow, when fate will be more courteous to me,
    In my thoughts I’ll come back to that night,
    And always
    In my heart I shall be in it.
    Come with me – – –
    Jews – frightened, beaten, persecuted,
    Cast out of everything – – –
    Depressed,
    Humiliated.
    You – that that your benches were broken,
    Your faith as well and your skulls.
    You – whose mouths are been shut,
    As are the roads, the shops.
    You – mud is thrown on your faces.
    You – who know already what
    Is fear from human being.
    And you –
    Who want to forget that only yesterday,
    Or a hundred years ago,
    Were Jews
    Running away—
    To the tangle of the big affairs,
    To the excess of the big people
    To the lie of the big words,
    Hiding yourselves behind the backs
    Of foreign ideas, not yours…
    You – free of
    Tallith,
    Shabbathot,
    Kapoth,
    Come!
    On the same long big night
    to the foggy memories sunk in sentiments
    In the heart and in the tear
    Go back to the darkened prayer rooms
    From long lost childhood,
    Where grayish light gleam and candles cry,
    Where Mothers wring their hands,
    And through trembling hands,
    Pages of yellow books murmur,
    While injustice lie like a stone on our soul.
    At least we shall be united in our hearts
    In the sad prayer of Kol Nidrei.

    Gmar chatima tova