If only I could roam through those places
where God was revealed to your prophets and heralds!
Who will give me wings, so that I may wander far away?
I would carry the pieces of my broken heart over your rugged mountains.
I would bow down, my face on your ground;
I would love your stones; your dust would move me to pity…..
I would weep, as I stood by my ancestors’ graves…
The air of your land is the very life of the soul,
the grains of your dust are flowing myrrh,
your rivers are honey from the comb…
Happy is he who waits and lives to see your light rising,
your dawn breaking forth over him!
He shall see your chosen people prospering,
he shall rejoice in your joy when you regain the days of your youth.
Judah Halevi
Ode to Zion
12th century