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60 ∂ rosh hAshAnAh ‫וים‬ ‫נחל‬ ‫שירי‬ ‫לנחל‬ ‫שר‬ ‫העץ‬ ,‫ּב‬‫ו‬‫ה‬ ָּ‫ז‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫ו‬ ָ ‫ת‬ ְ ‫ס‬ ‫ת‬ ֶ ‫א‬ ‫א‬ ָ ׂ ‫ש‬ ָ‫נ‬ ‫ר‬ ֶׁ ‫ש‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ,‫ף‬ ַ ‫ר‬ ָּ‫ג‬ ‫ת‬ ֶ ‫כ‬ ֶּ‫ל‬ ַּׁ ‫ש‬ ַּ ‫ב‬ ‫י‬ ִ ‫מ‬ ָּ‫ד‬ ‫ת‬ ֶ ‫א‬ ‫ּב‬‫ו‬ ׁ ‫ש‬ָ‫י‬ ‫י‬ ִּ ‫כ‬ ‫י‬ ִ ‫יב‬ ִ ‫ב‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ‫ה‬ ֶ ‫א‬ ְ ‫ר‬ִ‫י‬ ‫ר‬ ֶׁ ‫ש‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ,‫יו‬ ָ ‫ל‬ ֵ ‫א‬ ‫ה‬ ָ‫נ‬ ָּׁ ‫ש‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫ת‬ ַ ‫ּפ‬‫ו‬‫ק‬ ְּ ‫ת‬ ‫ם‬ ִ ‫ע‬ ,‫ד‬ ַ ‫ע‬ ָ ‫ל‬ ‫ד‬ ֵ ‫ֹב‬‫ו‬‫א‬ ָ ‫ה‬ ,‫ל‬ ַ ‫ח‬ ַּ‫נ‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ ‫ח‬ ָ ‫א‬ ,‫ד‬ ָ ‫ח‬ ֶ ‫א‬ ְ‫ו‬ ‫ר‬ ֵ ‫ח‬ ַ ‫א‬ ְ‫ו‬ ‫ֹם‬‫ו‬‫ֹם־י‬‫ו‬‫י‬ ׁ ‫ש‬ ָ ‫ד‬ ָ ‫ח‬ ֶ ‫ה‬ ‫יו‬ ָ ‫ֹפ‬‫ו‬‫ח‬ ‫י‬ ֵ‫נ‬ ְׁ ‫ש‬ ‫ין‬ ֵּ ‫ב‬ ‫ם‬ ֶ ‫ר‬ ֶּ‫ז‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ ‫ח‬ ָ ‫א‬ .‫ו‬ ָ ‫ת‬ ְ ‫ּס‬‫ו‬ ‫יב‬ ִ ‫ב‬ ָ ‫א‬ ‫ין‬ ֵּ ‫ב‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫ֹנ‬‫ו‬‫מ‬ ָּ ‫כ‬ ‫ם‬ ֵ ‫ֹר‬‫ו‬ּ‫ז‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ,‫י‬ ִ ‫ר‬ ְּ ‫פ‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫נ‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ַ‫ו‬ ‫ן‬ ָּ‫צ‬ ִּ‫נ‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫נ‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ‫י‬ ִּ ‫כ‬ ,‫י‬ ִ ‫ר‬ ָ ‫ב‬ ֲ ‫ע‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫נ‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ַ‫ו‬ ‫י‬ ִ ‫יד‬ ִ ‫ת‬ ֲ ‫ע‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫נ‬ ֲ ‫א‬ ,‫י‬ ִ ‫יר‬ ִ ‫ר‬ ֲ ‫ע‬ ָ ‫ה‬ ‫ע‬ ַ ‫ז‬ ֶּ‫ג‬ ַ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ ִ‫נ‬ ֲ ‫א‬ .‫י‬ ִ ‫יר‬ ִׁ ‫ש‬ ְ‫ו‬ ‫י‬ ִּ‫נ‬ ַ ‫מ‬ ְ ‫ה—ז‬ ָּ ‫ת‬ ַ ‫א‬ ְ‫ו‬ ‫גולדברג‬ ‫—לאה‬ We Cast into the Depths of the Sea ç 61 PoeMs oF the river And the seA The Tree Sings to the River He who carried off my golden autumn, who with the leaf-fall swept my blood away, he who will see my spring return to him, at the turning of the year— my brother the river, forever lost, new each day, and changed, and the same, my brother the stream, between his two banks streaming like me, between autumn and spring. For I am the bud and I am the fruit, I am my future and I am my past, I am the solitary tree trunk, and you—my time and my song. —Leah Goldberg (trans. MF) ...

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