Another battle has finished in our land, and still its echoes listen for the next call of war. Yet those who seek to destroy us in every age must always remember: From the dust of eternal memory our nation has risen once again and will fall no more.
As we wake from the slumber of history and gather from our wanderings, we water the desert with our faith and we exhume the souls of our martyrs and prophets, who return to walk among us with scrolls and trumpets, calling out the timeless hour and the ancient remembrance of our future glory.
The soft stones long resting in our valleys, soaked in the secret of our blood, have opened up like springs to bleed it back into our dry bones, and our hope sprouts anew like roses from the rocks.
The eternal nation waxes and wanes like the moon, yet never ceases to await the sun in its breathless sky that will one day drench the world with redemption.