O heavens, how are we to cry? They came upon us for war, and we upon them. The land is given over to a circus of screens and monsters. We wallow in shame, hands weakened, lost and alone. Israel seeks her voice to raise it anew. In the hands of women —what of the cry? I turn my eyes to the hills—where is my help? Her aid is above the reach of men. Not politics, no thank you. Not morality, ha ha ha! It’s a body and a whisper: ” Dat Dan , Dat Dan ” still, with all her might! Behold, Israel, like a hero, has fallen together, Standing in divisions, Behind curtains, Boycottable, In the hands of women , lurking, binding. Oh Zionists, companions, heretics, the good, watching TV, picking at the dead. Woe in the hands of women – hiding, scorning, lamenting, still dancing. Whispering: “ Dat Dan , Dat Dan!” in the hands of women objectifying and desiring. Diver took counsel with the people of the White City and Jerusalem— And all entered, like olive saplings planted in the new garden, A beautiful court—fashioned in the hands of women ! There – women, poets and singers, hail: “Long have we borne scorn and idle speech, As the eyes of a maid to the hand of her mistress- Long have we endured mockery and complacency, In the hands of women – but with the proud, praise the artist!” Toni Liebling cried out from the crowd: “Style in Zion! It’s testament – a museum!” They ascended once more to Jerusalem, And the women steadfast in their craft, Among the garages of Talpiot, with violas and trumpets— Let the cabarets fall silent and gay, Women staged, in jeans, drawing flesh, playing. Diver cried forth, and with him, the assembly of Dat Dan: “Heal her now, O heal her now! Heal her now, O heal her now!” And the women bellowed: “Heal speech and thought and the ways of the land! Shall we slumber, or shall we wake? In the hands of women—dreaming, dreaming.” Laid bare, like life itself, Cast into the valley of blessing, we insist: “Hands! women! Secrets, spells, From feast of slaves to mourning’s end To the bonfire’s glow, In the dark, in the scorching wind, In the hands of women— Between words and things, diving, diving.”