Erev Purim batachanah hamerkazit,
veHaman veshotrim betafkid.
Heim mechapsim et abba shelach -
Hu mitchaber beEilat.
(At tofeset et atzmeich
medaberet kemohu kim’at)
Im hatik hayarok
ve’einayim shechorot,
Histovavt kemo taklit,
yerukah bapinot.
Zeh oseh lach tov,
Mis’chakei Iyov.

Ani eitein lach yad,
ani lo eitein lach lif’chod:
At asit et kol haderech,
megalah et Tel Aviv.
Mishtadel kemo meshugah
shehakol yihyeh poh pashut,
Sho’eil berachah mei’ish chacham
She’anachnu lo noladnu lesikuim p’tuchim,
Anachnu lo noladnu lesikuim p’tuchim,
Lesikuim p’tuchim.

Bejeansim vetriko,
vesmalot tziv’oniot,
Yeladim shemitlabshim,
ve’atah lo yode’a al mah.
Heim nir’im yafeh midai,
she’ani mefakpek im zeh nachon,
Hashemesh hag’dolah
rashmah michtav al hamizran.
Ani eitein lach yad.

Ani arutz leilot yareach
liknot lach p’rachim bashuk,
Ha’ish im hazifim
yarviach kamah shezeh oleh.
Rega’ lifnei shenisraf lach hachalom,
Ulai nuchal lehitnachem
ul’kalef chalom choleh.
Chamesh me’ot sigariyot mocher –
efshar lekabel hanachah,
Chamesh me’ot medaliyot al hator batachanah,
Ani eitein lach yad.


Purim eve at the Central Bus Station:
King Ahasverus,
Haman and cops on the job.
They’re looking for your dad -
He’s connecting in Eilat.
(You find yourself
speaking almost like him)
With your green bag
and your black eyes,
You went round like a record,
green at the gills.
It makes you feel good,
Games of Job.

I’ll hold your hand,
won’t let you be afraid:
You’ve made the whole journey,
discovering Tel Aviv.
I’m trying like mad
to make sure it’ll all be easy here,
Begging a blessing from a wise man,
That we weren’t born to open choices,
We weren’t born to open choices,
To open choices.

In their jeans and sweatshirts
or colourful dresses,
Children who gear themselves up,
and you don’t know why.
They look too beautiful,
that I wonder if it’s true,
The large sun
imprinted a letter on the mattress.
I’ll hold your hand.

I’ll run by moonlit night
to buy you flowers in the market,
The man with bristles
will earn whatever it costs.
A moment before your dream gets burnt,
Maybe we can take comfort
and unwrap a sick dream.
500 cigarettes, he’s selling –
you can get a discount,
500 medals for the queue at the station,
I’ll hold your hand.

òøá ôåøéí

Hebrew words

See all our Purim songs and links

Yosi Babliki
Amir Tzoref & Yosi Babliki
Yosi Babliki

Words transliterated by George Jakubovits of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
Words translated by Gina Chodirker of Winnipeg, Manitoba , Canada.
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