Aaron Shuster wrote a poem in honor of the courageous Israeli soldier who gives his all to defend the one Jewish State against unrelenting Islamic terror and war.
Upon the ancient hills they stand,
The guardians of a promised land,
Sons of Judah, fierce and mild,
Each a father, brother, child.
Long before the nations came,
Before Jerusalem had a name,
The shepherd, prophet, king, and seer
Held this sacred country dear.
The Maccabees with steadfast hand
Rose to defend their fathers’ land,
Their courage echoing through the years
Beyond the reach of mortal fears.
Again the ancient trumpets sound.
Again the enemy gathers round.
Like unrelenting waves, a Black Sea
Of hatred seeks to break the free,
To militate against the light,
To make of morning endless night.
Yet from the valleys, from the stone,
Rise souls who know they stand not alone.
Their eyes are bright with quiet flame,
Each heart remembering a name
Whispered by mothers, old and young,
In the ancient covenant’s tongue.
There is a beauty in such men,
A grace the world forgets, and then
Discovers in the darkest hour
The hidden measure of their power.
Their strength is not the sword alone,
Nor iron will, nor flesh, nor bone,
But something deep and strangely fair,
A numinous and steadfast prayer.
Assiduous in watch and ward,
They keep the vineyards of the Lord.
The olive grove, the desert flower,
The child asleep at midnight hour.
The ancient stones, the laughing stream,
The elder’s tale, the infant’s dream,
All find within their faithful hands
A salubrious peace for weary lands.
And when at last their battles cease,
They do not vanish into peace.
Upon the evening’s tender gloam,
The winds of Israel bear them home.
Their spirits rise on angel wings
Above the valleys and the springs,
Above the cities, fields, and foam
That call the wandering children home.
They look upon the land below,
Its golden wheat, its winter snow,
Its songs of grief, its songs of birth,
Its small, beloved patch of earth.
The stars receive their sacred breath,
Yet love outlives the wound of death.
They keep their vigil from above,
Still bound to those they fought to love.
Their quiet watch shall never end,
For every child, for every friend,
Until the darkness yields its claim,
And dawn remembers every name.
So let the generations say,
When shadows sought to bar the way,
When hatred gathered like the sea,
And night denied what ought to be,
There rose a band of righteous men
Who took the ancient oath again.
Their bodies rest beneath the sod,
Their spirits walk the hills of God.
The Maccabees would know them well,
The ancient watchmen of Israel.
And through the ages, bright and far,
They shine as every faithful star—
A light no darkness can destroy,
A people’s grief,
A people’s joy.
