בס״ד
Tzav
Moshe lifts them, one by one,
Offerings upon their palms,
Aaron and his chosen sons,
As prayerful as a psalm.
I do not hear the Levites song,
In my mind, there’s not a sound,
No clamor from the silent throng,
Who wait to watch the turban wound.
At the פתח (pesach) of the ohel moed,
Seven days they must remain,
As they uplift korbanos, meat and bread,
Which lifts them, all the same.
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