The candle’s flame is a soul,
All on its own.
That holy spark,
A flickering, gold-orange cone.
Yet when I pour my soul
Into the Mitzvah of kindling light,
It becomes my soul too.
I know every candle lit
Is so special and unique,
Yet to me it seems to symbolize
Our faith rekindled every week.
We must admit
That in the past our faith has wavered;
Our Emunah dimmed by temptations,
We missed realizations.
Yet the One and Only Great Lighter,
Who keeps our flames burning constantly,
Caressed us in our trouble gently,
And with mercy.
What may have been us,
A dying light,
The Lighter empowered us
In our plight.
And now we stand, His candle,
Throughout the Night of Galus,
Stronger and stronger.
Until we reach Moshiach’s Dawn–
We know it won’t be much longer.
We are the Candle.
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