From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in spring.
The place where we are right, is hard and trampled like a yard.
But the doubts and loves dig up the world – like a mole – a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood.
by Yehuda Amichai
Thanks to Laurence D’Marco of Senscot who describes Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai as a compassionate humanist in a country driven mad by religion.