קַ֥מְתִּֽי אֲנִ֖י לִפְתֹּ֣חַ לְדוֹדִ֑י וְיָדַ֣י נָֽטְפוּ־מ֗וֹר וְאֶצְבְּעֹתַי֙ מ֣וֹר עֹבֵ֔ר עַ֖ל כַּפּ֥וֹת הַמַּנְעֽוּל׃
Wstałam, aby otworzyć lubemu mojemu, podczas gdy ręce moje kapały myrrą, a palce moje myrrą samościekłą na rękojeść zawory.
Kol Dodi Dofek
So long as the whispering of the Beloved split the hush of the night, so did the heart of the Lover harden. Pleading and patient the Beloved continued to beckon while the minutes and hours of the clock were ticking away. The Lover did not respond to the voice of the Beloved. The door to her tent was locked shut. The opportunity was lost, and the vision of an exalted life died. True, after a brief delay the Lover awoke from her slumber and jumped in haste from her bed to greet the Beloved. “I rose up to open to my Beloved” (Song of Songs 5:5), but the leap came too late. The Beloved had stopped beckoning and had disappeared into the darkness of the night, “My Beloved had turned away, and was gone” (Song of Songs 5:6). The joy of her life was exiled. Her existence became a desert, a storehouse of emptiness. The episodes of feverish search returned. She, the Lover, still wanders through the dwellings of the shepherds seeking her Beloved.