In the fiery grasp of chaos and despair
The Torah stands—a beacon beyond compare.
Through letters sacred, ancient wisdom flows,
a bridge from heaven that each soul knows.
Each scroll is a covenant wrapped in holy flame,
bears witness to the Eternal, Endless Name.
Within these parchments, mysteries profound,
in crown-tipped letters, our essence is found.
We are the quill, the parchment, and the hand,
bound together by divine command.
To save these scrolls is to preserve the spark
that guides our people through the gathering dark.
When synagogues fall to ash and smoke,
when flames consume what centuries spoke,
we bear these scrolls with trembling care—
each rescue step of an answered prayer.
The Baal Shem taught of bridges spun from light,
connecting earth to heaven’s distant height.
Each letter saved maintains the golden thread
that binds the living to the ancestral dead.
Though walls may crumble, stone by stone,
the Torah’s voice rings clear and strong, alone.
For truth eternal needs no shrine of gold
to shelter wisdom centuries old.
From Brentwood’s canyons wreathed in fire,
to Topanga’s heights where flames climb higher,
the Torah leads us, as it led before,
through desert, exile, to freedom’s shore.
In saving scrolls from destruction’s tide,
we guard the bridge where worlds collide—
where finite touches infinite above,
where justice meets unending love.
For every scroll borne through the flames
carries forward our people’s names,
a testimony carved in sacred space:
neither fire nor time can erase
this covenant of ink and soul,
this story has kept us whole.
Through persecution, loss, and pain,
the Torah’s light shall yet remain.
So as we save the scrolls from the fire’s roar,
we save ourselves and so much more.
A testament to hope, to love divine,
a bridge unbroken through endless time.
