בְּהַעֲלוֹתִי עַל לְבָבִי ,אֵשׁ תּוּקַד בְּקִרְבִּי

At our Mitzrayim liberation

Now virus and death, and shortness of breath

As we live in isolation

שִׁיר לֹא יִנָּשֶׁה ,ז יָשִׁיר משֶׁהאָ

At our split-sea elation

But shuttered offices and shuls, and distance learning schools

As we endure isolation

וְשָׁכַן הֶעָנָן ,יתִי הִתְכּוֹנַןבֵּ

At the birth of our nation

Oy! quarantined indoors, and lines outside stores

As we brave isolation

Ventilators and dying, and face masks and crying

No vaccination

Simchas postponed, deserted streets and unknown

A beleaguered population

Washing and washing, and levity squashing

Nerve-frazzling aggravation

Social distance and Zoom, and foreboding doom

Worldwide lamentation

But our laments will be heard, the angst and the word

Through heartfelt meditation

The pox that struck every class, this too shall pass

And thus end devastation

In Piccadilly and Times Square, and Ben Yehuda’s sweet air

Joyous celebration 

There’ll be dancing and singing, and wedding bells ringing

Mass rejuvenation

Then children in schools, and Kiddush in shuls

Trips and vacations

Unmasked faces, and thriving workplaces

Real good vibrations

Minyan and layning, and giddy Champagning

The good Lord’s salvation

וְנָס יָגוֹן וַאֲנָחָה ,שָׂשׂוֹן וְשִׂמְחָה

When we’re freed from isolation 

By Ira Buckman