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Like the golden bangles on the arms of a Bedouin woman, the hills of Gilboa bind their bracelets about the valley of Jezreel in the golden hours of late Adar evenings. Then do the women go down to…
Ah, you are fair, my darling,
Ah, you are fair.
Your eyes are like doves
Behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
Streaming down Mount Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of ewes
Climbi…