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The turning wheel runs round and round.
It opens and closes the exit of my gate.
Noisily it turns for ruin and destruction.
My head is split, my entrails spilled.
It chases and it catches…
Against the setting sun, in the fields near a kevutzah in Palestine, a group of young halutzim are dancing. All day long they have worked hard on the land. The morrow brings another day of…
