(1) A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven: (2) A time for being born and a time for dying, A time for planting and a time for uprooting the planted; (3) A time for slaying and a time for healing, A time for tearing down and a time for building up; (4) A time for weeping and a time for laughing, A time for wailing and a time for dancing; (5) A time for throwing stones and a time for gathering stones, A time for embracing and a time for shunning embraces; (6) A time for seeking and a time for losing, A time for keeping and a time for discarding; (7) A time for ripping and a time for sewing, A time for silence and a time for speaking; (8) A time for loving and a time for hating; A time for war and a time for peace.
אָדָם בְּחַיָּיו (יהודה עמיחי)
אָדָם בְּחַיָּיו אֵין לוֹ זְמַן שֶׁיִּהְיֶה לוֹ
זְמַן לַכֹּל.
וְאֵין לוֹ עֵת שֶׁתִּהְיֶה לוֹ עֵת
לְכָל חֵפֶץ. קֹהֶלֶת לֹא צָדַק כְּשֶׁאָמַר כָּךְ.
אָדָם צָרִיךְ לִשְׂנֹא וְלֶאֱהֹב בְּבַת אַחַת,
בְּאוֹתָן עֵינַיִם לִבְכּוֹת וּבְאוֹתָן עֵינַיִם לִצְחֹק
בְּאוֹתָן יָדַיִם לִזְרֹק אֲבָנִים
וּבְאוֹתָן יָדַיִם לֶאֱסֹף אוֹתָן,
לַעֲשׂוֹת אַהֲבָה בַּמִּלְחָמָה וּמִלְחָמָה בָּאַהֲבָה.
וְלִשְׂנֹא וְלִסְלֹחַ וְלִזְכֹּר וְלִשְׁכֹּחַ
וּלְסַדֵּר וּלְבַלְבֵּל וְלֶאֱכֹל וּלְעַכֵּל
אֶת מַה שֶּׁהִיסְטוֹרְיָה אֲרֻכָּה
עוֹשָׂה בְּשָׁנִים רַבּוֹת מְאֹד
אָדָם בְּחַיָּיו אֵין לוֹ זְמַן.
כְּשֶׁהוּא מְאַבֵּד הוּא מְחַפֵּשׂ
כְּשֶׁהוּא מוֹצֵא הוּא שׁוֹכֵחַ,
כְּשֶׁהוּא שׁוֹכֵחַ הוּא אוֹהֵב
וּכְשֶׁהוּא אוֹהֵב הוּא מַתְחִיל לִשְׁכֹּח
וְנַפְשׁוֹ לְמוּדָה,
וְנַפְשׁוֹ מִקְצוֹעִית מְאֹד
רַק גּוּפוֹ נִשְׁאַר חוֹבֵב
תָּמִיד. מְנַסֶּה וְטוֹעֶה
לֹא לוֹמֵד וּמִתְבַּלְבֵּל
שִׁכּוֹר וְעִוֵּר בְּתַעֲנוּגוֹתָיו וּבְמַכְאוֹבָיו.
מוֹת תְּאֵנִים יָמוּת בַּסְּתָו
מְצֻמָּק וּמְלֵא עַצְמוֹ וּמָתוֹק,
הֶעָלִים מִתְיַבְּשִׁים עַל הָאֲדָמָה,
וְהָעֲנָפִים הָעֲרֻמִּים כְּבָר מַצְבִּיעִים
אֶל הַמָּקוֹם שֶׁבּוֹ זְמַן לַכֹּל.
A Man In His Life (Yehuda Amichai)
A man doesn't have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn't have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.
A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.
A man doesn't have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn't learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.
He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there's time for everything.