The enemy comes nearer, the dangers are closer, and I sit on a mountain and blow
the trumpet. Arise, O slumbering Jews and save yourself, save your body, save your soul!
I sit and blow the trumpet and the Jew sleeps on, or reacts in vicious anger and shouts: Silence, we sleep! I sit and blow the trumpet and plead with brothers and sisters to arouse themselves, their people – to bring the Messiah now.
Another year enters the volumes of time and the next takes its place in the march
toward Jewish destiny. The sands of the New Year are already running. Running out. The sands slip through, the clock ticks away and the Almighty waits to see whether the sleeping Jew will awaken from his slumber to reclaim his greatness and destiny before there are no more years left.