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The Society of Folk Dance Historians (SFDH)

Shir al Etz

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BACKGROUND

Information: A song.

Region: Israel


LYRICS

Al haderech ets omed tsamarto tashuach
Azavuhu tsiporav le'anchot haruach
el darom uma'arav ve'ulay mizracha
raq haruach yelatef tsamarto hashacha

El imi ani omer: na shim'i li, ima
af ani tsipor ehye, vechanaf 'arima
el ha'ets a'ufa li, lo anod mimenu
atsayets lo shir aliz va'anachamehu

          // Yam tari tari - tari tari,
          tari tari tari - tari tari tar. //

Az imi bocha dim'a: "ben yakir haben li
Al ta'uf levad bakor shema titstanen li"
"Al tivki imi, chaval al me'or eynayich
kach vachach ehyeh tsipor ve'efros knafayim"

Sacha ima uvocha: "Itzik, otsari li
lefachot kach beged cham shetihye bari li;
ardalayim shetin'al, kshor tsa'if al oref –
oy ali ve alelay, ko kashe hachoref"

          Yam tari . . .

"Gufiya chama tilbash, al na titparcheach,
o chalila beyn metim tavo lehitareach"
Kama li kashe achshav, ech kanaf arima?
Ma kala hi hatsipor, ma kaved le'ima.

Az be'etsev achayech, ima, el eynayich
Lo natna ahavatech li lifros knafayim.
Al haderech ets omed, tsamarto tashuach
Azavuhu tsiporav le'anchot haruach

          Yam tari . . .
      There is a tree on the road with a bent top
The birds have flewn for the cries of the wind
To south, west and east
Only the wind strikes the bent top.

I tell my mother: Listen, mum,
I will be a bird, and lift my wings
I will fly to the tree, not somewhere on my own
I will sing a happy song for him, and console him

          //Yam tari tari - tari tari,
          tari tari tari - tari tari tar. //

Mother cries a tear: My dear son,
Don't you fly alone in the cold, you may get lost (?)"
Mother, don't cry, it's a shame on your eyes
And anyhow, I'll be a bird, and spread my wings.

Mother sighs and cries: "My Itzak, my darling,
Wear at least a warm cloth, so you don't catch a cold.
Put this shawl on, a good hat on your head –
Oh me o my, how difficult is the winter"

          Yam tari . . .

"Also take this warm singlet, don't wander around,
And for God's sake, don't visit the dead"
I feel heavy now, how shall I lift my wings?
It's so easy for the bird, but so difficult for the mother.

Then, for the sorrow and the pain in your eyes, mother,
Your love disabled me, forbad me to spread my wings.
There is a tree on the road with a bent top
The birds have flewn for the cries of the wind.

          Yam tari . . .

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