The fire cracks twigs in silence, 
Black coffee in the finjan (coffee pot) 
A story is told and a story is heard, 
New and of course also old. 

If there is a tall tale that for some reason, 
No-one wants to hear, 
There are ancient one with preserved wine - 
We will listen to them without moving. 

The wind is loud, 
An ember whispers, 
And night falls on us 
From evening to dawn
Tell us, brother, 
Please tell us, tell us a tall story... 

Tell us about the capture of Bir al-Harat, 
The night of the battles that have passed - 
How Yossale sheltered from three hundred they decreased 
On the night of darkness he took out a sniper 

Brother, guys, I'll mention Tzipke in battle, 
From head to toe he was ready, 
It was as sweet as an apple in the fall, 
It was huge and a killer ... 

The wind ….

We will remember how on the night of the breakthrough to Atlit, 
We burst into the kitchen, 
One of the grandfathers who we let decide, 
Which must have been the Palmach ... 

You still remember: On the black Sabbath, 
In a hidden cache topography materials 
The cache holder was forgotten ... And when the day came, 
They found only a photographer ... 

The wind ... 

We will remember the company's journey through the desert, 
And the redness of fires on the mountain, 
We will remember the same crawl to the radar, 
Remember how one never came back ... 

But a day will come and the fire will still burn, 
And the moon will sail above our houses

And around the campfire some tall tales, some tall tales 
Perhaps they will also talk about us ... 

The wind...