Across fields and a white ridge, across a mundane sun sinking in the abyss of the sea, we shall accompany you, week of toil and productivity, as you leave us.

May your light shine upon us, Shabbat candle, and our mouths utter a pure and simple prayer, the joy of the farmer in the field, who plants and works the land all week long.

We shall long for your light, and our hearts beat with hope, that we know no loss - and bestow abundance on our estate.