"You are our warrior," Debbie said to him. "You and Sari. Do not easily let them take the Children of Israel, the future of our country."
It was absurd and impromptu, this word. Just there the flames, the enemy, and death. Yet words can surprise, can be more then words and this one seared through them like a bright hot poker and Debbie rushed back and added her hands to theirs, both her hands to all of theirs, and in the warmth of it they were instantly one: a single heart, a single brain, a single breast, one being, one purpose, one common goal. Jacob's hands went on top, and from his lips came the torch itself, for in hiding places and ghettos and death camps, in this black Passover week of 1942, in Hitler's death trap known as Poland, invincible forces were set in motion. This word, this concept, this Israel was riveted into an alloy stronger than any steel, an alloy to forge a great nation, a nation that their every action helped to build.
"To Zion!" Jacob shouted, and their hosannas clamored into the night. --From Two Hands Full of Sunshine