Alabar quiero a Dio que es grande de loores, que creó para el hombre tantas maneras de flores. Y todas son diferentes en color y en olores, entres todas las mejores es el almizcle romí. Sobre todo es de alabar A’El Hai, Sur Olamim. Ajuntáronse las flores alabar al Dio a una, que las creó tan donosas, lindas, sin tacha ninguna. Dicen berajot en ellas como dicen en la luna, así dice cada una: no hay más mejor que mí. Sobre todo es de alabar… Respondió la clavellina: - Más grandes son mis famas, que soy mesa de novias y me llevan en las palmas y me mandan por presente a todas las lindas damas, me quieren como sus almas, todas se adoran con mí. Sobre todo es de alabar… Y hablo la albahaca: - Como mí no hay tal, Que yo soy verde y menudita, mi color muy natural; a mí me crecen árboles como barrotes de metal; como el guisado sin sal son las rosas sin mí. Sobre todo es de alabar… La azucena quiso cantar una cantica galana: - A mí me toca alabar, que soy rosa de ventana; mi aceite hace crecer cabello a las galanas y mi olor es tan bueno que se desmayan por mí. Sobre todo es de alabar…
I want to praise God,
who is great in praises,
who created for mankind
so many kinds of flowers.
And all are different
in color and in scent, among them all, the best
is the spikenard.
Above all, to be praised
is the Living God, Rock of Worlds. The flowers gathered together
to praise God as one,
who made them so graceful,
lovely, without any flaw.
They say blessings through themselves
as one says over the moon
and each one says the same:
There is none better than me.
Above all, to be praised… The carnation answered:
– Greater still is my fame:
I am the wedding-table flower,
they carry me in their palms,
they send me as a present
to all the lovely ladies.
They love me like their souls,
they all adorn themselves with me.
Above all, to be praised… And the basil spoke:
– There is none like me,
for I am green and tiny,
my color very natural.
branches grow from me
like rods of metal;
like stew without salt
so are roses without me.
Above all, to be praised… The lily wished to sing
a charming little song:
– It is my place to praise,
for I am the window rose.
My oil makes grow
the hair of the fair women,
and my scent is so fine
they faint because of me.
Above all, to be praised…
Jerusalem National Sound Archives placement: Y5238/26 This copla, which serves a paraliturgical function, is traditionally sung at home around the table during the holiday of Tu Bishvat. It offers a charming portrayal of various flowers, each one extolling its own virtues—its beauty, usefulness, and grace - as it makes the case for being the one chosen to bless God. In the recurring refrain, however, all the flowers are affirmed as equally beautiful and equally worthy of praising their Creator. The text was composed by Rabbi Yehuda Cal’i and, although it was frequently printed in presses throughout the Ottoman Empire, it now survives only in oral tradition, specifically among the Sephardic communities of northern Morocco.
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