Israel

Through stone, through fire,
Through sorrow and ire.
He walks — not a saint, but alive.
Israel. A people. No peace, but pride.


He never asked to be chosen — just endured,
When the world burned down, he stitched a future.
Ashes of Europe, sirens scream,
He learned: no one saves you — you redeem.

History’s heavy, hands are rough,
He builds in dust, when hope’s not enough.
Not made of iron, but harder still,
Each scar a hymn, each breath a will.


This is courage — no parade,
Where kids grow up in the shadow of raids.
This is a people — fear’s not their end,
But a ghost that walks beside them, like a friend.


The neighbors shout — he plants his dream,
Blooms in the desert, hope in the seam.
Everything’s fragile, aimed to break,
Still he dances on a landquake.

Women with fire in unblinking eyes,
Soldiers still boys under bullet skies.
Their prayers don’t rise — they burn slow,
Courage is staying, with nowhere to go.


This is courage — no parade,
Where kids grow up in the shadow of raids.
This is a people — fear’s not their end,
But a ghost that walks beside them, like a friend.

Not saints. Not sinless.
But when they fall, they rise — wordless.
Their courage is not loud, not proud,
It grows like roots, deep in the ground.


And if one day the lights go dim,
They’ll still walk on — worn but grim.
As long as one heart still holds the flame —
Israel remains. Israel — the name.

Juicewrld Rap