Wherever I go here in my cherished homeland, be it the desert, the seacoast or the field, I sense a different melody. Strangely, if I'm playing a beautifully crafted Native American flute produced from the finest North American cedar, nothing happens. But if I take a simple flute, like the one King David played made out of a Land-of-Israel reed, it plays by itself. Here's the melody that echoed from the ruins of the Holy Tabernacle in ancient Shiloh. It reflects a haunting sadness in the beginning but finishes with determined hope in anticipation of our rebuilt Holy Temple, soon, amen!