It was not built by fleshly kin nor drawn from tribal claim,

But called from every scattered soul who bears Yahowah’s Name.

No birthright passed by blood alone, no rite or temple seal,

But by the Word & willing walk, a bond profound & real.

Before a nation rose from stone, before the tablets cracked,

The Covenant was whispered clear where idols held no pact.

With Avram called from Ur’s dark gate, a promise set apart,

To walk away, to trust the Voice, to write Yah in the heart.

It is not forged in legal writ nor bought by tithe or creed,

But sealed in Towrah’s living light, in every selfless deed.

Its sign is not in circumcised or garments worn with pride,

But seen in those who set themselves from compromise aside.

It is a bond not bound by flesh, nor inked in priestly scroll,

But in the breath of covenant where Yahowah makes whole.

It’s in the rhythm of the days, the Mow’ed kept precise,

A cadence drawn in starlit time, not lit by fire twice.

The Family grows not through a church nor mosque nor kingdom’s fence,

But through the Ruach’s quiet pull, through Yah’s intelligence.

It speaks one language: Towrah truth. It walks one narrow Way,

It keeps the Miqra’ey intact, & sanctifies each day.

Its mother is the Set-Apart Breath, She nurtures every one,

She writes the Word on hearts made clean & lifts them to the Son.

Not “Jesus,” false, nor dead men’s bones, nor fathers dressed in gold,

But Dowd, beloved shepherd-king, the branch the prophets told.

She hovers as in Bereshyth, She breathes in sacred fire,

She teaches through the quiet path, not through the preacher’s choir.

She is the light in Yowbel’s call, the wind in Taruw’ah’s blast,

The soft reminder in the dark of promises that last.

She teaches through the Miqra’ey, aligns us in each feast,

She speaks through Shabuw’ah’s flame & Sukah’s joy increased.

She is the oil in Menorah’s lamp, the dew on Horeb’s grass,

The Counselor, the Mother’s voice, that none but truth surpass.

It gathers every willing soul from Babel’s scattered shore,

& grafts them not in foreign roots, but back to Yah once more.

It doesn’t beg or bend to rule or seek a priestly seat,

It walks with sandals dusted bare on Yahowah’s own street.

There is no pulpit in this house, no altar built for flame,

For every child within this fold bears Yahowah’s great Name.

They do not tithe by man-made law nor sing by pagan tune,

They feast when Yah instructs to meet beneath His set-apart moon.

Their meals are wrapped in Matsah’s truth, their breath in Shabuw’ah’s fire,

They rest beneath Sukah’s great joy, their steps do not retire.

They count the days with Bikkurym’s rise, they hear Taruw’ah’s call,

They reconcile with Yowm Kipur, when pride & pretense fall.

Their walk reflects the covenant—a pattern etched in flame,

Each Feast a witness to Yah’s plan, each step reveals His Name.

They gather on Pesach’s threshold, they purge with Matsah’s light,

They rise with those first fruits who wake into the right.

They guard the seven appointments, not to earn but to align,

Their calendar not Roman made, but timed with Yah’s design.

Each Shabat a sacred welcome sign, a rest that testifies,

That man was not made for the lie, nor Towrah compromised.

They do not need man’s stamp or cross, no Eucharist or bead,

They hold the Covenant in full—Yah’s Word their only creed.

They rise with Ruach’s whispered wind, they walk where few will go,

They know the Name, they guard the path, they learn, observe, & grow.

This Family is not claimed by sword nor spread through fearful wars,

It’s drawn by those who love the light, not those who guard locked doors.

Their bloodline is the upright path, their DNA is trust,

Their legacy is not in land, but rising from the dust.

They are not ruled by hierarchy, nor crowned by earthly reign,

Their King is Dowd, their guide is Towrah, their strength is not in vain.

They listen for the still small Voice, not thunder of a stage,

They leave behind religion’s mask & walk beyond its cage.

They carry Yah’s authority, not through control or force,

But by reflection of His light—by staying on His course.

Their inheritance is life itself, their portion not in gold,

But in the presence of the One whose promises were told.

So if you hear the Shepherd call, & recognize His Name,

& leave behind tradition’s chains & walk apart from shame—

Then you are grafted, born anew, through Towrah’s sacred tree,

& in this Covenant Family you are forever free.