Here's the song from an english version Primo Levi's moving novel, If Not Now, When?

Do you recognise us? We're the sheep of the ghetto,
Shorn for a thousand years, resigned to outrage.
We are the tailors, the scribes and the cantors,
Withered in the shadow of the cross.
Now we have learned the paths of the forest,
We have learned to shoot, and we aim straight.
If I'm not for myself, who will be for me?
If not this way how? And if not now, when?

Our brothers have gone to heaven
Through the chimneys of Sobibor and Treblinka,
They have dug themselves a grave in the air.
Only we few have survived
For the honour of our submerged people
For revenge and to bear witness.
If I'm not for myself, who will be for me?
If not this way how? And if not now, when?

We are the sons of David, the hardheaded sons of Masada.
Each of us carries in his pocket a stone
That shattered the forehead of Goliath.
Brothers, away from this Europe of graves:
Let us climb together towards the land
Where we will be men among men.
If I'm not for myself, who will be for me?
If not this way how? And if not now, when?