I can guarantee this truth: A single grain of wheat doesn’t produce anything unless it is planted in the ground and dies. If it dies, it will produce a lot of grain.
May there be plenty of grain in the land. May it wave ⌞in the breeze⌟ on the mountaintops, its fruit like ⌞the treetops of⌟ Lebanon. May those from the city flourish like the grass on the ground.
Grain is ground into flour, but the grinding eventually stops. It will be threshed. The wheels of his cart will roll over it, but his horses won’t crush it.