His eyes will be darker than wine, his teeth whiter than milk.
Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaints? Who has needless bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes?
He will tether his donkey to a vine, his colt to the choicest branch; he will wash his garments in wine, his robes in the blood of grapes.
“Zebulun will live by the seashore and become a haven for ships; his border will extend toward Sidon.