Truth Comes in Blows
I’d known right away that I’d dressed all wrong for the interview, and I sensed even this early that it was becoming a formality. I’d prepared myself to play it in Jack Carter’s cool way. But the imp of outspokenness in me now broke loose and decided to make it interesting. “As I understand it, the few spots for Jews at Yale are intensely…
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My Grandmother, the Censor
There are two things I ought to make clear. First, almost as soon as she starts telling me about her career (as we wade through the sleet from the bus stop to the market), my grandmother declares that…
Hotel Bolivia: The Culture of Memory in a Refuge from Nazism
Among the very few possessions my parents were permitted to take with them when they emigrated as refugees from Austria to Bolivia in June 1939 was a box camera and two family photo…
The Author of Himself
The Jews in the Warsaw ghetto were tormented; they experienced terrible things. But from time to time they also experienced fine and wonderful things. They suffered. But they also loved. Except that…
Local Notes
The Moshava of Pardes-Hannah is the place I come from, but since I left it, my eyes have been turned away from it, as if I couldn’t look at it. Until I went to the army, the Moshava was a whole place…
Hiding Places: A Father and His Sons Retrace Their Family’s Escape from the Holocaust
[…] I made the mistake of stopping in for Sabbath services. Dutifully I tried praying but was distracted by the dance of light reflecting from people’s wedding rings on the walls. When everyone stood…
The Letters That Never Came
After the war with Spain came another war. The postman, though, he stopped coming. Well, actually, he didn’t stop. What I mean is, he didn’t stop in. Papa always waited for him by the balcony, he’d be…