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Pinkes Varshe is a memorial erected by the immigrants from Warsaw in Argentina in honor of those generations of Warsaw Jews who, with their lives and struggles, with their heroism and spirituality…
I’m seeking you, Isbilia, my sultana, on the cloudy circle of water where I spread my glance to pierce your reflection, somewhere, between the foam and the wave, on the crest of imperceptible…
This photograph of a courtyard of the Sarajevo Synagogue is included in Serotta’s 1991 book, Out of the Shadows: A Photographic Portrait of Jewish Life in Central Europe, which collected photographs…
In the middle of the summer Meir’s father gave in to his uncle and aunt’s pleas and went away with them to spend a week in the country, and in obedience to his request Meir went over to the apartment…
An old Jew asked me near the Jaffa Gate:
“Is the Saxon Garden still there? The same as ever?
Is there a fountain? At the entrance from Czysta Street
In the old days confectioners had a shop there…
A visitor came to the shtetl,
A stranger, with unrest in his step . . .
No-one recognized his unrest. No-one asked him:
“Stranger, are you weary?”
Across the blue sky the evening drew its curtain…
And so its pain is unremitting, like an amputated leg
This ash and feathery void chafes at us,
They say two willows were seen in Mazowsze
wearing green prayer shawls also a market stall
in the middle…
Before the war Bloyne was a rich and elegant Jewish town: wide streets, a large municipal park, several monuments, many tall buildings, large stores. But when the war came through, the town was…
The shtetl, lost here among Polish fields and groves, might be called Turek or Przasnysz, Konin or Maków, yet what one remembers is not the name but the old marketplace reeking of tar and dung where a…
You, my dear, will survive me and remember.
How could it be otherwise?
—From a letter
Old people? What can you write about old people?
They barely feel anything!
—From a conversation