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What more can I add? Will I tell my readers about the disreputable attributes that prevail among those coming from exile, about gratuitous hatred, discord, vain squabbles over a place in the synagogue…
Our literature is like our people: most of it is planted in lands of the exile, and just a few seedlings, which have not yet developed, whose quality cannot be discussed, have begun to flourish in our…
Our state is young, with a girl’s years, just fourteen. Still without her shoes, as the poet says. But she seems old, many generations old. In these few years, old age has pounced on her. No one is…