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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 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…
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…