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My name is Benillouche, Alexandre Mordekhai.
How galling the smiles of my classmates! In our alley, and at the Alliance School, I hadn’t known how ridiculous, how revealing, my name could be…
It was, in fact, our aunt who had commissioned the bus. Madame Léa Josué Chanaan was our aunt and we called her Aunt Chanaan, just as we called her husband, Monsieur Josué Chanaan, our uncle, although…
Rue Sainte-Catherine, people turned as we passed. Probably because of my father’s purple suit, his Kentucky green shirt and the same old shoes with the astrakhan spats. I fondly…
When the bus disappeared, taking away their child, the Bensaïds remained on the empty sidewalk, their souls as barren as if their daughter had been carried off by death.
With a…
The author of the book in question hides behind various pseudonyms, which are promptly presented as voices from the beginning of time and as figures both familiar and strange: for he is himself a…
Work, tradesmen, shops, the town is there
with old maids polished down by emptiness
on haberdashers’ threshold where the antique sun
brushes off jewels dusty with being looked at.
Dressed up for…
The morning of the third day, Tsiporah tried to distract Noémi.
“Have you read this article?” she asked, handing her Maariv.
Noémi finished her nth cigarette, then placed the butt on the already…
Shortly before Paris was occupied, Maurice had me return to my native Morocco.
My parents—my dear parents whom I loved so much and whom I never saw again—were, alas, dead. The other members of the…
I am only this song that you place on my lips.
I am yours: yours my arms, yours my legs,
Yours my hands, yours my belly, my loins,
Yours my breasts, yours my teeth, yours my lips,
Yours my tongue…
How long did I wander in Caesarea,
That enchanting place where my heart had adored you.
—Racine, Bérénice, I, 4.
I was only a child of the peace, born into a strange postwar. How could I have…