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The God of Israel is not rich.
I saw the Sistine Chapel,
Notre-Dame, the Cathedral of Cologne—
You can feast your eyes on them, you can enjoy.
The God of Israel is stingy.
He won’t fill his museum…
I weep for you with all the letters of the alphabet
that made your hopeful songs. I saw how reason spent
itself in vain for hope, how you strove against regret—
and all the while your hearts were…
With this number, Di yugend passes into new hands—the hands of its writers.
It is no secret that Yiddish writers, especially young Yiddish writers—and most of the contributors to this monthly journal…
Every article you’ve done for us, Phil,” Minify had said, “has a kind of human stuff in it. The right answers get in it somehow.”
Sure. But he hadn’t asked for them and pried for them. When he’d…
A woman named Bella stayed behind to speak to me. Her hair was carefully waved, touched with streaks of blond, her eyes round and blue. She was not one of the shapeless old, but kept waist, hips, and…
To the Conductor: A song of David.
The heavens declare the glory of God,
the firmament tells His handiwork.
Day on day utters speech,
night on night announces knowledge.
There is no speech and…
Any literary account of the Hebrew Bible must recognize [its] quality of extreme heterogeneity. […] From one point of view, it is not even a unified collection but rather a loose anthology that…
The anthologist, like the historian and the novelist, is an autobiographer is disguise. He is driven into the jungles and watering places of literature by instinct as well as by design. The ultimate…
The case of Kafka, the acculturated Jew, shows how a man may feel his way into a body of collective history through his very consciousness of being outside it: Kafka brooded over the experience of the…
In the past few years, I have become increasingly interested in Sendak’s work, reading his books for my own pleasure as well as for the amusement of my…