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It is possible, it is very possible, that here it is impossible to live, but here we must remain, here we must die, sleep…there is no other place…—Y. H. Brenner
For Elie Wiesel
Not literally. Due to my father’s foresight (he had shown it when leaving Vienna in 1924), I came to America in January 1940, during the phony war. We left France, where I was born and…
Not fire and sun—but our blood will redden, Oh Zion, your mountains—
Right after disembarking and finishing my business with the numruk [custom house], I hurried to Petah Tikva. My friends implored…
Before continuing my story about the events in Pinsk in the summer of 1940, I would like to digress briefly into the realm of the miraculous. Let us imagine the impossible—something fantastic and…
With the first morning light I got up and looked out on the landscape of the Jerusalem Hills. I looked toward the nearby border. One of my relatives told me how the well in our house…
To be in exile, with a religious or historical sense that one is exiled, is to have already a mission and purpose in life. One’s clear project then is to end the exile and to return to…