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The day he was gone her suitor arrived. I don’t know what else to call him. He advertised himself as my uncle, but he didn’t have our famous cheekbones and Tatar eyes. He couldn’t have belonged to…
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
[…] I want to tell you about my brother’s ghost.
I had so looked forward to seeing him again: my Schorschi, my Czech brother, who had sent us a few postcards from Theresienstadt. But he wasn’t there…
Among the very few possessions my parents were permitted to take with them when they emigrated as refugees from Austria to Bolivia in June 1939 was a box camera and two family photo…
The Jews in the Warsaw ghetto were tormented; they experienced terrible things. But from time to time they also experienced fine and wonderful things. They suffered. But they also loved. Except that…
I was born on Saturday, 7 March 1936, towards nine in the evening, in a maternity clinic located at 19 Rue de l’Atlas, in the xixth arrondissement of Paris. My father, I believe, was the one who…
With zeal and zest I threw myself into the work to help assemble archive materials. I was entrusted to be the custodian, I hid the material. Besides me, no one knew. I confided only in my friend Hersh…
One week later, as we returned from work, there, in the middle of the camp, in the Appelplatz, stood a black gallows.
We learned that soup would be distributed only after roll call, which lasted…
After the war with Spain came another war. The postman, though, he stopped coming. Well, actually, he didn’t stop. What I mean is, he didn’t stop in. Papa always waited for him by the balcony, he’d be…
There was a rumpled old Polish man who boarded in the apartment of our building’s superintendent. With baggy pants, fraying suspenders, a wrinkled hat, and a wooden cane, he looked like the lovable…