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Savitsky, the commander of the Sixth Division, rose when he saw me, and I was taken aback by the beauty of his gigantic body. He rose—his breeches purple, his crimson cap cocked to the side, his…
I dragged my belongings over to Grandmother’s, my books, my music stand, and my violin. The table had already been set for me. Grandmother sat in the corner. I ate. We didn’t say a word. The door was…
On the eve of the Sabbath I am always tormented by the dense sorrow of memory. In the past on these evenings, my grandfather’s yellow beard caressed the volumes of Ibn Ezra. My old grandmother, in her…