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Things were looking pretty bleak, when my wife’s prewar acquaintance brought a ray of hope into our small room.
If you too were an artist, you might be able to appreciate how impatiently my wife and I…
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…
Thus there began to form, or to show itself within me that heart so proud and yet so tender, that effeminate and yet indomitable character which, constantly vacillating between weakness and courage,…
I was born in Tunisia, in Tunis, a few steps from that city’s large ghetto. My father, a harness maker, was somewhat pious, naturally somewhat so, as were all men of his trade and his station in life…
The story of my life is only exceptional in that it represents a great change of identity in the heart of the Jewish people. [ . . . ]
I was born a Jewish Algerian—a French citizen to boot—and during…
In the year 5289 (1528/29), the holy martyrs of Pösing, 36 souls—men and women, youths and young girls—were arrested because of a false accusation made by a mamzer, and they died for the…
“Blessed be He who shows loving kindness to the undeserving, for he requited me with every kindness” in the dead of night, on Monday, in the early morning of the 9th of Kislew…
I wasn’t a very political adolescent. I had grown up surrounded by unexplained cautions, by ellipses, and all these silences had sealed off the public world, so that I didn’t really believe in it…