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He sings in the courtyard, clad in rags
A small, poor chap, a crazed Jew.
People drive him away, God has muddled his wits
Ages and exile have confused his tongue
He wails and he dances, weeps and…
A calm summer night. On the horizon loom, very black, the famous woods on the tree trunks of which our ancestors are said to have carved a record of the tractates of the Talmud they had…
I see his melancholy profile as though through a mist, through the curtain of thick cloud that descended on him in his lifetime and darkened his bright trail with a multitude of vain fictions and will…