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In all these rotten shops, in all this broken furniture
and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots
I have never seen a post-war Philco
with the automatic eye
nor heard Ravel’s “Bolero”…
[…] In my confusion
I didn’t know how to answer my detractors, those
who brand me
a poseur because I pronounce the c in the Castilian manner or I say fellow instead of guy (I love)
miscegenations
(pe…
Technically I was a man.This spindly squeaky thing with the Adam’s-apple accent was, by virtue of being thirteen and bar-mitzvahed, a technical man.And so the phone call came: they needed a tenth for…
…I remember a woman
who sat on the pot where the apples cooked in the cold
basement, her face black from smoke. And here, near this brick
building with a red tile roof, is one of our family, Mausha
V…
Can you imagine the air filled with smoke?
It was. The city was vanishing before noon
or was it earlier than that? I can’t say because
the light came from nowhere and went nowhere.
This was years…
It was like this in the garden:
Ben Azzai looked and died,
Ben Zoma looked and went mad;
Akiba and I went forth in peace,
but they said I cut down the young plants.
I said that one is two…
It is April 1959, I’m standing at the railing of the Batory’s upper deck, and I feel that my life is ending. I’m looking out at the crowd that has gathered on the shore to see the ship’s departure…
My experience with discrimination—especially at the hands of the Paul, Weiss firm over my Sabbath observance—caused me an embarrassing moment during my interview for the Supreme Court clerkship I did…
[…] On my first research trip to France as a professional scholar in the summer of 1982, I set out to find the only fascist intellectual discussed in my dissertation who was still alive; his name was…
Egyptian Jewish American author André Aciman describes celebrating his last Seder in Egypt with his bags packed to leave his homeland for good.
