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In these years of the 1880s, as anti-Semitism raged all over Russia, there were only two ways for the Jews. Either give up all that had become essential to them, in the name of Judaism; or take the…
One of the more bitter days of my life that I will never ever forget is the 17th Adar 5677 [11 March 1917] at dawn when I was already being sought [the authorities had already dogged my footsteps and…
One of the comrades on sick call had a chat with an army guard. This is the account he gave:
“How stupid can you get, I ask you, what are the limits of human stupidity! This…
[ . . . ] The two worlds, in my childhood, were not really separate. The synagogue in Graham Street, to which we walked across the Meadows every Saturday morning, was as much a part of the Edinburgh…
My childhood, if we’re speaking of relations at home, was exceptionally easy; I never felt a need to rebel against my parents’ conservatism. I encountered no gates to break through—they were all…
The Readers Digest Magazine broke the American silence attending the massacre of the Jews in February, 1943. It printed my article called “Remember Us,” based on Dr. [Hayim] Greenberg’s data. Reading…
If I had to pick one defining moment in my Iranian life, it would be 5:00 a.m. one Friday in the fall of 1968. I was fifteen. Normally I woke to the sounds of a peddler selling green almonds and fava…
Ruschuk, on the lower Danube, where I came into the world, was a marvelous city for a child, and if I say that Ruschuk is in Bulgaria, then I am giving an inadequate picture of it. For…
Stanislaw often told me how much he liked my company, and sometimes he wondered about my Jewishness: “Look at yourself! You cannot be Jewish!” he would exclaim. And yet whenever he spoke to me about…
This is Camille Pissarro’s last self-portrait, painted in his Paris apartment. The artist has seated himself in front of a window, perhaps reflecting the fact that many of his paintings of Paris…
