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Hush little baby. Forty-six years now
the night has rocked itself in my empty cradle
Now a gray head is rocked to sleep with the same tune:
Standing at the cradle’s head
No angel with two white wings…
This urn will be made of fired clay
Of native soil, from Poland, my country
In it are lodged the ashes of my parents
My brothers, daughter, and wife.
The urn will be simple, like a jug
With a small…
The years have done their work. After a couple of years I appealed to the wife of Yuta’s son Uri to bring Iza to see her mother before leaving for the army. She is a fine girl from our village who…
Meanwhile Joy was telling me things about her life that I’d never known as a single-minded kid searching the neighborhood for a grape to burst—Joy was tossing into this agitated pot of memory called…
Many years later, in London, Father was once again revealed to me in that long-ago evening in Ramat Poriya, sitting on the fence with the Kinnereth lying like a carcass behind him, but this time the…
The Last Breath is one of the genre paintings depicting the lives of fishermen and their families for which Jozef Israëls was best known. In this scene, a woman is weeping over the body of her husband…
[…] I want to tell you about my brother’s ghost.
I had so looked forward to seeing him again: my Schorschi, my Czech brother, who had sent us a few postcards from Theresienstadt. But he wasn’t there…
Hear O Israel, in the depths of our home
There lives alone the empty room
What will we do with it, that empty room
What will we do with it, that empty room
Shall we enter and shove ourselves between…
At three in the morning, Rabbi Sholem Tuvim returned home from visiting his sick father. His father was in great need of comfort, and he, Reb Sholem, would have stayed by him the entire night if the…
And I didn’t have time.
Now it is certain
I didn’t have time.
Half my life.
It is now allowed
To be silent.
My shadows grow
With the stride of the sun.
I am the man
Who didn’t have time.