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Gray as a dove, toward evening, my grandfather came from the pasture;
He made up his bed and said a prayer of confession,
Then inwardly bade his farewell to the world
And closed his eyes, utterly…
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…
May the language of truth be established forever, or as the poet …
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…
With gentle fingers
The rain is softly
Playing sad melodies
On the black instrument of night.
We are sitting in the darkness,
Each in his own house
(The children have fallen asleep)
Listening…
In the middle of the summer Meir’s father gave in to his uncle and aunt’s pleas and went away with them to spend a week in the country, and in obedience to his request Meir went over to the apartment…