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(Written at the end of 1939 in Havana—with thoughts about Poland)
Our poor nest eternally atremble
in the wind.
What will happen now, in bloody storm,
mayn kind?
Now, in bloody storm . . . ?
The…
I was born in Tunisia, in Tunis, a few steps from that city’s large ghetto. My father, a harness maker, was somewhat pious, naturally somewhat so, as were all men of his trade and his station in life…
A friend hinted to me that participating in such a discussion would be a tactical error, akin to walking into a minefield. Perhaps. I don’t believe in…
Yesterday morning Roi was murdered. He was lulled by the quiet of the spring morning and did not notice those lying in wait in the furrow.
Today, let us not cast aspersions at the murderers. How can…
“The living faith has vanished. . . . All that remains is poetry!” A superficial observer of life in the ghetto might come to more or less the same conclusion about the way…
I am beginning to get used to the years of war. We seem to struggle through the same journey from first of January to first of January, in a nightmare that is itself beginning…
Dearest Kitty,
Mr. Bolkestein, the Cabinet Minister, speaking on the Dutch broadcast from London, said that after the war a collection would be made of diaries and letters…
Her Yoysef was hanging on the shaft of the well. His beard lay humbly on his breast. His fallen shoulders and feebly dangling hands expressed the most profound hopelessness. What can I do? A stone has…
Jews, let us be cheerful!
It won’t be long, don’t fear—
The war will soon be over.
Their end is very near.
Cheerful, don’t you worry.
Don’t go around so sad.
Have both hope and patience—
Bear things…
I don’t know what possessed me, but I decided to take the guided tour of Frankfurt. The minute I set eyes on the American tourists and heard the practiced laugh with which the…