Mirie Litvak’s stories tell of the move from one culture to another. Like the author herself, her characters cross the narrow bridge between countries. For all their desire to merge into the life of the new country, the smells of the past, the former landscapes and the books that belong there give them no rest. Their new experiences remain stormy broken encounters, sometimes exciting, but without the power to efface the feeling of alienation and strangeness.
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Udi and Lonny meet on the beach after a routine week, and nothing has changed. Only a strange word here, a surprising glance there. And when Lonny goes home, it seems to him that something has been lost that he has failed to preserve some warm and important part of life.
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Two years before his death, Father gave me an old, dusty cardboard box. “They are our love letters, mine and your mother’s,” he said. “Want them? Or should I throw them away?”
Onegin's Love for Grandma Clara is a novel based on my parents’ love story. It took place at the time that Stalin was planning to exile all Soviet Jews to northern Siberia.
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Marianna Steinberg is leaving Paris, where rainclouds cover the sky like a protective, comforting duvet, exchanging them for the sharp, white sun of Tel Aviv, that shines cruelly on everything, exposing every wrinkle, every stain, every fold of skin.
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