Literature looks out for stories, and life usually isn’t one. Anton Chekhov understood this and built the bridge. With a thin brush, spreading tiny flakes of insight, he follows the change accruing in our lives, the sort not felt day by day but years later.
My "Hashiloach" essay, translated from Hebrew by Avi Woolf
גרסה אנגלית (בתרגום אבי וולף) למאמר על צ'כוב שכתבתי בעבר ל"השילוח".
מבקר חופשי 