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A warm, breezy day in July, and beneficent providence has set for me a sumptuous lunch overlooking God's own landscape near Tanglewood, on the patio at Wheatleigh, the poshest hotel in the Berkshires. This is theoretically a business lunch.
Features by Janet Tassel "He who reads his people's literature in translation," said the Hebrew-Yiddish poet Chaim Nahman Bialik, "is like one who kisses his mother's face through a veil." True, Bialik, we might answer, but how else shall we read? Are we not orphans now, illiterate? Those mothers, indeed most of the world's Yiddish speakers--11 million before the Holocaust--are gone.
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