There Is No Death. How Can There

We Write Not Only For Children But Also For Their Parents. They, Too, Are Serious Children.

I Was Brought Up To Believe In Free Will. Although I Came To Doubt All Revelation, I Can Never Accept The Idea That The Universe Is A Physical Or Chemical Accident, A Result Of Blind Evolution. Even Though I Learned To Recognize The Lies, The Clichés And The Idolatries Of The Human Mind, I Still Cling To Some Truths Which I Think All Of Us Might Accept Some Day.

The Truth Is That What The Great Religions Preached, The Yiddish-speaking People Of The Ghettos Practiced Day In And Day Out. They Were The People Of The Book In The Truest Sense Of The Word. They Knew Of No Greater Joy Than The Study Of Man And Human Relations, Which They Called Torah, Talmud, Mussar, Cabala.

When A Day Passes, It Is No Longer There. What Remains Of It? Nothing More Than A Story. If Stories Weren't Told Or Books Weren't Written, Man Would Live Like The Beasts, Only For The Day.

Writing Has Power, But Its Power Has No Vector. Writers Can Stir The Mind, But They Can't Direct It. Time Changes Things, God Changes Things, The Dictators Change Things, But Writers Can't Change Anything.