“This is non-trivial prose, combining paradoxical thinking with the desire to more deeply understand the nature of the spirituality of their people.” Dina Rubina

“In addition to all his other shortcomings or advantages - it depends only on the position of the observer - Tetelboim was different extreme right-wing views. The principle once learned in GROB (civil defense) lessons: not an inch of native land to the enemy - he carried through the vicissitudes and perturbations of Israeli reality like a holy banner. Tetelboim included those who did not share his views into the detachment of “faggots,” and especially the malicious ones, he classified them as a subspecies of “purulent fagots.” All other humanity was classified as “goats.” Being absolutely convinced that he was right, he had long ago stopped paying attention to arguments and facts, classifying the former as fagot propaganda, and the latter to the promotion of fagotism. In short, he was an interesting and witty conversationalist.” From the story “Terrible Skoda”

“Walking along the other side of the street once again, from afar he noticed a crowd gathered in front of the office. Excited onlookers surrounded the askew-parked ambulance and the dark blue police car in a tight ring. “What happened?” - asked the Righteous One, crossing the street. No one answered him. “They’re carrying it,” someone shouted from the open front door. The crowd parted, and the orderlies busily pulled out two pairs of stretchers, one after the other. Under the bloody sheets the outlines of human bodies could be discerned. A gust of wind threw back the corner of the sheet and the Righteous One saw the pale blue face of the president. There was a black dent in the middle of his forehead.— Control shot,” commented the crowd. “A professional was working.” “They ordered it, then,” another voice agreed indifferently. The righteous man turned around sharply, but did not have time to see the speaker. “Some thieves killed others,” said the red-faced woman, tightly tied with a cheap scarf, angrily. - They tore off some glass, no shame, no conscience. People have nothing to eat, and they, ugh,” the grandmother spat and rubbed the saliva with her foot. “It’s not good to spit on the dead,” said the same voice. “It’s okay to spit on thieves,” the grandmother snapped and spat again.” From the story “The Righteous Man”

“When the secretary announced the arrival of another visitor, Gever did not pay any attention to her. He didn’t even raise his head as he finished reading the urgent paper. Every day dozens of petitioners came to his office, and everyone wanted to talk exactly with the owner. As a rule, their business ended with a small amount, so Gever kept small money in a drawer of his desk. Finishing the letter, he automatically pulled out the drawer and stuck his hand into it. Raising his head, he froze with his hand in the writing drawer. Mahlat stood in front of him, even more beautiful than when they parted, and their common child, a little curly demon, was sleeping in her arms. “Father realized a long time ago that you guessed,” said Mahlat. “And he sent me to you.” Gever was silent. What was happening seemed like a dream, a fantasy, a bad fairy tale. Mahlat burst into tears. “Is it my fault that I was born a demon?” Is it the child's fault that you are his father? And we want a little love and joy. We are your family too! Gever was silent. He expected anything, but not such a turn of events. The child woke up, shook his forehead, looked at Hever and began to cry. Mahlat sat down on a chair, without hesitation, exposed her strong young breasts and put the swollen nipple into the baby’s mouth. He pressed himself close to her and began to suck greedily. Thousands of different thoughts, plans and decisions flashed through Hever’s head. But the naked breast raised in him a wave of such insane lust that all these plans, thoughts and decisions instantly evaporated, disappeared without a trace, like sea foam under the heat of the midday sun. “We don’t need anything,” said Mahlat. - Just let me live in the basement of your hacienda. Nobody will know about us. We will be very careful, we know how, you know who we are.” Gever nodded.” From the story “Demons in the Synagogue, or Love on the Island of Devils”