A passes cegues per la terra

Reading Rokhman brutally changes one's understanding of one's cultural universe: of what Western books have said, and of the mountain range formed by the most original works, those that are essential. Between Proust and Lispector, an immense peak suddenly appears. How is it possible that no one had seen it before? How could such an immense work be hidden? It suffices that the language in which it was written has disappeared from the continent where it was once spoken by millions of people, from Berlin to Vilnius and Odessa.
And what can one talk about in a dead language? About the fall of a barrier that we imagine to be real between those who belong to the air and those who belong to the dust. About the revolt of the dead. And about the living beings who wander across the earth because everywhere they were told that they were not wanted as neighbours. This novel is the freest formal invention in response to the heaviest obligation: to tell how the world looks like through the eyes of someone who is denied the sacred value of life, condemned by others to be the recipient of the seed of hatred. No barrier, no taboo, can contain this expression. For us, that we do not speak the Yiddish of the Jews murdered by our tenacious will to eradicate them, is a journey unlike any other. Following the thread of blood that runs through our world to this day. This is the first work to be translated directly from Yiddish into Catalan, thanks to Joan Ferrarons, Kafka's translator.