When I started writing my stories, I thought that not only nobody outside my language, but nobody outside my neighbourhood would get them.

Hebrew is this unique thing that you cannot translate to any other language. It has to do with its history.

I tried once in my life to write a novel. I had written something like 80 pages of it when my laptop got stolen. When I told people this, they acted as if something tragic had happened, but I kind of felt relieved, grateful to the thief who saved me from another year of something that felt more like homework than fun.

I think that, in Israel, the greatest fear that people have, and I have it, too, is fear of genocide.

As the son of Holocaust survivors, this is life - you're put in a corner, and you have to get out. I believe that you can always get out.

In Israel, the role of the writer is dictated by the language in which you write. Writers see themselves as cultural prophets.

I remember a point in [writing] the story where I said, "This isn't working, I should go and buy something at the supermarket or my wife will kill me." Then I said, "No, I'll go on."