It’s true Leivick wasn’t particularly humble about his writing and seemed to believe he was always destined for something special — though I am getting the impression he was introverted by nature and didn’t necessarily enjoy public speaking. #Yiddish 
He seemed to like to take the opportunity to leave — in his prose pieces, he’s quite often slipping out the door and going for a wander. Perhaps it’s more about the fact that he *can* leave and exercises the option in order not to lose it.
He’s also fairly self-effacing about what he considers a ‘bad’ poem in Tsarisher Katorge, where his cellmate asks Leivick if he can translate it for him and he perseverates, saying it’s pretty bad in Yiddish and could only be worse in Russian.
Rudin, in fact, is who he hands his papers off to when he’s taken to the infirmary with typhus, telling him to either get them to his parents or destroy them.
As an further aside, something I found interesting about someone whose work is seemingly so personal, confessional and autobiographical: Sutzkever wrote that when he spent time in Israel with Leivick, he almost never used the word ‘I’.
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