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Not fire and sun—but our blood will redden, Oh Zion, your mountains—
Right after disembarking and finishing my business with the numruk [custom house], I hurried to Petah Tikva. My friends implored…
[ . . . ] In the summer of 1903 I traveled to Russia, where I was to meet with the heads of the socialist revolutionary groups in various cities in south Russia and on the Volga…
A man over eighty is seated at his desk, looking up at an old picture, one more than fifty years old. His eyes meet with those of a beautiful old woman, a woman who was born a…
On the eve of the New Year I found myself with a new career before me. What kind of career? “I don’t know”—the American’s customary reply to every difficult question. . . . I was in New York, trying…
I lowered the window more and let the wind wash my face. As often happens when you stand at the window of a fast-moving train, a speck of dirt flew into my eye, and both eyes began to tear.
I had…
Vichy. An American car stops by the Parc des Sources, opposite the Hôtel de la Paix. Its bodywork is spattered with mud. Two men and a woman get out and walk toward the hotel entrance. The two men are…
Traveling and returning. In the
Dirt paths of her forehead
Railroad trains anchor, yellow
Carriages locomotive flowers
In the fields of liberated Europe
Traveling and returning. In the shadows
Betw…
Before the war Bloyne was a rich and elegant Jewish town: wide streets, a large municipal park, several monuments, many tall buildings, large stores. But when the war came through, the town was…
On the eve of the Day of Atonement, in the afternoon, I changed from the express to the local train that runs to my home town. The Jews who had traveled with me got…
In the days of Nicholas the First, the great tsar and emperor (May he live forever!) who…