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Let the sun come up today,
Let the morning shine,
All the prayers and plaintive words,
Won’t bring us back to life.
For we whose light is darkened now,
Are covered by the dust,
The bitter tears…
Oh prairie, endless prairie,
The eyes of the herdsmen look out:
Not a bush, not a thistle, not a tree,
A new wind comes to the desert.
Over forlorn expanses the song of the herdsmen
Will sound and…
With this number, Di yugend passes into new hands—the hands of its writers.
It is no secret that Yiddish writers, especially young Yiddish writers—and most of the contributors to this monthly journal…