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The train pulls up to the platform, steaming and boiling like a samovar.
Lazar is standing on the platform—short, glowing, joyful—waving his dirty handkerchief at the cars.
The train is on its way to…
The heder was in the basement. It was a dark, damp room with a low ceiling. There were two windows on the ground level. In the middle of the room, there was a long wooden table covered with books, two…
Avigdor walked beyond the city limits of Tel Aviv into the endless stretch of sand. He had never seen such sand. He walked among the sand dunes, as in a forest, seeing nothing except the glaring sands…
. . . An empty street. An unfamiliar shack. A tightly shut gate. And hanging over the gate, over the dead street, over us all—a Cossack cap with a raspberry-colored band. A trail of smoke from an…
[ . . . ] And the Lieutenant-Captain was seriously tired of other people’s passports, of never-ending family names, from Ivanov to Chavchavadze, and of registration.
The barrister has been…
“The tragic element in Shostakovich’s worldview” is the subject of longstanding debate. Was it a prophetic dream of Soviet Jewry, the spirit of which weighed on Shostakovich even in his youth? His…
This is how things go with your average Jew. But Hershele is not your average Jew. It wasn’t by chance that he was famous in all of Ostropol, in all of Berdichev, and in all of Vilyuisk.
Hershele…
About Grzhebin on canvas, about Grzhebin in the flesh. Since the letter is written in a penitent mood, the trademark of the Grzhebin Publishing House is affixed. Here too are several…
He and I rarely spoke of God. He didn’t want to listen to another one of my blasphemous speeches, and I knew it was like talking to a brick wall—you could never convince him of anything.
But once—by…
Why weren’t my family evacuated? Well, at the beginning nobody thought the Germans would get as far as us. Of course, there was the first shock of their sudden attack and their rapid advance, but…