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Finally, a town. We ride through the shtetl of Tartakuv, Jews, ruins, cleanliness of a Jewish kind, the Jewish race, little stores.
I am still ill, I’ve still not gotten back on…
You have a simplistic picture of a pogrom. A well-off and respected shopkeeper lives a proud and happy life. All at once, angels of destruction pop out of nowhere and within minutes they…
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…
[ . . . ] We have nooses fastened around our necks; when the pressure abates for a moment, we utter a cry. Its importance should not be underestimated. Many a time in history did such cries resound…
A round number. At first glance it looks silly and seems to have no specific meaning. A detached number such as this can be likened to those gray people who go through life alone and die without…
I am in hiding in a loft over a stable, in a village, with good people. The risk of death hovers over me, as it does over all Jews these days, and the slightest lapse of vigilance on my…