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Household of eight.
Beds are two.
When it gets late,
What do they do?
Three with father,
Three with mother:
Limbs
Over each other.
When it’s night
And they go to bed,
Mother begins
To wish she…
My day—
Is punctured like a sieve,
And ridiculed like a whim.
May winter whiteness blossom,
May autumns turn gray,
May summers whistle—
Become nightingales.
When a rye-wind
Would have twisted my…
Once upon a time the tsadik Rebbe Levi Yitsḥak of Berditshev was in the city of Polonnoye, and an acquaintance approached him. He [the acquaintance] was an extremely poor man, with three sons and two…
Always, by the time the humid, breathless, summer night lifted its veil and a quiet, rosy dawn emerged, when some glimmers of soft, opaque light began to filter through the dried muddy, dusty window…
The question arises: How did my mother, who, with her first husband, the feldsher, resided in spacious rooms, with brass handles on the doors, come to be with Father, a village Jew who…
Aged woolen women, like old siddurim—moldy, mossy
Bound in coarse canvas;
Pointless bellies dangling after them like empty sacks,
Dried-out breasts, like horseradish roots, swaying back and forth.…
The third whistle. Reb Zerakh Lilienthal clutched his beloved family to his heart, kissed them, and boarded the train. He did not have the strength to wish them well yet again. His throat was so tight…
On a seasonable Saturday morning, Itchele decided that the time had finally come to get even with the butchers for their bloody triumph before the holiday. He got together a bunch of young toughs and…