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Iofin’s portrait of his parents, painted before his emigration from the Soviet Union, was a sly protest against Socialist Realism. He painted in the style but parodied it by overloading his picture…
At the beginning of the present century a whole constellation of Jewish composers and musicians studied at the St. Petersburg Conservatory under the beneficial influence of Rimski…
Her Yoysef was hanging on the shaft of the well. His beard lay humbly on his breast. His fallen shoulders and feebly dangling hands expressed the most profound hopelessness. What can I do? A stone has…
Meylekh Snitkever takes the heavy shears and looks at them silently. He holds them in both hands as if to weigh them. Then he shifts his stare to me, the muscles moving in his jaws, which are covered…
Ay, a lifetime buzzed away . . . what is it, all in all? A dream, a short Friday in winter. . . .
Most people start to philosophize after a savory pot roast and a shot of liquor. Reb Nakhmen the…
Had I fastened
The cradle on a rafter,
And rocked it—and rocked it.
My little son, my Yankl.
But the house has vanished
Into a fiery dome,
How then can I rock
My little son, my own?
Had I…
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…
Never, before the war, had Viktor thought about the fact that he was a Jew, that his mother was a Jew. Never had his mother spoken to him about it—neither during his childhood, nor during his years as…