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Much has already been written about the Jewish colonies in the Crimea. Unfortunately, most of the information is buried under a mountain of statistics, historical data, and political…
I am Mani Leyb, whose name is sung—
In Brownsville, Yehupets, and farther, they know it:
Among cobblers, a splendid cobbler; among
Poetical circles, a splendid poet.
A boy straining over the…
Laboring women, suffering women
Women who languish in factory and home—
Why stand at a distance, why build not our temple
Of humanity’s joy, and of freedom sublime?
Help us to bear the red banner…
Bruce Davidson took a series of photographs documenting the construction of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. This one, with its dramatic, almost abstract composition, was taken in 1963, the year before…
[ . . . ] [T]here was a lecture in the big union hall on the topic of Soviet food policy. The wife of our protagonist also wanted to go and listen. You didn’t…
Yesterday, I dumped on my son the following story:
That my father was a cyclops and, of course, had one eye,
That my fifteen brothers wanted to devour me,
So, I barely got myself out of their…
In Brownsville tenements the kitchen is always the largest room and the center of the household. As a child I felt that we lived in a kitchen to which four other rooms were annexed. My mother, a “home…
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek…
I have a son, a little son,
a youngster mighty fine!
and when I look at him I feel
that all the world is mine.
But seldom do I see him when
he’s wide awake and bright.
I always find him sound…
I would be a traitor to these poor burned bodies if I came here to talk good fellowship. We have tried you good people of the public and we have found you wanting. The old Inquisition had its rack and…