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We were too late. The pogrom erupted that very night, suddenly, like an exploding mine, and in my own neighborhood.
The first screams came to me confused, in a hazy dream. Then it dawned on me what…
I doubt if the Dreyfus case made such a stir anywhere as it did in Kasrilevka.
Paris, they say, seethed like a boiling vat. The papers carried streamers, generals shot themselves, and small boys ran…
. . . 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…