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My steps are set down stiffly
on tired, empty paths.
This morning a little town of Jews
called me “Anti-Semite!”
All of them in wrinkles and in rags
out there pointing at me:
“Him! That guy! We…
Modern Yiddish literature focuses upon the shtetl during its last tremor of self-awareness, the historical moment when it is still coherent and self-contained but already…
As for me, I was born in Tsviatshits and my name is Mendele the Book Peddler. Most of the year I’m on the road, travelling from one place to another, so people know me everywhere. I ride all over…
Nuska Shkolnik, who had come on a four-day leave, cried those four straight. He’d been a whiner since childhood, and Lyovka never did manage to knock that vice out of him. All anyone had to do was…
Tirzeh rose early the following morning, cooked some schav, beat in several eggs, boiled a pot of potatoes, and put the food on the table to cool. As soon as she sat down, she remembered…
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…
I and the Village combines Marc Chagall’s memories of his childhood in Vitebsk with folklorist and abstract imagery to create what scholar H. W. Janson called a “cubist fairy tale.” The dreamlike…
In the province of Mollive, there is an old woman who is known for her shtetl wisdom, her old sayings, and her folktales. I met her quite by chance. Her…
This woodcut was published in Petrograd (Saint Petersburg) after Aronson had left the Soviet Union. In it, Aronson combined elements of cubo-futurism and constructivism. Several figures can be spotted…
The heder was in the basement. It was a dark, damp room with a low ceiling. There were two windows on the ground level. In the middle of the room, there was a long wooden table covered with books, two…