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No one paid any attention to Aronek. He took a piece of bread from the cupboard, chose the largest carrot, and went to the neighbors.
At the widow Gitel’s it was warm and clean. From the ceiling hung…
He then returned to his city, filled with bitterness, humiliated, oppressed, and weak. He found his wife Ḥaya—who had been a picture of robust health and womanly valor when he had set out on his…
The author is not among those who adhere to the doctrine that “money talks.” Knowledge talks, conscience talks, but money is merely counted—more by some, less by others. If the author…
I have the good luck to be a Polish Jew.
If I were a Greek Jew, a Dutch Jew, a Turkish Jew, or some other kind of Jew, I would be miserable. Who would pay any attention to me and who would be…
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…
Alpersohn’s narrative about the early days of Colonia Mauricio blames the Jewish Colonization Association’s local administrators for the colonists’ suffering.
. . . 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…
Inside the house they took their seats. Though it was lighter than a few evenings before, a bulb or two would have helped. Eli had to hold his briefcase towards the window for the last gleamings. He…