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Yosl Bergner was only twenty-one years old and living in Australia when he painted this bleak picture. Many of his paintings were drawn from memories of his childhood in Warsaw but he also portrayed…
Assimilation in our day has spoiled and distorted the essence of our festivals. It has turned Rosh Hashanah into a day of festivity filled with the sound of music and song. However, the first day of…
Would you, mama, believe if I told
That everything here is changed into gold,
That gold is made from iron and blood,
Day and night, from iron and blood?
—My son, from a mother you cannot hide—
A…
Birds are drowsing on the branches.
Sleep, my darling child.
At your cradle, in the field,
A stranger sits and sings.
Once you had another cradle
Woven out of joy.
And your mother, oh your mother
W…
Snow has fallen, with no light. A month
has gone by now or two, since autumn in its monkish cowl
brought tidings my way, a leaf from Ukrainian slopes:
“Remember it’s wintry here too, for the…
I always thought
I had been here before.
Each year of my patched-up life
I mended the fabrics
of my decrepit, tattered world.
In memory I recognized faces and smiles,
even my father and mother…
Trees cry for rain
And mountains for air.
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother;
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother.
I turn and I ask what will become of me.
In Polish lands
I am destined to die.
…
It was noon and a small boy lay on the couch in the room. The woolly coverlet prickled his back, making him toss about uncomfortably. His eyes roved across the ceiling and down the blank walls to the…
Katerine Vrublevska had thick black curly hair, large, dark velvet eyes, a pale, dreamy, longish face and was fifteen years old.
Her classmates described her skin colour as “café au lait.” She knew…
Bernardo Tzalkin stood there as though he had just been drenched with a bucket of cold water. Perplexed, at a loss for words, he tried to ask the doctor whether the boy could possibly get out of bed…