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On the eve of the Sabbath I am always tormented by the dense sorrow of memory. In the past on these evenings, my grandfather’s yellow beard caressed the volumes of Ibn Ezra. My old grandmother, in her…
Contributor:
Isaac Babel
Date:
1924
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Do you remember Zhitomir, Vasily? Do you remember the River Teterev, Vasily, and that night in which the Sabbath, the young Sabbath, crept along the sunset crushing the stars with the heel of her red…
Contributor:
Isaac Babel
Date:
1924
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Vavilova’s face was dark and weather-beaten, and it was odd to see it blush.
“Why are you laughing?” she said finally. “It’s all so stupid.”
Kozyrev took the paper from the table, looked at it, and…
Contributor:
Vasily Grossman
Date:
1934
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Her Yoysef was hanging on the shaft of the well. His beard lay humbly on his breast. His fallen shoulders and feebly dangling hands expressed the most profound hopelessness. What can I do? A stone has…
Contributor:
Rivke Rubin
Date:
1943
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Meylekh Snitkever takes the heavy shears and looks at them silently. He holds them in both hands as if to weigh them. Then he shifts his stare to me, the muscles moving in his jaws, which are covered…
Contributor:
Yekhiel Falikman
Date:
1945