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Iofin’s portrait of his parents, painted before his emigration from the Soviet Union, was a sly protest against Socialist Realism. He painted in the style but parodied it by overloading his picture…
Contributor:
Michael Iofin
Date:
1984
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The train pulls up to the platform, steaming and boiling like a samovar.
Lazar is standing on the platform—short, glowing, joyful—waving his dirty handkerchief at the cars.
The train is on its way to…
Contributor:
David Khait
Date:
1928
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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…
Contributor:
Doiv Ber Levin
Date:
1932
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. . . 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…
Contributor:
Mark Egart
Date:
1933–1934
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Pass on, pass on, you lonely grandfathers,
With frightened beards covered with snow,
In the last sorrow, in the final grief
You’re still here, the final witnesses.
Pass on, pass on, you lonely…
Contributor:
Izi Charik
Date:
1926
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Mikhail Trakhman was one of several Soviet photographers dropped behind enemy lines by Sovinformburo, the main Soviet agency for the distribution of war-related information, to report on partisans who…
Contributor:
Mikhail Trakhman
Date:
1942
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Why weren’t my family evacuated? Well, at the beginning nobody thought the Germans would get as far as us. Of course, there was the first shock of their sudden attack and their rapid advance, but…
Contributor:
Anatoli Rybakov
Places:
Moscow, Russia
Date:
1978
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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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Ay, a lifetime buzzed away . . . what is it, all in all? A dream, a short Friday in winter. . . .
Most people start to philosophize after a savory pot roast and a shot of liquor. Reb Nakhmen the…
Contributor:
Yekhiel Shraybman
Date:
1973
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Had I fastened
The cradle on a rafter,
And rocked it—and rocked it.
My little son, my Yankl.
But the house has vanished
Into a fiery dome,
How then can I rock
My little son, my own?
Had I…
Contributor:
Shike Driz
Date:
1953