The Dybbuk and Other Writings by S. Ansky
Language: English
Pages: 224
ISBN: 0300092504
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
This volume presents The Dybbuk, S. Ansky's well-known drama of mystical passion and demonic possession, along with little-known works of his autobiographical and fantastical prose fiction and an excerpt from his four-volume chronicle of the Eastern Front in the First World War, The Destruction of Galacia.
Buczacz from 1813 until his death. Among his works was Eshel Avraham (1885), annotations on the Shulhan Arukh, Oreh Hayyim. 13 / The infamous ritual murder case against Mendl Beilis was tried in Kiev in 1913. Notwithstanding immense pressure brought on it by the bureauracy and the church, the court acquitted Beilis. 14 / Mishnah Ta’anit 4:6. For more on the significance of placing an idol in a sanctuary, see my book Against the Apocalypse: Responses to Catastrophe in Modern Jewish Culture
finished her drink, seemed to come alive, and said happily: “I remember, Khanke, I remember! Twenty-eight for the kerchief and twenty-three for the skirt.” Catching the rhythm of the phrase, she joyously burst into song: “Twenty-eight for the kerchief! Twenty-three for the skirt! Twenty-eight for the kerchief! Twenty-three for the skirt!” The repetition almost roused her to dance, but she fell down instead. Lying there, she continued to drag out her ditty until she lulled herself to
“I’m not Martha! I’m Axinya!” Abramov laughed and looked around with some surprise. “Are you offended? … I guess everyone values their name … even she.” Taking Axinya by the hand, he began to speak to her softly, “All right, sit down, Axinya. Sit down and tell me who offended you.” “Your landlady! Fedosya!” “The Bourgeoisie of Life? Ha-ha-ha!” He burst into a dry feigned laugh. “That’s why I love you. The Bourgeoisie of Life offends me too!” He poured out two glasses of vodka and gave one to
munching on a slice of bread. On the bed, drunk and disheveled and muttering something in his sleep, lay her eighteen-year-old son, Grishka. “Did we wake you?” asked the landlady. “That cursed fool could wake the dead.” “What’s wrong?” “He’s what’s wrong. Just look at him,” she said, pointing toward the bed. “He drove around the whole night, wore out the horses till they were nearly dead, and all he brought home was a measly twenty kopecks.” “M … m … Manka,” stammered Grishka. “I’ll split
looked very old, like another ancient Pompeii. A phrase inscribed over the door of a burned synagogue caught my eye: “How awesome is this place”—ironically appropriate words for both the synagogue and the area as a whole. I noticed a small, undamaged brick house half sunk into the ground amidst the ruins, as if it had attempted to save itself during the fire by hiding underground. An old Jew was standing nearby, as poor and bent as the small house itself. As soon as he saw us in our uniforms he