ABSTRACT
My experience in zaleszczyki, my last visit to Horodenka, my little brother Senderl following Lazar Kukuck into the Beyond, the Rabbi of Czortkow’s blessing against curiosity, my father’s last look of farewell with the two tears rolling silently into his beard, the journey to Stanislau, all this weighed on my heart like an invisible sack of stones. My only comfort was my brother Leibzi, who was serving in the artillery in Stanislau and had left me the address of the baker Pietrogradski in Zosina Wolja Alley, where I was already expected.
