Friday, December 30, 2016


But on her face, as she trudged along, hugging the pole of the great pennant that flapped in the breeze, was stamped a look! . . . It wasn't merely a look. It was a story. It was a tragedy. It was the story of a people . . . It spoke eloquently of pogroms, of massacres, of Kiev and its sister-horror, Kishineff. You saw mean and narrow streets, and carefully darkened windows, and, on the other side of those windows the warm yellow glow of the seven-branched Shabbos light. Above this there shone the courage of a race serene in the knowledge that it cannot die.
—Edna Ferber, Fanny Herself

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