everything in it. Here is an observatory where you see the stars of the sky in their orbits, and here is the grave of the RaMA, Rabbi Moses Isserlish of blessed memory along with the graves of other great Jews. Here the Magid came out and here the Mitspe is published. And at the gates of the city two enormous bones of a horrific beast stand erect, and the author of The Paths of the World wrote of them that no eye ever saw their like in all the lands of the globe. Jews wearing Shtraymls board the train, and their faces are like the faces of drawings engraved on the covers of old books. The train stayed for some time and started on its way again. And on its way, it made a stop here and it made a stop there. People get off and people get on. The Hasids keep de—
creasing and people whose business is greater than their Hasidism fill the train.
From the depths of the earth, from twisting tunnels, a mighty voice emerges. Such a tumult you never heard even in Lemberg or Cracow, for this place, Oderberg, is a railroad junction, and from here the tracks split and the trains spread out and go to many places. Since the train tends to stay here a long time, some of the passengers get out of the car and go to the railroad station. Isaac, who was scared to leave his seat lest he not find his car afterward, stood up and looked outside. He saw things that were simply amazing, like a kiosk full of newspapers. Or a man buying himself a newspaper, looking at it for a little while, and throwing it away. Newspapers did come to our hometown, too, but every newspaper counted a Minyan or two of subscribers, and after a year they bound it into a book, while here each man buys a newspaper all for himself, looks at it a bit, and throws it away.
I
Now the train left Galicia and entered the land of Silesia and the land of Moravia. Villages with thatch-roofed houses disappeared, and villages with tile roofs that turn black go on and on, and all the villages here are prettier than our cities in Galicia. And the villagers who board the car are dressed in city clothes. Their shirt doesn’t come down over their pants, and the shoes on their feet are made of leather and not of straw. But the villagers themselves behave like villagers, they spit coarsely, and when they belch they don’t cover their mouth, and their tongue is neither Polish nor Ukrainian, but a little like the former and a little like the latter, and it seems to have a singsong in-tonation. And at the side of the train they herd big horses and fat cows. And factories come after factories, and flatcars are coupled to the train full of chopped beets that look like sausages, and they make sugar from them, for there are a lot of sugar factories in this state, along with all the other factories and workshops. And they put out big chimneys as high as the sky with smoke rising above them. And at night flames burst from the iron pits and the crucibles.
And now we’re approaching Vienna. The whole earth is engraved with tracks, and countless cars are flying in every direction.
You think you’ve come to Vienna itself, but you haven’t even reached the outskirts of its outskirts.
And when the train pulled into the railroad station, the station looked like a bustling metropolis, and not a small one either, but a big one. And a jubilation erupted and rose and dignitaries and officers and gentlemen and ladies were pouring in, and in front of them and in back of them were porters loaded with bags and trunks and valises and suitcases and all kinds of fine vessels, as if they were transporting gifts to a king. Some hurry and run and some stroll and lounge. Isaac sometimes hurries and sometimes strolls, and doesn’t know whether to stand still or to walk on, whether he is jostled or whether he is moved about in the throng. But he does know that he has to go to another train that is going to Trieste. Yet the masses of people blocked his way, and it seemed he would never get out of here. And even though
creasing and people whose business is greater than their Hasidism fill the train.
From the depths of the earth, from twisting tunnels, a mighty voice emerges. Such a tumult you never heard even in Lemberg or Cracow, for this place, Oderberg, is a railroad junction, and from here the tracks split and the trains spread out and go to many places. Since the train tends to stay here a long time, some of the passengers get out of the car and go to the railroad station. Isaac, who was scared to leave his seat lest he not find his car afterward, stood up and looked outside. He saw things that were simply amazing, like a kiosk full of newspapers. Or a man buying himself a newspaper, looking at it for a little while, and throwing it away. Newspapers did come to our hometown, too, but every newspaper counted a Minyan or two of subscribers, and after a year they bound it into a book, while here each man buys a newspaper all for himself, looks at it a bit, and throws it away.
I
Now the train left Galicia and entered the land of Silesia and the land of Moravia. Villages with thatch-roofed houses disappeared, and villages with tile roofs that turn black go on and on, and all the villages here are prettier than our cities in Galicia. And the villagers who board the car are dressed in city clothes. Their shirt doesn’t come down over their pants, and the shoes on their feet are made of leather and not of straw. But the villagers themselves behave like villagers, they spit coarsely, and when they belch they don’t cover their mouth, and their tongue is neither Polish nor Ukrainian, but a little like the former and a little like the latter, and it seems to have a singsong in-tonation. And at the side of the train they herd big horses and fat cows. And factories come after factories, and flatcars are coupled to the train full of chopped beets that look like sausages, and they make sugar from them, for there are a lot of sugar factories in this state, along with all the other factories and workshops. And they put out big chimneys as high as the sky with smoke rising above them. And at night flames burst from the iron pits and the crucibles.
And now we’re approaching Vienna. The whole earth is engraved with tracks, and countless cars are flying in every direction.
You think you’ve come to Vienna itself, but you haven’t even reached the outskirts of its outskirts.
And when the train pulled into the railroad station, the station looked like a bustling metropolis, and not a small one either, but a big one. And a jubilation erupted and rose and dignitaries and officers and gentlemen and ladies were pouring in, and in front of them and in back of them were porters loaded with bags and trunks and valises and suitcases and all kinds of fine vessels, as if they were transporting gifts to a king. Some hurry and run and some stroll and lounge. Isaac sometimes hurries and sometimes strolls, and doesn’t know whether to stand still or to walk on, whether he is jostled or whether he is moved about in the throng. But he does know that he has to go to another train that is going to Trieste. Yet the masses of people blocked his way, and it seemed he would never get out of here. And even though
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