Evening. I keep looking at the great clock on the wall of the Yeshiva. I wanted the evening should be over with, the yeshiva should close, so I could go to the address of my brother’s friend, to pick of from there the package that my brother had sent me. Within me, however, there raged a bitter struggle: should I go, or not go?

"Don’t go!" shouted one voice within me.

"Go, don’t be afraid!" said a second voice.

"Don’t go! For the love of God, don’t go! Hide yourself from those "satanically posessed"! Who knows where they will lead you! Don’t go!"

But where is it written in the Holy Torah, that one is not permitted to accept a gift from one’s own brother? Go, go! Don’t be a fool!

And so there raged within me a bitter struggle, a battle between my mother's hopes and my brother’s "future". I didn't know which one of them I should follow. All by themselves, my lips began to whisper a silent prayer to God: Lord of the Universe, help me! Stand by me in this, the first great temptation in my liefe....because I felt in my heart, that as soon as I had crossed over the threshold of my brother’s good friend, that something terrible would happen to me. But at the same time, it stirred and ignited my fantasies, so I could hardly sit still...if only my dear Uncle Toksin were here, I would run straight to him. I would tell him everything. He would give me a solution; he would help me, so that I shouldn't stumble. But as though fate had conspired against me, my uncle was far away. He was travelling between the Jewish towns and villages with his books. He was getting ready to move to the Land of Israel, to settle there. So what should I do? Perhaps I should share my secret with fellow Zastavier, Avraham-Aharon, the beadle’s son, who was studying with me in the same Yeshiva? Indeed, he was quite the silent type, kept himself always at a distance...you could harldy get a word out of him, but basically, an honest boy. He wouldn’t tell anybody. Yes, that was a plan! And should I tell him now, or later? What of it....I could wait until later to tell him!

I left the Yeshiva and started walking with quick strides, up one street and down another, as though someone were chasing me with a whip. There it was, a house attached to a tall building. Over the door hung the sign of a bootmaker. I stood there bewildered: what kind of connection could there be between this bootmaker and my brother in Warsaw? Unless there were some mistake....I pull out my brother's letter from my pocket, and by the shine of the street-lamp, I take one more look at the address...and I see, that this is the place!

With my heart pounding and my hand trembling, I reached for the rope of the doorbell, and gave it a tug. A bell rang. My heart almost stopped beating from dread. It seemed to me that in the ringing of the bell, I could hear my mothers voice:

"Falikl, my sohn, where are you going? You are making me unhappy....unhappy..."

I saw before me a kind of workshop with a long table; on the table a thick board...next to the board stood, without a hat, a tall young man in his thirties....a lively fellow with a pair of black, burning eyes, and with a pointy mustache. He stood there cutting leather with a sharp knife. Opposite him stood a boy of eleven or twelve, also dark-skinned, who resembled the boss.....apparently a son of his, who was busy gluing together cut peices of cloth to the leather boots, which now looked like half-human legs...over there, by the window facing the street, sat a young boy by a machine, also without a hat, gluing one boot after another. And off to one side, stood a kind of Spanish wall, which divided the large workshop in two. From the other side of the divider, which seemed to serve as a sleeping quarters, could be heard the squeaking sound of an iron bed.

"What do you want to say, boy?" asked the master, as he moved towards me with a sharp knife in his hand.

"I’m...I’m...Aryeh-Leyb’s brother..." I barely managed to stammer.

"Why didn’t you say so?!" he beamed, and his eyes lit up with joy. He put away his knife, and extended to me a large, callussed hand. "Welcome!"

"Sonya, Sonya, come quickly!" he called to someone behind the Spanish wall, "we have a guest, a guest! Aryeh-Leyb’s brother!"

There soon appeared a dark, attractive young woman, with such kind, motherly eyes, which stronly resembled my sister Pesheh's. She extended a warm hand to me, and asked me to sit down. Husband and wife fawned over me, as though I were really an important guest, or a close relative. They told me that my brother, Aryeh-Leyb, was a regular guest with them. There he had learned Russian, and also secretly learned bootmaking. There he would eat, and sometimes even sleep. He remained close to their hearts. They often got letters from him...just the other day, they had received the package which he had sent for me at their address. It was good, said my brother's friend, that I had come in person to pick it up. And he climbed right up on a bench, took down from a shelf a wrapped-up box, and extended it to me.

I took the box and intended to leave as quickly as possible. But my brother’s good friend called out to me:

"Where are you going so soon? Come on, open it up and let’s see what Aryeh-Leyb could have sent you?"

With trembling hands, I opened the box. Before me was a veritable treasure of shiny, new notebooks, whith a whole collection of writing implements, a little box with pens, pencils, scissors, erasers...virtually a whoe store. And in addition to all the writing supplies, there was also a pair of Jewish books, one of which bore the name "The Polish Youth", written by a writer by the name of Yual Linietzki; and the other one, a Hebrew book with the name "To Where?", by Fayerberg.

All these things gave me a feeling for my brother's "greater, richer world"...with educationk, with learning, and with brotherly love....a feeling of pride, that I should have such a true, loving brother, who can send me such beautiful dear things....

I quickly gathered everything together, meaning to take my leave as soon as possible...but at that moment, the doorbell rang again.....and into the room came one boy after another, each one with a book under his arm, or tucked inside his coat...and to my great, deep, astonishment, among the arrivals I recognized my fellow Zastavier, Avraham-Aharon, who was a year older than me and studied with me together in the same Yeshiva! It was to him that I had resolved to entrust the secret of my brother’s letter! I stood there with my mouth wide open in astonishment. He, the silent one, became red as a beet...and I was just the same as him! We turned away from each other in mortification....

Meanwhile, the master of the workshop (i.e. my brother's friend) had started to clear off the workshop table. And his face was shining with pride and joy, as though he were preparing for important guests. The arriving boys, who seemed to be quite at home, quickly cast of their winter coats, and began lending a hand to straighten out the shop. One started to sweep up the bits of leather from the floor, and another one set up the benches. It wasn't long before all the boys were seated around the long table, with their Russian books open in front of them. Before I had time to look around, the cramped workshop had been transformed into a kind of school. Soon there came running in with quick, light steps a young girl, a high school student of about seventeen or eighteen years, a real beauty. She greeted everyone warmly, and the Russian class got underway.

The whole night, I couldn’t sleep a wink. I tossed and turned. My whole body burned with a bright fire. Not until morning did I lapse into semi-consciousness. I dream that I am tied up in the same wagon that I had seen in the picture in the Russian book...my mother sits astride the stork, and pulls me with all her strength up the high steps that led to the Yeshiva...the black "bear", who looks like my brother’s friend with the black mustache, drags me down towards the mud below. And the "fish"...that was Hannah, the young high-school student, my neighbor, for whom I harbored a secret love. She has thrown her long black braids around my throat, and is pulling me with all her strength twoards the river, to swim with her to the watery depths. I scream. I cry...I toss about......I want to jump up from the wagon and run away, but I can’t. I lie there bound hand and foot....