I was referred to the Astor Library, whose
Hebrew department was becoming one of the richest in the world.
Sitting down in a public library to read a book seemed to be an
undignified proceeding for a manufacturer to engage in, but my
curiosity was beyond considerations of this sort. Whenever I
thought of Miss Tevkin I beheld the image of those three
books--the only things related to her with which I was able to
come in contact
Finally, on a Saturday afternoon, I found myself at one of the green
tables of Astor Library. I was reading poetry written in the holy
tongue, a language I had not used for more than eighteen years
Two of Tevkin's three little volumes were made up of poetry,
while the third consisted of brief essays, prose, poems,
"meditations," and epigrams. I came across a "meditation" entitled
"My Children," and took it up eagerly. It contained but three
sentences: "My children love me, yet my heart is hungry. They are
mine, yet they are strangers. I am homesick for them even when I
clasp them to my bosom.
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