Lublin

On the road to Lublin, plagued by birds that whistle like a Cossack's sword, three young lads from Mezritsh brave drought, visions, bad shoes, Russian soldiers, cohorts of abandoned women, burnt porridge, dead dogs, haemorrhoids, incessant sneezing, constipation, and bad jokes in order to seek their fortune.

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Elya is the lad with the vision, and Elya has the map. Ziv
and Kiva aren't so sure. The water may run out before they find the Village of
Lakes. The food may run out before the flaky crescent pastries of Prune Town.
They may never reach the Village of Girls (how disappointing); they may well
stumble into Russian Town, rumoured to be a dangerous place for Jews (it is).
As three young boys set off from Mezritsh with a case of bristle brushes to
sell in the great market town of Lublin, wearing shoes of uneven quality and
possessed of decidedly unequal enthusiasms, they quickly find that nothing, not
Elya's jokes nor Kiva's prayers nor Ziv's sublime irritatingness, can prepare
them for the future as it comes barrelling down to meet them. Absurd, riveting,
alarming, hilarious, the dialogue devastatingly sharp and the pacing
extraordinary, Lublin is a journey to
nowhere that changes everything it touches.