Opoczno, 9 November 1925 To our dearest and most devoted of all with your worthy name, Sol Zissman, It will surely seem "wondrous strange" to you (to receive) a letter from Uncle Wolf with the postal stamp of Opoczno. Yes, it is certainly a question mark. I write you, my devoted child, that I've been sitting here in Opoczno since last Thursday, i.e., since November 5. I unexpectedly received a telegram that I should come immediately because my mother is very ill. Imagine, my dear one, with what sort of trembling and panic I came. I write "imagine." I should not write that because you are one who has lost and suffered. You understand and have a feeling for how one should assess such a message from a devoted, weakened mother to her only son concerning my fulfilling her request as soon as possible. Devoted Sol, I do not have to write anything here because, first of all, you're too smart not to be able to picture the sort of terrifying moment in one's life that I lived through during the six hours from the time that I received the telegram until I had the honor to see my beloved mother with my own eyes. For twenty minutes, I lay on my mother's neck with my only devoted sister, and no one in the world would have had the power to tear us apart at that time... Shloyme, I can see that you also shed a tear as you read my letter. But there is a time for weeping and a time for calming the weeping. While in Lodz, I heard that my mother had been chilled and was ill. But I never imagined that it had reached such proportions. I thought to myself, "So, a person has a chill. So what? There are people older than my mother, who is only 64 after all. To be brief, we send for a doctor even though he had been there more than ten times, and the doctor assures us that our mother is ill, seriously ill, with a kidney infection. To make a long story short, we do not become flustered, neither I nor my only sister. Our mother is too dear and too beloved for us to think about the cost involved although, in this instance, my sister offered more than I, first of all because it was happening in her home, secondly because, in this case, she is better able than I to provide care for our mother. In short, the deliverance comes from wherever it can; each of us does what he can in order to put our ailing mother back on her feet. May the Almighty speedily send her a complete cure! As of now, my devoted one, this is my fourth day here, and I don't see any improvement. The doctors say that the illness is prolonged and that the most important thing is that her heart is weak, worn out, filled through and through with trouble, trouble, trouble... Don't think, dear Sol, that I have the patience to write you a letter today. First of all, I don't have the time or the material or good news. But I want you to know the circumstances under which I'm now writing this letter to you. My sister and my brother-in-law are already so exhausted that they have fallen away like flies. They haven't had any real meals for eight days and if they prepare bakery goods, there's no one to sell them because the confusion is so great that we forget about ourselves and about the children. Every minute, another person comes to visit the patient. Uncle Yankel and Aunt Breindel have also been here since Sunday. But when it gets late, each one returns to his home, to his house, to his bed. However, we children, the closest of the close, stay at our mother's bedside, and we are awake. Sitting in this way at my mother's bedside, listening as she sleeps, thinking that she is asleep, I sit and look at every movement of hers, and so looking at and thinking about our mother's body, I suddenly see hanging a picture of my blessed sister, your mother, may she rest in peace, and also a picture of you and your three sisters. To be sure, your mother, may she rest in peace, is fortunate that she does not see and does not hear of the sort of condition that our mother is in at this time. May G-d help us in our time of need and may He send a cure for our mother. But you, you Shloyme, your picture with your sisters, standing at the bedside of our ailing mother, where you see and watch everything also does not provide you any joy and happiness. Therefore, my devoted child, sitting at the bed when all around me are sleeping and exhausted, I examine your photograph that, by chance, hangs above my mother's bed, and I think to myself, "Shloyme, Ruchel, Bryndl, Rifchele, do you see how seriously ill your grandmother is, and what sort of answer do I hear from you?" "In her merit, to her who raised us, her grandchildren, reared us, nourished us and satisfied us, may there come a complete cure from heaven." And, writing this letter, I look at your picture and then at our mother. She has been sleeping now, perhaps for ten minutes. She wakes up, and I put something in her mouth, and she asks, "What time is it now?" I answer, "Just 1:00." My sister wakes up frightened and asks how our mother is feeling, and the only word that I hear her say is that she feels better and that I should go to sleep. But, instead of lying down, I take the Book of Psalms and recite a few chapters. Right now, I happen to be at (Psalm XX) "To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David. The Lord will hear thee in the day of trouble..." I send you heartfelt regards, and I hope to be able to inform you of good news in the nearest future. Your uncle, Wolf Lewkowicz Heartfelt regards for your worthy wife, sisters, parents, and so on. Dear Nephew, I got up this very minute to start work and noticed that your Uncle Wolf has written you a letter and, really, has ended it. There is an empty sheet here, so I can permit myself to write regards to you, my beloved nephew, and also to my niece and to all of you, I also send regards to your sisters and wish for a complete cure for your grandmother. From me, your uncle, who hopes to be able to send you good news. Yitzchak Eliezer Chmielnicki My wife, your aunt, and my children send friendly regards to all of you, and your grandmother sends regards to all of you, and she told me to write that you should pray for her complete recovery. All material Copyright 1995 by Marshall L. Zissman and Sol J. Zissman.