Lodz, 15 April 1929

My beloved and precious nephew, as well as brother,

I have received your short letter as well as a check for $15.  I
also received a letter from you today dated March 27.  

Dear brother Sol, first of all I will answer your first, short
letter.  You write a few brief and concise words.  I do not know
whether you wrote them in an excited state of mind or whether
you were busy, and it may be that your mind was occupied with
something else.  In any event, dear Sol, no matter the extent to
which I have characterized you as a mensch, as generous, as
friendly, as a person who is prepared to offer to go into a fire
for a good brother, nevertheless, dear Sol, once in a while I
detect in a letter of yours a family shortcoming that we all
have inherited from our grandfathers, may they rest in peace. 
No matter how good we may try to be, however much we may try to
permit ourselves to be abused, however much we may try to
empathize, yet sometimes there comes a moment which shatters a
person's patience.  One becomes angry.  One wants to control
himself.  One's mind ceases to function.  All of the 248 parts
of the body are not working.  And when one happens to write a
letter at such a time, everything becomes difficult.  The steel
pen doesn't write; the ink makes no mark; and one's hand is
crippled, as it were, etc.   

Yes, dear Sol, this letter with the check that I received from
you five days ago...I am more than certain that the same was
written in such a moment of excitement, of non-involvement, etc.
 By chance, I also wrote you a letter 12-15 days ago, I think it
was Shushan Purim, that was also not satisfying for you.  I
myself feel it and sense it.  However, what can I do, my devoted
one?  I would very much like to control myself.  I would very
much like not to reveal my agitation to you because, of all
those close to me, you suffer the most because of me.  

I don't know whether another person in your place would be
willing to put up with so much...as you, Sol, put up with from
your uncle.  Tell me the truth.  Don't my letters sometimes
exhaust your patience?...  If I receive a letter from you and if
I don't find that it contains 5% humor, satire, I wonder to
myself:  "G-d knows whether something, chas v'cholilah, has
taken place" or whether you have your own worries there, without
me.  

(This was exactly the situation) with your recent letter.  I
worried about it a lot and waited impatiently for the second
letter which I received today and in which you do write that our
dear Ruchele had had another cold, but that, thank G-d, it came
to an end causing only fear.  These few words explain for me
your brief response to my long letter to you.  

Believe me, devoted Sol, there are moments when I am seized with
such an affection for you that I would not become weary of
sitting for eight days without interruption, during the day and
during the night, and of writing to you about everything, to
confide everything to you...to relate to you everything that is
going on inside of me...because, no matter how self-reliant I
am, I nevertheless feel alone and depressed.  Truly, dear Sol, I
toss and turn and am angry at the world.  I "hurt," and I myself
don't know what it is that causes me pain.  There is no doctor
to heal my wounds.  

I speak to good friends, and they do not understand me.  For
example, my own wife and my own children are not able to
understand me.  Everyone considers me to be a normal person, and
yet I am not normal.  My thinking is not compatible with the
thinking of other people, just as fire and water are not
compatible.  

For example, the thinking of others dictates that if one has a
family in America, one must write to them to send dollars.  They
don't care whether the other fellow has (dollars), whether he
can afford it, whether he wants to send.  Before anything else,
they write.  My thinking is completely different, devoted and
beloved brother.  Every dollar that I receive from you, even
though you send them wholeheartedly, fully aware that your uncle
doesn't use your dollars to go to the theater and to masked
balls, and yet each time that I receive a few dollars from you,
my face reddens for shame, and I ask myself:  "How long?"  

It's just three years ago that your father-in-law was here, and
even then we thought about a solution for easing the difficulty,
how to free myself from such a country in which one cannot live
and exist.  But we were not able to find a solution.  

Life here in general is so difficult that 95% of the people are
not "living;" they are in torment.  Perhaps, if I did not
understand as much as I do, life might be better.  But what can
I do about the fact that I do understand but that I can't help
myself?  I have no one to confide in except you, devoted Sol... 
My own wife and children consider me to be crazy.  Do you know
why?  Because my thinking and theirs do not mesh.  They take the
position that all illogical people take:  steal; murder; hang
yourself.  But provide what is required.  (One could make a case
that would make them realize that)...ah, you don't have it; ah,
times are bad and you're not earning anything; there's no way
and no means (of making a living).  However, who pays attention
to a husband and father who is crazy?

I have to make something clear to you, Sol, about my Balcia, who
is a girl who does not take after me very much.  In fact, she
doesn't take after our family, but my wife's family.  She takes
her mother's side, not mine, although she's not smart enough to
understand that a not very bright future awaits her...because
what sort of match can a poor, uneducated, working girl make in
Poland???  You know, Sol, this makes me prematurely gray.  This
drives me out of my house.  

I have lived with my wife for twenty years and there is not
enough agreement between us to last for twenty days.  The
children have not been raised in accordance with my outlook, but
as she thinks best.  You will say, Sol, that I am not energetic
enough, not strong enough to "steer" the automobile in order to
control the house.  It's true.  I am shattered; I am despondent;
and I have abandoned my life.  I want to live out my few years
as quickly as possible because life isn't worthwhile.  Believe
me, Sol, that more than once I have thought about your mother,
may she rest in peace, not as a person who committed suicide but
as a heroine who was able to make a decision to take such a
step...  I have much, very much, to write on this theme, but I
had better leave it for another time because you are too
familiar with your uncle's circumstances.

As to your writing, devoted Sol, that you take note of the fact,
according to what I have written, that I have something in
writing concerning your father and concerning you and, if it's
possible, I should send it to you...yes, dear Sol, I did make
note of some things in writing about my childhood years which
are not worthwhile to read because they were not written by a
poet or a biographer, but by a person who was born into this
world to suffer.  I cannot send this to you, and I ask you not
to request it of me because it's not worth discussing since,
just as I do everything with my crazy ideas, I also do this out
of madness.  Would that I were rational and had only a bit of
talent and that the issues involved in making a living did not
stalk me.  I would surely need to write an autobiography of my
past.  However, unfortunately, we small people with such small
heads are not able to achieve this.

As to your being anxious to hear how I would respond to your
answer respecting the $1,000, so my devoted and beloved one what
kind of an answer can I give?  May I be punished if I am angry
with you.  I am not irritated with you because, as I was writing
the letter to you in Opoczno, I said to my sister, "Although, I
am trying to make everything clear in my 17-page letter to
Shloyme, just as if he himself were to see the picture in front
of his eyes, nevertheless I would prefer to find another
alternative which would be more suitable, e.g., for you to find
a wealthy partner with money, to win the lottery or perhaps the
whole decree should  be revoked."  Her response to me was, "And
you think that Shloyme will be indifferent to this whole
matter?"  And Uncle Lazer said, "Have I ever before asked anyone
for anything?  Won't Sol see that a storm is gathering over our
heads?"  They were so sure that you would accomodate them with
what was asked.  Only I alone was casual about the whole thing. 
Being in Opoczno and not being able to determine another course
of action, I permitted myself to be used as the scapegoat
because I knew very well that if one has no money, one can't do
anything and can't build anything.  Ah, Lazer has no alternative
and would grasp at a straw because he is drowning?  But why is
he dragging me in to swim alongside when I am not a swimmer?...  

In any event, Sol, you should have answered him in a letter
because he is angry since you didn't consider it necessary to
answer his letter to you.

So, nothing more of importance.  Please answer me in a letter
immediately as to whether your wife has given delivery and
whether she has given birth to a son or a daughter.  Whatever
the case, let it be with good luck and good fortune.

So, nothing of importance with me.  All are well, may G-d be
blessed, although it's difficult to arrange for Passover this
year in our home.  In any event, dear Sol, I thank you for the
generosity which you show to us although I asked nothing of you
and we would, without it, have had to have gotten by.  However,
don't you know, since you have sent (money), we will be able to
make some clothing, shoes, etc., for the children.  The children
especially thank you for your generosity, and we wish you all a
kosher Passover.  Heartfelt regards for everyone from everyone.

		With respect, 

		Wolf Lewkowicz


All material Copyright 1995 by Marshall L. Zissman and Sol J. Zissman.