Lodz, 22 June 1923 Beloved nephew, appropriately named Sol Zissman, Two weeks ago, I wrote you a letter. Now I have some time, so I am writing to you again. I would like to write you a letter every week, so that I would receive a letter from you every week. I watch for your letters impatiently. In each of your letters, I want to read about what is happening there that is new and important. Since I don't have the opportunity to learn these things first hand from you, my dear nephew, I must content myself with your letters which are so rich in content and in spirit. Dear child, do me a favor and write me a long letter each time about everything that is going on, about your health, your business, etc. On the other hand, I really don't have anything important to report. In any case, when I start to write you a letter, I gather all my resources so that you will understand my letters as I understand yours. Dear Shloymele, although I am not yet in America, and I really don't know what's happening there with you, I feel that I'm a bit of a prophet and can guess. I am sure that you are in a big city where there is hustle and bustle, day and night. Although you are among hundreds of thousands of people, I'm sure that every once in a while you miss Kon- skie, the shtetl of your birth, your cheder and your child- hood friends. In America you have your father, long may he live, a great uncle, a great aunt, uncles, sisters, family. But, nevertheless, you are lonesome, very much as I am here in Lodz. You haven't found the right companion yet, the one who will look deep into your heart. You have a partner and you run a business, but you work very hard. It is true that you earn a decent living, but you really earn your bread by the sweat of your brow; therefore, your partner eats in peace and so do you. I would like to prophesy more about your life, but it is a bit premature. First, I want to know if what I say is correct or not. Write to me about everything that lies heavily on your heart. You know that, between us, nothing in the world need be hidden or kept secret. On the con- trary, perhaps I will be able to advise you. Although I cannot help myself, many others have been helped by my advice. Believe me, dear Shloymele, you don't know how much affec- tion I have for you, even from a distance. I don't love you because you are handsome, or because of your business acumen or because you send me money. No, I love you simply because you deserve it for your wisdom, your common sense. Many a time, I have occasion to think of the past and of all I have been through so far. Last week, my uncle, Emanuel Lewin, and my aunt, Dina Raizl, were here. We had a discussion about you. I showed them your letter and pointed out the warmth with which you write to me. My uncle asked me what moved you to love me so. I thought for a while but couldn't come up with an answer. My thoughts weave in and out in my mind, and I seem to be trying to remember something. Sitting here thinking, I notice after a while that tears are running down my cheeks, and I remember a night twenty years ago. I was sleeping at Yosel Tsuker's when I heard a rap on the window. Someone said, "Wolf, get up quickly! Get a doctor! Your sister is having difficulty giving birth!" Those words weighed heavily on my heart. I didn't walk--I flew! When I came into the house, I heard screaming and yelling and crying. It was a Friday night, and they asked me to light a fire. That was the first time that I had violated the Sabbath. (It was difficult for me to do, but the second time it comes more easily.) To make a long story short, I ran for a doc- tor. I also gathered ten Jews for a minyan and woke up our entire family. I wanted to come to your aid and that of my sainted sister with all my strength. Any you, dear Shloy- mele, sat in your mother's belly and didn't hurry a bit. By the time the doctor came for the second time, the Jews had read through the whole book of Psalms and I had practically worn out my legs running around. Not until eight o'clock Saturday morning did the child come, the first born son. But you came into the world dead. Now I let out my pent-up cry of despair. I don't know how it happened, but a few moments later you let out a yelp. The weight was lifted from my heart. I took my first deep breath when I saw you alive and well. Later, when you were two or three years old, again there came a knock at the door and you father said, "Wolf, get up!" "What happened?" I asked, but he wasn't very clear. He told me to get dressed quickly and come. He said that you and he slept in the same bed and that you had coughed in the night; it was a croupy cough. "What can one do about that at night?" I asked him. He said that we must get a doctor or a felsher. At that time, however, your father didn't even have fifty kopeks. I immediately went for Henech, the felsher, and practically pulled him by the ear the whole way, and then I ran to the pharmacy for medicine. I sat up with you all night making steam for you to breathe until, with G-d's help, things eased up for you. The felsher then told me that if, G-d forbid, we had waited until morning to do something, it would not have been good. I listened closely to what he said, and his words have stayed in my memory until today. Another episode happeded when you were already a schoolboy. You studied with Yankl Zelner. He sent for me once to tell me that you stole something from Midavitch's store--either candy or sardines. I don't remember what exactly. He was ready to kill you with his strap. The truth of the matter saddened me. I wanted to raise you better than your own father did. It didn't seem right. I tried with all my might to save you from the acts of the tyrannical teacher. I finally convinced him that you were not guilty and that you didn't know anything about stealing, and even if you did do some little thing wrong, you should be absolved. Such thoughts, dear Shloymele, flit back and forth in my mind. When I think of the good that I have done you, it would all seem ridiculous to you, but still I save you...came to your aid in an hour of need. I am not, G-d forbid, asking for thanks or payment for all of these favors. Since we're talking about these things though, I see and am convinced that if you are devoted to me, you have reason to be, because I have strived my whole life for you and am still ready to do so. You may ask your own father about whether or not I'm telling the truth about all of these things or not. Dear Shloymele, I have already covered three sheets of paper writing to you, and I haven't yet written you the most important thing. Last week everything turned topsy-turvy here. Three weeks ago, the dollar was valued at 45,000, then 46,000, then 47,000 marks, and lately the rate of exchange leaped to 80,000, 100,000, 140,000 and then 180,000 marks. In short, there was chaos! The merchants closed their stores. They weren't interested in selling merchandise any more. Since we calculate our prices according to the dollar, the cost of merchandise became verfy inflated. I'll give you an example of the price of several articles. You'll see that 1,000 marks is equal to 1 kopek or 1/2 cent. Is it any wonder then that now it is possible to find many millionaires in Poland? For example, a newspaper costs 2,000 marks; a small loaf of bread, 6,000; a kilo of sugar, 25,000; a kilo of flour, 12,000; a herring, 3,000; an orange, 3,000; a pair of shoes, half a million marks; an ordinary suit, one million marks; a fancier suit, two million marks; half a piece of linen costs half a million; a measure of coal, 50,000 marks; a measure of wood, 12,000; a measure of potatoes, 120,000 marks--in Polish marks they cost 24,000 a kilo; an apartment, that is a room and a kitchen, 50-100 million marks key money. In short, dear Shloymele, it is difficult for a worker to live in Poland these days because of the terrible inflation. An ordinary worker has to earn at least enough for mere sub- sistence, but the average worker does not earn more than 100,000 to 150,000 a week. That barely feeds him. I am sending you an article from the newspaper describing conditions here. When you write to me, also include an article from Chicago. You will be receiving the photographs a bit late because they didn't come out well, and we had to go to have them taken a second time. I close my writing with warm greetings to you from the bot- tom of my heart. My wife sends heartfelt and loving regards as do my in-laws, my brothers-in-law, and so on. Please write soon. With respect, Wolf Lewkowicz My address is as follows: W. Lewkowicz u Rutbergo Poland Heartfelt regards from me and my wife to your father and your whole family. Your dear grandmother, Uncle Lazer and Aunt Esther send regards for all the best. Lazer was in Lodz two weeks ago to see a doctor with two of his children. Wolf All material Copyright 1995 by Marshall L. Zissman and Sol J. Zissman.