Lodz, 22 September 1923

Dear and beloved nephew, appropriately named Sol Zissman,

Although I have not yet received an answer to the two
letters which are on their way to you, I have some time and
am writing to you again. I have received the picture you
sent of your business. I am amazed at the business which
you have established so quickly with your youthful common
sense.  You have already accomplished more there in America
than your uncle here in Poland. I see that you are a good
businessman.  You know how to establish a business. I
noticed your talents when you were eight or nine years old.
Even then, when I had the glass store, you used to like to
polish, to clean, to straighten up.  Perhaps you still
remember.

Every photograph that you send is very dear and precious to
me.  When I start to miss you, I take out a picture of you,
or one of your letters, and I take a good look.  But what
good does it do me?  It is, after all, only a piece of
paper. I can't talk to it, have a conversation with it,
unburden my heart to it. A piece of paper can't answer me.

Dear and devoted child, as I write you this letter, it is
two days after Yom Kippur. I hope that you have been found
worthy to be inscribed and sealed in the book of life. Dear
and devoted Shloymele, in no other year have I cried as much
as this year. Never have I had you so much on my mind as
during Yom Kippur of this year. Something was weighing me
down; something was bothering me. I kept thinking of you,
Shloymele, standing near me in the little synagogue in Kon-
skie, praying. I looked for you here and there, but in
vain.

Dear and devoted nephew, when you start to read my letter,
you will think, "Aha! My uncle's here with a new tearful
song and dance.  He thinks that perhaps I'll send him
another $150.  I recognize the signs." Dear and devoted
(nephew), I'm writing you how I feel in Lodz--lonely as a
stone.  My heart is overflowing with pride of you, and I
really don't have another alternative. There is no one else
to whom I can pour out the bitterness that is in my heart.
You are the closest to me of anyone; you are the most
devoted to me of anyone; you are also the dearest to me of
anyone. So to whom else should I open my heart if not to a
close, devoted and beloved nephew?

My dear child, before I begin to write, I ask that you not
consider my writing objectively.  By that I mean that I
don't come to you pouring out my heart so that I may squeeze
something out of you or because I want something from you.

No, and again no! You know your uncle too well. Quite sim-
ply now, I ask your advice. I believe that I can rely on
your advice. From your writing, I see that you have good,
solid, common sense.

This Yom Kippur many, many people pleaded for life.  Some
asked for money, some for children, some asked to be able to
raise their children, and so on and so forth. And I stood
as if dumb. I didn't ask for anything in particular. What
should I have asked for? If I live, I live, and if not, the
world will still remain standing. My partner gives me a
livelihood (that's a laugh), and money I get from America.
I have, thank G-d, children to raise, but I still have time
for that. So as I said, dear Shloymele, why did I have to
go to shul at all this Yom Kippur? In any case, I did go,
and I shed many tears. Never before have I pleaded so much;
never before have I felt so guilty; never before was I so
depressed as I was this Yom Kippur. What is the reason for
this?  While I am not really as religious as you think, I
haven't robbed or cheated anyone.  But when I take an
accounting of my soul, I see where the best years of my life
have disappeared. When I see how little I have managed to
accomplish in my life, my heart becomes truly heavy.

Who in the world ever heard of such a thing?  After being
married for fifteen years and having three children (may
they be well), we still haven't even managed to get an
apartment for ourselves. Is it really my fate to live out
the few years I have left staying sometimes with my mother
and sometimes with my mother-in-law? I am mortified each
time someone asks me my address or comes to visit me.  They
are astounded and say, "In Konskie they say you are a rich
man. But, in fact, I see that you still live with two iron
cots at your in-laws'"  And...what is the answer? The
answer is, "The business requires all the money."  On the
other hand, if they come into the place of business...the
business has the appearance, perhaps you remember, of the
"tea room" your father had in Kaplye's building, with the
dining room, the bedroom and the kitchen all together.

And what do you think the reason is for the situation? It's
because we are not united. Because everyone is out for him-
self. And as long as my partners have it in their minds
that they took me out of the mud, that they give me the food
that I eat, that they work for my benefit, the result will
be (as they say in Hebrew), "His soul will die with the
Philistines." That is, the business and I, and they as
well, will all go under together.

And so, dear Shloymele, nothing will come out of the seeds
that I have sown and there will be no benefit from the fruit
trees I have planted. There's one alternative for me, to
move far away and do what I can (to make a living). I'd

even carry bricks to build buildings if I could be among
decent people and not with such low characters.

So, dear Shloymele, write me your advice.  One piece of
advice could be as follows--to sell the diamond earrings
that I have. But I can only get ten or twelve million marks
for them these days, and for an apartment I would have to
pay twenty to twenty-five million marks. But the next prob-
lem is that my wife is not understanding, is not particu-
larly loyal. She sides with my in-laws. She feels at home
in Lodz, and she doesn't want to sell her earrings. She
tells me to carry the burden. I ask you, how long can a
person suffer so, and how strong must a person be to bear it
all? Does a human being have nerves of steel?  Isn't it
possible that one's patience can come to an end?

Dear child, answer my questions and advise me as to whether
or not I should remain impervious to everything, to casually
bear all the pressures, or should I destroy everything,
including myself, if my wife does not accede to my requests?
What I mean is, should I get out of this hell at all costs,
even if it means being left with only the shirt on my back?
My only regret would be for my lonely children and also for
my elderly ill mother. But do I really have a choice?

Dear Shloymele, I beg of you, when you read my writing, do
not feel bad that I write you this letter not with ink but
with tears. You will think, "Oh, my uncle is upset because
he has quarrelled with his partners. So he is writing to
me." No! The problem is an old one, a hardened and
neglected one. It's a disease which is not so easily cured.
"A plague not even referred to in the Bible."

I further ask of you, Shloymele, that you not show anyone
this letter...not your father, not your partner, not (Aaron)
Anker, because I am embarrassed. I also ask that, if you
answer me, you keep in mind that not all of your letters
come directly into my hands. Be careful with your answer!
If you wish, I'll give you another address--of one of
Lazer's brothers or of Uncle Emanuel Lewin, but I'd rather
not.

I have nothing further of  import to report, so I send
heartfelt and loving regards. From me, your devoted uncle,
who hopes for your happiness,

        Wolf Lewkowicz         
	Wolczanska N.  168         
	Lodz, Poland

Warm regards from my wife and children, from my mother, your
dear grandmother, from Esther, Lazer, and from the whole
family. Convey our regards to your father, your sisters,

your uncle's famly, et al. Give regards to (Aaron) Isaac
Anker.

I hope to hear better tidings from you than you hear from
me.

From me, your uncle,

        Wolf Lewkowicz




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