Lodz, 5 August 1922 To My Dear and Devoted Nephew, Sol Zissman, You once requested that I write you my autobiography. Now I can fulfill that request. In this letter I will write you, in brief, how things have gone with me during the last eight or nine years since you left Europe. Certainly, Shloymele, you well remember what a nice glass store I had in Konskie. That was in 1912-13. But I couldn't make a go of it; so I declared bankruptcy, liqui- dated the business and moved to Lodz. That was in the same year that you left. I arrived in Lodz with practically nothing, like the survivor of a fire. Nevertheless, I opened a feed business and grocery store. At the beginning, I didn't earn much, but as time went on business improved. At that time, my wife gave birth to a daughter. We now had two children. After that, the terrible and unfortunate World War broke out. Everything in the big city of Lodz, which was so developed in industry and business, came to a sudden halt. Everyone walked around in a daze, not knowing what was hap- pening. Almost immediately, there was a dearth of everything--for example, bread, flour, coal, potatoes, gro- ceries, etc. etc. All the stores were emptied of goods, because people were hoarding food so as not to go hungry. Everything in my store was immediately sold out, and I couldn't get any more supplies. There was great and terrifying confusion. This lasted several weeks. No one knew whether he was coming or going. At times, we were occupied by the Germans and, at other times, by the Russians. At still other times, we were without any military or police at all. People soon paid no attention to the fighting, which was so close to us that we could hear the shooting day and night. At great risk, they went wherever they thought that they could earn a little money. And business was very good. Whatever goods one managed to bring in were immediately grabbed up at nice prices. At that time, I had 250 rubles and 15 measures of oats. Seeing that business was going well, I took heart and a partner (a shlemazel like I was), and we set out to do business. Wherever we went, things went well. We made several buying and selling trips. For example, I bought 10 sacks of salt and took it as far as Piotrkow, but salt was cheaper in Piotrkow, so we took the same salt back to Lodz. In short, I dealt in salt, sugar, matches, paper, soap, bat- teries, wool, leather, whiskey, saccharin, flour, buckwheat, brandy, and so on. I dealt for several seeks in this business of provisions. I traveled to farms and deserts, that is to say near and far, so long as I could earn the price of bread for my family and myself. As a matter of fact, I completely forgot that there was a war going on. One fine day, however, right after Succos, Lodz was besieged on all four sides. The Russian general staff and the whole military were suddenly in Lodz. The enemy, the Germans, opened fire, and we got our first taste of real war. Dear Shloymele, I don't want to talk about those horrible times, nor do I have the ability to describe with my pen what we went through. How can I describe, for example, the kind of hunger that raged in Lodz? Whole nights we sat at the bak- ers' tearing the bread out of the ovens. Darkness pre- vailed. There was no electricity, no gas, not even wood to burn. There was no coal for cooking. Pieces of shrapnel flew into the nicest homes and laid waste whatever there was , killing hundreds and thousands of people. And how many died as a result of hunger, fear, cold, and need? The siege of the city lasted a whole three weeks, and these three weeks consumed what little money I had. The Russians commandeered my store, took all the oats, broke everything and left it looking as if after a pogrom! Lodz was occupied by the German military. This was in Janu- ary, 1915. At this point, people once again started to do business, to travel, to work. I borrowed (some money) and sold something from our household and, once again, took to the task of making a living with very little capital. At that time, I went on business into the provinces of Lodz. I was in Sarkow, Glovus, Lowicz, Sochaczew, Wloclawek, Plock, Ozorkow, Lencin, Dombia, Anivye, Losk, Zarnow, and Belz. And we dealt in absolutely everything. If I were to try to enumerate all the goods which I handled, I would surely run out of both ink and paper. Let it suffice to say that I was down to my last eight rubles. One of my children was ill at that time with a brain inflammation. The weather was extremely cold. Pass- over was drawing near, but we had nothing with which to celebrate the holiday. My in-laws had also sold everything for food. Our situation could be described in one word, and that word was not bad, but bitter! We suffered not only from hunger, but terrible poverty in general. we didn't only suffer from the cold, we practically froze to death. In short, we didn't have Passover but Tisha b'Av. The war continued. The Germans conquered city after city. At the same time that we were suffering so in Lodz, those on the other side of Warsaw, that is from Tomaszow to Warsaw, were faring quite well under the Russian occupation. Kon- skie, in particular, didn't suffer, except perhaps some skirmishes. There weren't any real positions there, only in the outskirts. One could say that Konskie fared better than all the other villages of Poland. Some Polish villages were completely wiped off the face of the earth, without a trace. People were ruined, but Konskie was doing well and was, in fact, aided by the presence of the military and staff, at least for the six months from December, 1914, until June- July, 1915. Konskie was, however, completely separated from Lodz. In Lodz, we were already under the Germans, but the Russians were still in Konskie. So, the whole time, I couldn't get any news from home. One time, around Shevuos, I dreamt that something bad had happened. But I didn't tell anyone. Another time, I dreamt that I should go home as quickly as possible because my mother was alone. But what could I do since the roads were so blockaded? I couldn't fly over them! Even in the city, we were at risk and lived from minute to minute. One morn- ing, however, we read in the newspapers that the Austrian army had occupied the territory from the Vistula to Radom. That included Konskie. I set out immediately. I went from Lodz to Tuszyn, from Tuszyn to Piotrkow, Sulejow, Zarnow and Konskie. Getting there wasn't easy. After all, it was six- teen miles. But I finally arrived in the summer of 1915. I didn't get to see my dear, sainted father. He had passed away five months previously, and I hadn't even known. Then I knew what my bad dream had meant. My grandfather was also no longer alive. I grieved and mourned. I sat shiva and said the first kadish. Then I had a chance to ask "What's the latest news here con- cerning starvation?" I learned that things in Konskie weren't so bad. My mother ran a small bakery and, since bread was in short supply, the loaves were practically torn from the ovens. My mother then had about 600 rubles; I had not even a cent. My wife and two children had remained with her parents in Lodz. The whole time that I was in Konskie my conscience bothered me that I had left them without a penny to their names. Soon my mother's family, that is, my Uncle Yankl and my Aunt Rifka, got together to decide what to do with me. During this time, I went over to Opoczno to see my sister. There too they lived fairly well under the rule of the Russians. My brother-in-law, Lazer, had accumulated some 4,000 rubles. He came back to Konskie with me to help me decide what to do--whether I should go back to Lodz or remain in Konskie. We decided that I should, for the meantime, stay in Konskie and do business, and Malke and the children should remain in Lodz. My mother handed me 100 rubles. Lazer also gave me 100 rubles. I started to deal in flour. I did fairly well. Then I went to Lodz and brought cloth and remnants with me. I did well on those too. But, dear Shloymele, if one doesn't have luck, he shouldn't deal in anything. One time, my partner and I brought back some panes of glass from Piotrkow. On the road, I fell ill with dysentary. I arrived home and went to bed with a temperature of 42 degrees (centigrade). For three weeks, I didn't know what world I was in. After three weeks, when I opened my eyes, I saw my wife standing at my bedside with one child at her breast and the other holding her hand. They were all crying. When I started to recover, I looked around and began to see how extensive the problem was. My sickness had cost us over 150 rubles, and any other capital for business was unavailable. My mother began to quarrel with Malke over why her parents had let her leave Lodz without a penny. She didn't realize that Malke's parents were also suffering. Since everyone in Konskie at that time had enough to eat, no one believed that anyone else was going hungry. In short, being without money and seeing that I had no luck in business, I decided to remain in Konskie, become a baker and bake bread in order to survive the bad times until G-d would come to my assistance. Konskie was then occupied by the Austrians. I devoted myself to my new trade. I hired a person to help me, enlarged the oven and baked! We baked various things. Instead of challas, we baked rye bread with potato flour; instead of rolls, rye bread with corn meal; instead of pas- try, we baked with left-over flour, ground bean flour, sawdust, etc. But what's the difference? As long as people filled their bellies and were sated. So, dear Shloymele, you see that I had no success in busi- ness, but you knew that long ago. I didn't, however, count on the possibility that I should also not have success at a trade! It never occurred to me. But who can argue with G- d? Who would have thought that, after three quarters of a year's respite, the world would once again be closed to me- -a world in which everyone can make a living but me. What happened was that the government started to meddle into the affairs of bakers, something to do with "old" bakers versus "new" bakers, that is, "war" bakers. Since tailors and even shoemakers had become bakers during the war, there were franchised bakers and illegal bakers. A franchise was given only to those bakers who were professionals, with a respectable establishment. Twelve of these franchises were given. But since everyone in Konskie knew me as a business- man, not as a baker, I was not granted a franchise. That meant that I had no real permission to bake. 9 9 Bread was doled out according to scrip. One person wasn't allowed to eat more than another person. But since there were wealthy people who didn't want to eat rye bread and who weren't satisfied with only half a pound of bread daily, there arose another category of bakers. These were called illegal or "smuggle" bakers, bakers without a franchise. As you can imagine, the lot of the first kind was better than that of the second, who were constantly waging a war between life and death. We baked in fear and had to get our flour from a distant village. In addition, we were always being reported to the police, military officers, and local constabulary. The franchised bakers, on the other hand, obtained their flour from the government--even wood and salt. They did very well. On top of that, there was a lot of graft. But what good did it do me if they did very well, when I had to muddle along as best I could? Meanwhile, time marches on. The year 1916 passed. somehow, I managed, and considered myself fortunate that I had not had to borrow. The inflation was getting worse every day, and we lived from hand to mouth. If we earned enough for dinner, we ate dinner; if not, we went to bed hungry. From time to time, my mother would go to Opoczno to visit Estherl, especially since she and Malke didn't get along. Needless to say, that didn't make me very happy. I managed to get some credit in Konskie for the things I needed in my baking business, but it was always hard going since the dispute among the bakers never ceased. The other bakers, that is the legal ones, were constantly looking for schemes to be rid of the others, including me. In short, everything, the flour, the baked goods, were at risk every minute. With the fear of death in our pounding hearts, we brought the flour and continued to bake white bread. In this way, we passed practically a whole winter. Then, of course, there was the week of Passover, 1916, when I had baked 55 white breads and 70 rye breads; I had on hand 2 1/2 sacks of corn meal and one sack of wheat flour in honor of the holiday--and my house was raided at two o'clock in the morning by the police. They confiscated everything, and I was left standing there--a poor man once again and in debt to boot! It is true that I wasn't the only one caught. They confiscated goods from many others, but how does another's plight help me? Neither pleading, nor weeping, nor screaming did any good. In addition to everything, I soon received a notice telling me either to pay 500 kronen or to go to jail for 15 days. I didn't even have five kronen. You can imagine what a Passover I had. Quiet and modest, to say the least. But I took everything in stride and counted my blessings. I comforted myself by thinking that, if I were in the midst of the fighting, things would be worse--or would they? At least there they had enough to eat, while here I was going hungry. After spending my fifteen days in jail, I once again walked around in a daze, not knowing where to go from there, not having a cent to my name, and being in debt up to my ears. I often despaired of my life, and more than once thought, "What is the point of struggling so? Aren't there enough people in the world without me? I'm obviously superfluous." Then I thought to myself that the war won't last forever, that my troubles must eventually come to an end. Pretty soon, I would once again see the possibility of a shining future before me, and my thoughts would stray back to the time that I first started building my castles in the air. I remembered the dreams of going to America, to my dear sis- ter, my devoted brother-in-law and nephew--dreams which had all ended, bursting as soap bubbles. So the summer passed in troubles and in poverty and was in time replaced by the cruel winter, which I feared more than anything. I tried everything in my power, including friends with pull, to try to get a baker's franchise, but all my efforts were to no avail. I got the same answer everywhere: "You're known as a businessman, not as a baker." With noth- ing to lose, the knife already at my throat, I decided to go to see the Hochbergs', who owned the ironworks near the railroad. They knew me well from the days before the war. They themselves had just recently arrived from Russia.) To tell the truth, I didn't even know why I was going to see them. For permission to bake? That had nothing to do with them. For a handout? How would a paltry hundred kronen help me? For a job in his factory? The factory itself was barely surviving! As I went there, my head swam with vari- ous plans--to cry, to beg, to talk, to ask, but to ask for what? I didn't find Mr. Hochberg in when I arrived, but all his wife had to do was to take one good look at me, and she could see the whole story written in large letters. First of all, I was wearing a pair of boots with wooden soles. Second, my coat was made out of a dyed sack. Third, I had bought my pointed hat from my Uncle Yankl for five kronen, and it must have looked it. In short, I suppose that I did what I had set out to do. I wept, talked and pleaded. I don't remember exactly what happened, only that the tears choked me and that she told me to come again the following morning, by which time she said that she would already have spoken to her husband on my behalf. During this period, there had come from America a delegation specifically to open up children's kitchens in all the cities and villages, so that children would be able to pur- chase a meal for a few pfennig. In Konskie, they turned over responsibility for the kitchen to the Hochbergs', and Mrs. Hochberg was to be the manager of the kitchen. In order to bake little rolls for the children every day, they needed a baker. At the meeting where this was discussed, Mrs. Hochberg mentioned my name and my present cir- cumstances. I was sent for immediately and given the task of baking rolls for the children from a hundred pounds of flour. Thanks to these rolls, Mrs. Hochberg managed to obtain a permit for me so that I wouldn't be bothered. I baked rolls daily for two years; rolls and some bread. Dur- ing these two years, we weren't hungry. I had an income, albeit small. You can imagine how small it was that, in the entire two years, I couldn't manage to have a new coat made. Time moved on, but I remained behind, as it were, until the time of Passover, 1919. Then, all the bakers got together and straightened matters out among themselves. The result was a decision that everyone would share in the baking of matsos. And that's how it was. We shared the matsos and the chometz. But I paid no attention to the low people with whom I was dealing. I had borrowed money from the "free loan" society and, although I worked like a horse for three weeks, in the end, I didn't even have enough money to celebrate the holi- day properly, because all 21 bakers were pilfering goods. So, after Passover, I found myself in debt once again, and once again without income. The same old story. Having no other choice, I sold my gold watch for 5,300 kronen and my wife's pendant watch for 2,000 kronen and started baking again, hoping to get back on my feet. It was already 1919, when Poland annexed our area, and the Austrians and Germans who had occupied the land had to leave Poland. From that time on, a new epoch started for us. Poland was liberated in the summer of 1919 and, with libera- tion, business flourishes. Under the occupation, business had been completely stifled. A businessman wasn't allowed to deal in flour, salt, kerosene, sugar, tobacco, etc.; but after the liberation things were getting back to normal. Bakers were not prohibited from baking bread, challas, rolls and so forth. Competition among bakers immediately became very strong. Each one tried to bake better and fancier than the other--and I was, once again, hindmost. Since I wasn't really trained as a baker, I couldn't keep up with the pro- fessionals. Since I earned very little, I couldn't afford to hire an assistant. Now the problem was overproduction. One even had to deliver and have a bakery booth in the marketplace. One had to bake cheesecakes, braid fancy challas, bake bagels! Just like before the war. Aware that I couldn't compete, I was always on the lookout for something on the side. I was still baking bread and rolls in the American kitchen and for the handicrafts cooperative. This aggravated the professional bakers, and they were my blood enemies. Their constant purpose was to cause trouble for me. One Shabbos, after they had gotten quite drunk with the baker Shmelke Beresh, the biggest ruffian in town, they jumped me right in front of the synagogue. That was the last straw! I don't exactly remember what happened after that, other than that everything swam before my eyes, and I pleaded to be led home. Realizing the baseness of these people, I left the whole bakery to my mother and cast about for some other form of business. I didn't have much money, but I had always had a good line of credit in town, and every once in a while I would receive some money from you and your dear father. This encouraged me a bit, so I let the word get around that Wolf and Chana Fraydl were receiving money from America; but no one ever really knew how much. So when I got $10, I said that I had received $100. This ploy stood me in good stead businesswise. People started coming to me with business deals. With one partner I shared a field of potatoes, with another I dealt in wood, with a third in flour--all on bor- rowed money! These business deals lasted a whole summer, until after Succos. Around wintertime, I had the opportunity to start a brandy distillery with three other partners. About this particular deal, Shloymele, I could write reams, but I will be brief. Three partners put in 500 kronen apiece, and the fourth con- tributed the use of his house. This project involved a lot of work. I myself poured eighteen barrels of water and pressed potatoes. Just getting started cost us 1,000 kronen. We ruined the first batch of brandy and had to pour it down the drain. The second batch didn't get us the return on which we had figured, and it turned out that we still had to invest quite a bit more into the business. (While prepar- ing) the third batch, we were caught in the act and the whole still was confiscated. It was just a miracle that I wasn't there when it happened; otherwise, I would have been in a lot of trouble. We used to brew at Katz's house, the friend of Lazar, the lame fellow. We escaped punishment by the skins of our teeth. Avram, however, was sentenced to jail for six months, but the town put up his bail, and he was set free. I really fell into that one! I was too embarrassed to tell anyone that I had had anything to do with that whole business, but inwardly I suffered. Keeping up my courage, I started to learn how to make soap. That too was forbidden under penalty of six months' impris- onment. Once I started making soap, however, I saw that that too was a losing proposition. This time I didn't wait until everything would be confiscated. I liquidated every- thing myself. But I couldn't just sit around and watch others becoming rich overnight wheeling and dealing. Therefore, I gathered all my resources, some of my own money, some which I had received from you in America, some which had come from Toronto. All together I had 5,000 kronen. I, Uncle Yankl, and a third partner went to Crakow, in Galicia, looking for a business venture. But with such a paltry sum to invest, we couldn't find anything decent. We came back with some old clothes, old shoes, old underwear. As it turned out, G-d hadn't forgotten me completely. He couldn't stand to let things go as smoothly as all that, and I was struck down by typhus. Not only was I sick, but my child, Balcia, fell ill. When my mother-in-law came to pay a sick call, she too was stricken and had to be given a bed. My house was transformed into a hospital, complete with doc- tors, medical assistants, prescriptions--the works! My wife was about to give birth at that time. When her labor started, she ignored the fact that I was lying sick in one bed, my mother-in-law in another bed, and our child in a third bed. Unashamedly, she lay herself down in a fourth bed. After several hours of preliminaries, she have me a son. Imagine, dear Shloymele, how much endurance one has to have to withstand such a tragi-comedy. Well, we made a sho- lom zocher, and I was still in bed with an ice pack on my head at the time of the bris. The choice was not mine. My illness lasted seven weeks and used up all the money I had. The old clothes were sold for practically nothing since we were in dire need. After getting out of my sick- bed, I walked around poor, weak, and discouraged, looking to heaven, as the scripture says, "from whence cometh my help." One fine day, however, the mailman brought me two letters in which I found two checks, one for me in the sum of 15,000 marks, and a second for my mother in the amount of 1,000 marks. Dear Shloymele, I swear to you by all that I hold holy, that a flood of tears fell from my eyes. My mother saw that I was crying, and she joined me. To this day, I still don't quite know why I cried. Time moved on. The winter passed, and it was once again Passover. I baked matsos and earned some money for the holiday. In summer, I earned money doing whatever presented itself, on a small scale, of course, since I had little to invest. I was willing to be content and, until I made a really honest accounting of myself, everything was fine. When I did ultimately take stock of my situation, to think where I stood in the world, and to wonder if I could ever amount to something, if I could ever beat the inflation which daily grew greater, the picture was very bleak indeed; the sum of the reckoning--a zero! Once again the sky became clouded, and the streets once again smelled of gunpowder. Poland was at war with Russia. Everyone from age 19 to 35 was conscripted into the army. Most of those drafted were immediately sent to the front, to the heart of the battle. The whole country was in turmoil. Fortunately, those between the ages of 30-35 were not sent to the front. They were held in reserve in the city. I was among these, and we were released after two months. At this time, everyone was economically ruined, and I was no exception. Meanwhile, the year 1921 approached, and once again I didn't know where I was or what to do with myself. I already knew by that time about the tragedy of your mother, my sister. I had been entertaining thoughts of coming to you. Indeed, at first, your father had written me such letters that I thought surely, at any moment, I would be boarding the ship. But man proposes and G-d disposes. I could not have known that such a tragedy would occur. My heart was heavy reading your letter about the tragedy, yet I had to steel myself. I wept by myself in a corner so that my mother should not see me and know what had happened. Struggling with my own life, my very existence, not being able to control my destiny myself, willing or unwilling, I turned to your father to ask whether it were possible to send me, once only, the sum of $150, so that I might have the possibility of buying a store, since stores had been doing fairly well. But I received a letter from him saying that he himself was struggling to make a living and that there wasn't much to spare. Perhaps. I am not blaming any- one. May G-d reward you for what you have already done for me, for I know that you have extended yourself beyond your capabilities. To return to my story. The war was now over and the world was normalizing itself, returning to its condition of ten years ago. True, not everyone suffered as a result of the war. Some would have liked to see another such war. Some became rich, bought houses, became somebodies. But the majority lost--I among the latter. During the seven years of the war, my life regressed. I still didn't have a source of livelihood. Even if I did have 25,000 marks, that didn't amount to anything at that time. I came out of the war tat- tered and torn. I didn't have an apartment or any household goods to speak of. I was ruined, emotionally and materi- ally. That's how it was in 1921. I had lost my energy, my motivation, and just wanted to live out my remaining few years in peace...no wonder. My wife, however, was after me day and night to leave Konskie. I tried to make her under- stand that, with the kind of capital we had, we didn't even have carfare to get anywhere else. But my talking didn't help. She didn't want to hear any of my explanations, and to tell the truth, she wasn't all wrong either. The argu- ments between her and my mother were growing worse daily. My mother thought that, since she was earning money for our support, Malke should also be earning money. I didn't enjoy any of this. One fine morning, I found that my wife had brought her parents to Konskie to prevail upon me to move back to Lodz. The move, dear Shloymele, wasn't easy. First of all, I didn't even have the money to make the move. Second, I was in debt. Third, I had lied to my in-laws, saying that I did have some money and wanted to go into business with Malke's brother. What happened? I pawned our velvet blanket and several articles of clothing for 30,000 marks and ran from Konskie as from a fire. I took with me an old worthless table and an old chest of drawers, which I had bought in my bachelor days. Other than that, I had nothing, not even a real bed. Dear Shloymele, I'll bet that in your furniture store you never saw such antiques as that table and chest of drawers--not to mention bedbugs. My mother made such a fuss, saying that I was deserting her and was running off with all her heirlooms. G-d in Heaven! I wish that I could amount to something because nothing would please me more than returning to her these wonderful pieces of furniture that I was almost too embarrassed to bring into my in-laws' home. Not having a choice, I bowed my head in shame and arrived in the big city of Lodz with a broken spirit, impoverished, naked, barefoot, blackened by fate, encumbered by a broken dresser, a table with only three legs, an iron cot, some bed linen, rags and tatters of clothing, two uneducated girls of 7 and 9, and a nursing infant to top things off. This was the first week after Succos. I was in Lodz for the High Holy Days and had already started to speculate in busi- ness. But, dear Shloymele, what kind of business could I get into with so little to invest? As it happened, I fell into your father's line of work. Several times I bought blueberries, butter and eggs and sold them in Lodz. This line didn't last long since I found that I couldn't support myself at it. After being in Lodz several weeks, I realized how wrong I had been to leave in the first place. Lodz is, after all, a big city where many people earn a living, and a good one at that. I resolved from that moment to forget Konskie and my misfortunes there. But, even here, the same old question hounds me--how to get some money? While in narrow straits in Konskie, I turned to you, my dear, devoted nephew, for a one-time gift of $150. At that time the earrings of my wife, Malke, were pledged in Opoczno with Lazer's mother. I traveled to Opoczno to sell them, but first I needed 40,000 marks to redeem them. I hoped to sell them for 100,000 marks. Lazer, however, wouldn't let me sell the earrings. Instead, he prevailed upon his mother to let me increase my indebtedness to her to the sum of 70,000. That cost me another 2,000 marks a week in interest. To make a long story short, after Succos, I had managed to get together 60,000 marks. However, there were restrictions on buying goods, and the rate of inflation was frightening. The value of the mark fell and merchants were buying up whatever goods they could. I became a partner of Malke's brother in a sort of clothes business. We bought material and cloth and worked them up. At the outset, we did quite well, and I thought that my salvation had come. Three months later, in January of 1922, there was a terrible crisis in Lodz, and about 90% of the factories were forced to close. There were tens of thousands of people unem- ployed. Business ground to a complete halt, the mark rose in value, and the dollar fell from a value of 7,000 marks to 2,000. With this crash in foreign currency, the value of all merchandise declined. People were made paupers over- night. They were forced to liquidate their businesses and to declare bankruptcy. I, as a young Lodz merchant, was carried along with the tide. This was in January, 1922. The winter was a particularly bad one with terrible frosts. I stood for hours, and then weeks, and earned nothing. But I wasn't the only one. No one was doing any business. It was a real crisis, and I wondered if, G-d forbid, I would have to return to Konskie. Even here in Lodz, I didn't have an apartment. I had moved in with my in-laws. They had a room and a kitchen. We lived in the kitchen. I had discontinued my partnership with my brother-in-law because it required lots of money. It didn't pay to continue on a smaller scale. In short, my brother-in-law once again became a tailor, and I once again stood around staring at the sky. Then Chaiml Marianka (Hyman Marcus) came to visit and brought me $15 from you. With this money, I redeemed my wife's earrings, as well as our blankets which I prevailed upon my mother to redeem one at a time. I could have rented out our bakery and paid off all our debts, but I didn't want to do this to my mother. Now you know why they once wrote you that I was a bad son who had deserted his mother. By now it was Purim time, and I was still without a secure income. There were, to be sure, some weeks in which I did make something, but that's not what I had had in mind. That's not the reason I came to Lodz. My in-laws wanted to help me as much as they could, but how could they help me if they themselves were lowly tailors and I was, supposedly, a merchant. Among all the nouveau riche, among all those who became somebodies during the war, one can count Malke's brother, Hetske (Rotberg) the tailor. Your father knows him well. He had the good fortune to have a million marks. That's about $200. He took a partner, and they deal in taking over payments for various goods. Business is not bad. They earn a living. Seeing that I was at a loss for something to do, Hetske took me into his business as a collector. That is, I have to collect the time-payments of the customers. It isn't an easy piece of work since I have to be on my feet all day. But I am happy with the job, first of all, since nothing else presented itself and, secondly, since at first I earned 10,000 marks a week and now I'm up to 15,000 marks. They also say that they'll make me a partner if I can con- tribute at least a million marks, that is $160, to the busi- ness. What do you think Shloymele? If I had that kind of money, would I need to be partners with them? Couldn't I do the same thing with my father-in-law or with another tailor? I know all the customers, but I'll say as you said in your last letter which I received just today--the trick is to thread the needle, then anyone can sew! But, oh, how does one thread that needle? That's the question. So now I've told you how your uncle survived the eight years of the World War. Don't think, dear Shloymele, that I haven't told you everything accurately. On the contrary. If I've left something out, it is only due to my poor memory or the fact that something did not make a sufficient impres- sion on my memory for me to remember it. My present letter, then, is written with no holds barred. You may read this letter to Mrs. Tsislovsky who left for Chicago two years ago. She will testify if what I have written is true or not. In any case, Shloymele, I am happy that I now live in Lodz, albeit in my mother-in-law's kitchen. In the kitchen, I have two iron cots, an old chest of drawers and a three-legged table. I earn 15,000 marks a week. But at least I'm in a city where there are lots of people, and I'm rid of the "little people" of Konskie, espe- cially those low Konskie bakers. Here, I send my two chil- dren to school, and I am able to dress better. I now wear a short coat, and my wife, Malke, has taken off her shaytl. Slowly we are becoming Germans--although poor ones. Today, I received another letter from you. I just answered your previous one last week. I wish you luck with your new automobile. Let me know if you bought the business from your father. If so, may you have much success with it. I close with heartfelt and loving greetings. I think that you will have enough to read. Enough suffering. Regards to your father and sisters. My wife sends her best regards to you and to your father and sisters. My in-laws also send their regards. From me, your devoted uncle, Wolf Lewkowicz. Please write to the following address: Wolf Lewkowicz Lodz ul Wolczanska N.168 u Rotbergo P.S. I am enclosing the newspaper ad in which the business is advertised. P.P.S. I forgot that, in the year 1914, right before Pass- over, I was robbed. Six hundred eggs were stolen. At that time, I was dealing in eggs. All material Copyright 1995 by Marshall L. Zissman and Sol J. Zissman.