Left hospital and now in convalescent home. You must come here, we live for you.
Our dear Sala, I just could not wait for you letter, so I hasten to write again. Oh we are most anxious to know whether you had received any letters from us so far. This is our fifth letter. Do not worry about us. Yesterday I left the hospital, and now I am in a camp for “convalescents.” It’s not bad here, except for the eternal separation, the three if us being scattered. I cannot get in touch with Blimkla since I am not completely well, but if you could come here, you would be together with her. Oh, how happy that would make me_ You absolutely must go to Bergen. Remember not to be late for the transport. I, for my part, await anxiously an answer from Stockholm, but it is most important for you to pursue it where you are, as many have arrived here who applied over there. We live on a temporary basis, so to say, under stress, as we await your arrival. Salus, how do you feel? Are you all well? Are you working? Where are you now? I don’t quite understand your address and that is why I am anxious to know whether you received my last letter. I am forced to write Zusi so she would send my letter to you. Gucia Gutman was in Bergen Belsen with her brother, and I don’t know why you did not meet her there. I sent my regards to Sala Garce (?) through my girlfriends, as I don’t know her address yet but expect to get it soon. Do you know anything definite about Moszek? Best regards to Zusi. I am only about 7 kilometers from Itka, whom I visited, and she looks well, so give Zusi Itka’s regards too. I wrote to Palestine today, since we have not had any new from there. We keep writing to them but we receive no answer, so I don’t know what to think any more. Something is going on over there, but that surely is not the cause of their silence. I enclosed a few words to them in someone’s letter, maybe it will be possible to find out something that way. Frankly Sala, I don’t have much to say, or maybe I really have too much to write about, because the deeper one is in one’s thoughts the harder it is to put them to words. That is how it is with me. I would like to tell you so much, to write so much, but instead I just scribble some nonsense. Then I regret that I wrote you so little, nothing of any significance. No, Sala, you must come here, so we could talk. Do not worry about us. Blimka is to start working, I don’t know at what job or where. Be of good cheer. Did you, by any chance, find someone from our family, meanwhile? As I ask, I have to sigh sadly, and answer myself: whom? Still, maybe someone. After all, it did happen that some very frail people turned out to be more resilient than others, assuming that at the end they did not get engulfed. We cannot lose heart or else we cannot go on living. Unfortunately, like everyone else, we have to live in the present . . . . . . We live for you, for you, and that gives us a little courage to live, because up to now we felt completely disoriented. And so I bid you farewell with great longing. Your sister Rozka, who always thinks of you and kisses you countless time. The same goes for Blimka. Be assured that the letter I am writing would have been written by here exactly the same, because we are in touch with each other.