Dear Sala! Oh! what shall I write? Why haven’t you received any mail from us? Why?… Why?… Why does one even write to you? If I didn’t worry about causing you uneasiness, then I would be silent, because I have nothing cheerful to tell you. My dear! Weeping, oh weeping -- one can do a lot of that. I would rather not tell you about the ways in which our hearts are bloodied, but I must, so that you will know why we don’t write to you often. Every day brings us new sorrow. If you have money, you’re in, but without money, you have no help. Yesterday, dear mother was again at Ala’s brother to weep out her bitter heart. Ala hasn’t come recently. Mr. Gertner spoke very politely with dear mother, but there is no help in sight for now. He will try to arrange a sewing machine for Blima, but who knows if he will be successful. He did say that he would telephone Ala in Bedzin. Our future is dark. Sala! Sala! What shall I write to you. On top of everything else, I wound up at the wedding. Imagine: our dear parents don’t stop weeping. The weather outside is dismal and dark. It’s snowing and raining. Good day, good mail, good mail, good mail we await. Raizel