“Gewalt! What more is falling over our heads?” she cried in alarm.
Masheh Mindel, the water-carrier’s wife, headed a wild procession. The baker, the butcher, the shoemaker, the tailor, the goat-herd, the workers of the fields, with their wives and children, pressed toward us through a cloud of dust.
Masheh Mindel, almost fainting, fell in front of the doorway. “A letter from America!” she gasped.
“A letter from America!” echoed the crowd, as they snatched the letter from her and thrust it into my father’s hands.
“Read! Read!” they shouted tumultuously.
My father looked through the letter, his lips uttering no sound. In breathless suspense the crowd gazed at him. Their eyes shone with wonder and reverence for the only man in the village who could read.
Masheh Mindel crouched at his feet, her neck stretched toward him to catch each precious word of the letter.
“To my worthy wife, Masheh Mindel, and to my loving son, Susha Feifel, and to my precious darling daughter, the apple of my eye, the pride of my life, Tzipkeleh!
“Long years and good luck on you! May the blessings from heaven fall over your beloved heads and save you from all harm!
“First I come to tell you that I am well and in good health. May I hear the same from you.