“God from the world, is there no end to our troubles? When will the earth cover me and my woes?”
I watched the Cossack disappear down the road. All at once I saw the whole village running toward us. I dragged my mother to the window to see the approaching crowd.
“Gevalt! 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 goatherd, the workers in 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, Sushkah Feivel, and to my darling daughter, the apple of my eye, the pride of my life, Tzipkeleh!