Dear Abram,
It is Monday and I am a bit tired, so I apologize for the brief letter. I recently built a barracks at Plaszów — forced by the Labor Office — and my hands and arms are still sore. I probably shouldn't complain.
The SS and Gestapo began rounding us up, at least those who aren't registered, those without yellow cards, today. Rumor has it they got at least 1,000 and took them to the camp, to the barracks. I tried not to watch and only listened, only heard some of the shouts and shots and cries.
Now some poor man is sleeping in the bunk I constructed. I hope he sleeps well, dreams, and is soothed by the warm breeze blowing tonight. The breeze is comforting. A blanket. It is hard to notice the breeze most times. Other times, it's all I want to notice.
This bed I built, that holds my neighbor this warm night, I have a feeling I may be lying in it myself soon. Yellow cards only carry so much weight.
Goodnight, Abram. I hope you sleep well, too.
Your cousin,
Chaim
1 June 1942
Podgorze, Kraków
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This was written for 52/250 - Border town. I wanted to do something about World War II and started doing some research. This is what I came up with.
Criticism is welcome.
OK, you've killed me for this morning. So well done, and totally believable and so fucking sad.
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Susan, thanks for commenting. I feel like I should write more of these.
It is a brilliant letter, done sparingly, with great force and feeling. Yes, do more if this subject is calling to you..
And you didn't kill me, not really, don't worry! (I saw my wall). But I was forcibly moved by what you wrote here.
Thanks, Susan.