Buffalo, December 4, 1945
Hello Dimples,
I just got back from a concert and am still under the spell of the music. Oh, how I missed you there, Gerdush. The orchestra has improved incredibly since I went away, and was under the direction of a famous Canadian conductor. The soloist was an enchantingly beautiful Negro soprano, who sang in flawless German and French. I’m enclosing a clipping that cannot, however, give you an idea of her voice or graceful presence. I can’t adequately describe how moved I was by the entire atmosphere and the countless nostalgic memories it evoked.
After an absence of three years, I ran into many old acquaintances, one of them a girl who for a time lived in the same apartment with my relatives, as did I. She is now a member of the orchestra. I found that the same people who had always been active in musical circles were still around, and I recognized many faces of people I only knew then because of their regular attendance at concerts.
Although all that made me aware that I’m truly back, I could only think of you. I know how much you belong to this and are needed in order to make my inner rejoicing and contentment complete. You are a very necessary part of my life, Gerda, because without you, it’s only half a life.
If for no reason other than to show you this building and all that goes with it, I want to take you to Buffalo. Even in New York, you won’t find anything like it for concerts. Although I always dreamed of the times I had visited that concert hall, tonight turned out to have surpassed all that I imagined.
Where you are it’s time to go to work, and I’m wondering what the new day will bring. I looked around for a job today, although I had actually decided to settle in New York. I don’t really believe I’ll find anything halfway decent here, and nothing has come of my search so far. That is to say, jobs can be had, but it’s important to me to find the right one. I’m reluctant to pounce on the first thing that comes along. Right now I have a real opportunity to look around for something most to my liking.
No mail from you—or from anybody else, for that matter. Must be due to the holiday rush. Hope you’ll be able soon to confirm receipt of a package that went to you—if only one could ship them by air mail—and I know you can use the items well because it must be very cold by now. You’ll be able to identify this package by the sweater it contains.
Regards to all and my own kisses to you, along with lots of love,
Kurt
Buffalo, December 7, 1945
Gerda dearest,
Today it’s four years since America got into the war. How long ago that seems, and how that cruel conflict has unraveled meanwhile! Yes, it came out the best we could have hoped for, but why can’t people bring as many unselfish sacrifices in the name of peace as they do in war—constructive, bloodless sacrifices? Most people are too indifferent to devote themselves to the world they live in with wholehearted effort. Does anyone ever learn from experience?
Your mail arrives here only slowly and sporadically. I received two of your earlier letters, one of them addressed to your uncle, and the one to me dated November 15. Naturally I forwarded the former immediately to Istanbul, along with the photos you requested, which I was going to enclose anyway. Unfortunately I had nothing decent to send of myself. Guess we’ll have to wait and see how the first civilian photos turn out.
Actually I have to explain why I’m still in Buffalo; I’ll be returning to New York in two days. After looking around here, the situation is as follows: I could get a job in a printing plant here for approximately fifty dollars. If I’m not mistaken, it would be ten to fifteen dollars higher in New York, but as far as I can determine, that would be absorbed or even surpassed by the higher cost of living there.
My friends advise me to stay in town for at least a year under any circumstances. Room and board would be available at an attractive price. As for me, I feel very comfortable in this environment and prefer living in one-or-two-family houses to being cooped up in New York’s apartment buildings, which turn into virtual ovens in the summer. Here, everything is greenery, wide open, and tree-lined. Winters usually do bring a lot of snow and slush, but in summer you simply hop into a car and in no time at all you are at a beach.
New York is a fantastic city, but some of its charms are bound to pale after commuting twice daily to and from work, sardine-fashion, in the subway. That’s only one small example. It definitely has many advantages as well, but in general the city is too large to do all the things one intends to do. It’s the most interesting city you can imagine, for a visit. As for living there, that doesn’t hold much allure for me. Quite aside from that, it’s nearly impossible to find an apartment at the moment (a single room is somewhat easier). You don’t even get a chance to discuss the matter without first bribing someone. And if you get something in that manner, you naturally take anything, no matter how bad.
On the other hand, I don’t want to depict New York in darker colors than it deserves. After all, in all probability I’ll wind up there anyway. But with you in mind, I believe you’d get to know America much better if you didn’t live in New York. In particular I’d shy away from the neighborhood in which my sister lives.* Wherever you go, on the streets, in stores, in parks, or among acquaintances, you hear nothing but German. It’s hardly surprising, then, that this part of the city is known as “the Fourth Reich.”
Whatever may happen, you must know this: Once you are here and accustomed to the country, you’ll be able to decide at any time which city you’d rather live in. Don’t think I wouldn’t also enjoy and be happy in whatever appeals most to you and gives you pleasure. I’m only writing my opinion at the moment, and expect that in due time you’ll give me yours. At any rate, part of that decision is still hypothetical. I’m only trying to plan ahead as much as possible.
A parcel containing overshoes got off on its unfortunately all-too-slow trek to you yesterday. If only they were already in your possession. You just have to write and give me your shoe size; it’s so important!
I’m immensely eager to find out how your new dress turned out. Do bring me up-to-date on it, and show it to me in person soon.
Keep well—lots of love, darling [in English],
Your Kurt
Munich, December 8, 1945
Dear Mr. Klein,
or my dear, dear Kurt, the civilian!
Well, at last. I thought the army would never let you go. Congratulations! All the dangers inherent in being a soldier are over. (I know you don’t like to hear that.) I am trying to picture you as a civilian and find myself unable to do so. I can only say that I did love you in your uniform and will fall just as much for that guy in civilian clothes, I’m sure. Unfortunately that new status brings me to another point. I dread the thought that because of it, your mail will not be forwarded as fast as that of military personnel. I’ll just have to try and fill that void by picturing the day of our reunion!
I was lucky today, because four of your letters came. I enjoyed the description of Barbara and the baby ever so much. I will have no problem communicating with the baby, I guess. At four months his vocabulary must about match mine. With Barbara it’s another story. I will study hard to be able to talk to her on many subjects. What puzzles me about her, though, is that according to what your sister writes, she is crazy about you. How can anybody be crazy about you?
As to your dilemma—that is, the decision of whether Buffalo or New York City should be our home—I can’t render any intelligent comment, since I know neither. Obviously I would opt for New York because of the family. But you must make that decision, and I will be happy with your choice as long as we are together.
Many kisses and love, yours,
Gerda
New York City, December 10, 1945
Gerda, my dearest,
If my mail reaches you in the manner whose reverse is true here, then I can well imagine why it seems so interminably long until each letter arrives. What I’m not delighted to gather is that this is such cause of concern for you. You see, I’m u
sed to similar inexplicable intervals, through years of previous exchanges of correspondence with my parents, something I should have pointed out to you in order to avert your groundless worry. Well then, Dimples, cheer up; how could something happen here that would be cause for concern?
Now the countless visits, parties, and job interviews are behind me, and I am once again in New York. The main problem at the moment is something I already touched on in my last letter: Where finally to settle down? I have a job offer in Buffalo, which is tempting. On one hand, I do have my next-of-kin here in New York and there is perhaps more to do and see; on the other hand, the apartment situation is nothing short of catastrophic. It’s a difficult situation, but I believe I will opt for Buffalo, at least for a year.
When I arrived in New York, I immediately set to work to follow up a few leads I was still in doubt about, but didn’t find exactly what I wanted in advertising. In Buffalo there is a good opportunity to work my way up to it for about a year by holding a job, as formerly, in a printing plant.
Up to now all you’ve heard about is “me, me, me,” and that sounds especially hollow when I reread your latest three letters. I refer in particular to the content-heavy letter of November 28, after you spoke to Escia. Gerda, I feel so tiny, so terribly insignificant, while I try to absorb those lines and imagine their full impact, as they must have fallen on you with merciless force from your friend’s lips. What can I say about that? Words of banality meant to console? You’re quite right, I must leave unsaid all that touches me the most profoundly, but not for the reason you mention. If I were with you, I could perhaps indicate my feelings through my presence. After all, you always—and without exception—understood my feelings.
Gerda, I have never known a human being who in any way came even close to having your courage, your faith, your resolve, your confidence, and your selflessness! I don’t know how that’s possible, I only know it is so. Everybody has his or her weaknesses. In you I could only discover rock-solid principles so far, and it seems like a miracle that I found you. I can never aspire to reach your heights, but I can attempt to shape your life in the manner that you desire. Love will replace all that we do not possess. Yes, you will bring sunshine to my world, so much of it that its rays will warm you as well!
I do have to ask something of you, my love. Never say that what you write doesn’t belong in my world. That’s not so, for you are my world. I hope that in the end I’m not so superficial that I only know how to chase after pleasure and that I force myself to look at lighthearted things, while the somber simply doesn’t exist because it would be too “inconvenient” to be reminded of it. I don’t mean to say that I want to indulge in fruitless complaints or wallow in negative self-pity, but in order to live fully we have to be able to face existing facts.
Gerda, I’m so proud of you, of everything that you always accomplish when you see others in need. And the fruits of your self-sacrifices are always so rewarding; it’s just marvelous what you achieved on behalf of your friends! Do keep me abreast of their progress.
Hope these lines will speed toward you, driven by trade winds.
I embrace you,
Your Kurt
New York City, December 12, 1945
Gerda darling!
Now I’ve reached a firm decision to return to Buffalo and accept the job offer I have. It was difficult in view of the many pros and cons, but I believe I am doing the right thing.
There’s no doubt that we’ll be able to live much nicer and more comfortably in Buffalo, no matter how modest the first apartment may turn out to be. By and by we’ll create a home exactly as we like it.
I’ll be taking the train this coming Saturday evening and will start my job the following week. Your papers are all ready, except for the ones that depend on my having the job. I visited the Joint offices once more yesterday, and was told I should wait with the booking of ship’s passage until you are in either Switzerland or France. Once there you should go to that branch of the Joint (in Zurich or Paris) and get information on how to go about the next steps. They will then cable their home office in New York, which in turn will notify me that passage has been booked.
No answer so far from Istanbul, which leads me to the conclusion that you have to count on a period of two months until you get an answer if you write through me. It’ll probably be faster by way of Switzerland. I do hope, though, that air mail service will gradually improve. It should take only a few days from here, after all. Once the necessary documents get here from Turkey, much can be accomplished.
Were you able to see Madame Curie? I certainly hope so, because it’s very, very good. The actors are fabulous, only I imagine that a lot of the English dialogue fell by the wayside, even if it had subtitles.
I saw a musical called Oklahoma yesterday. It’s a type of operetta, but I was somewhat disappointed. It’s been playing for a couple of years to enormous acclaim, but I thought the reviews were exaggerated to some degree and the “hoopla” too much. Other than that, it made for good, light entertainment.
How are the girls doing? Do they still live in the museum or have they got private accommodations? Were they able to recover from those terrifying experiences?
Do make my day soon with your eagerly awaited lines,
Your Kurt
Buffalo, December 13, 1945
My dear little Gerda,
Your honorable fiancé has turned into a real goldbrick. The year is almost over, and he can only go on record as having been a lazybones. I’ve got to put an end to that vice. Am really impatient now. High time that I get acquainted with work once more. Oh, well, in a few days.
I had hoped to find something from you in this morning’s mail. What came instead were my discharge papers from the army. At least I now know that the officially sanctioned period of loafing is at an end. By contrast, if I imagine your labors, I get a peculiar feeling. It seems to me that you have to work much harder than is necessary. Think about it some more. I would so much like to make things easier for you. How do you manage at all financially? Please don’t hesitate for a moment to tell me about it. I can’t bear the thought that you might lack things.
Gerdi is very sorry that I’ll be leaving New York, and I myself have gotten used to having members of my family around me again.
The temptation was great to stay in New York for another two days. Imagine what’s playing at the Met next Monday: yes, Fidelia!—my favorite. Too bad, but I’d much prefer to see it with you anyway. Instead was able to get tickets for an operetta, called Song of Norway, based on Grieg’s music. It turned out to be overwhelmingly beautiful. You’ll get to see it, too; I could watch it dozens of times. Magnificent music and a great deal of humor thrown into the bargain. I think that even Grieg wouldn’t have any objections to having his music used in ways not originally intended.
Enough for now. I’m thinking of you and am sending many, many kisses.
Lots of love, your
Kurt
Munich, December 15, 1945
My dearest Kurt,
It must have snowed all night. Fluffy pure white snow covers everything. I had the desire to go to our woods again and knew that no one would be there to disturb my thoughts, my memories, allowing me to commune with you.
I trod with reverence on the untouched snow, along the path we used to take, engaged in our long talks and once, during a long silence, just holding hands. I stopped, and had the feeling I was not alone, then found myself looking into two huge, soft, gentle, brown eyes. I held my breath and we looked at each other mute, the deer and I. When I took two tentative steps forward, he sprinted away in a flash and was gone.
It was so beautiful, so pure, so wild and free that I was overcome by a deep desire to pray. It was a strange prayer, a prayer of three words only: Thank you, God. I somehow needed to express my boundless gratitude for the happiness I felt at being able to see such beauty, and that this feeling had not been extinguished within me.
It was only then that I realiz
ed that today is Saturday, a day when many Jews go to synagogues to worship. I recalled how I used to attend services back home, but often was bored, occupying myself by counting the ornaments on the ceiling and walls, and how I had mouthed prayers I did not feel. It is in nature that I can sense the presence of God, feel the awe of the divine, can truly pray.
I am sending you this tiny branch from “our woods” and hope that I will dream of you tonight. I love you.
Gerda
My feelings about God and prayer must have lodged early in my mind, awakened by tales my father would tell about his own father. That grandfather was to become the strongest influence in my spiritual life. I never had a chance to know him; he died when I was a year old.
Grandfather Yosef was a pious Jew who was in the habit of reciting his morning prayers while walking in the woods that surrounded the shtetl, the small then-Austrian town that was Chortkov, close to the Russian and Romanian borders.
My own memories of Chortkov crowd my mind like a painting by Chagall, whose hometown of Vitebsk was only a short distance away in Russia. I see sunflowers towering over small houses, huddled together; horses that, by a slight leap of the imagination, could jump over rooftops; and when Sabbath evening would fall on the hushed, tiny hamlet, crooked fences that seemed to bow in deference to the Sabbath queen.
That was my father’s native town, a place he left as a young man to further his education in Vienna. Meanwhile World War I broke out in 1914, which meant that Papa and his three brothers were inducted into the Austrian Army.
Before long Chortkov was occupied by Russian enemy troops, cutting off Papa’s family, which also included a sister, from contact with the sons and brothers serving on the Austrian side. I would listen over and over to the tale of how Grandfather loved walking in the woods reciting his prayers. No doubt he also faithfully attended synagogue services, but he apparently found a close connection with God in the realm of nature. In retrospect I realize how much I followed in his footsteps.
The Hours After Page 20