A letter

One card written on both sides, upper and lower part of the card probably cut off by censorship, with the characteristic so-called teeth with uncut, leftover parts of sentences in lines; on the reverse, at the edge of the cut, visible traces of marking out the finally cut out fragment. No date. A letter from Regina and Bluma Justman; Regina writes: Unfortunately, I don't have a [camera] here - which is a pity. Pictures from Warsaw - our old, beloved, beautiful Warsaw - would amaze you with their exoticism and hideousness. How I envy you that you don't see it and feel this searing pain! Based on those touching sentences one can assume that the letter is already being written during the period of the ghetto's functioning.Paulina Włodawer, who escaped from Warsaw with her husband in the fall of 1939, described in her diary (MPOLIN-A4.1.1, entry of 10 September 1980) a picture of the September of the war in the city, which is particularly moving in the context of the hecatomb already happening and to be happening for many years: “on the day when we [the Włodawers] came [to the Justmans' house], there was probably no one else but the family. I don't know if we were glad that we came - no one at that time knew what was good and what was bad. But it was somehow warmer to be together. The same evening was the Jewish New Year, i.e. Rosh Hashanah, and we all sat down to the festive dinner […]. I don't know anymore what did we have to eat, but there was a white tablecloth on the table and nice plates and candles. And when Mom was crying (she cried a lot!), while lighting the candles, we did not mock her even a little, as it happened to us sometimes. We had our heads lowered so that it would not show that some of us also had tears in our eyes. And the cannonade continued. But on the next day, as the skies cleared, planes came, and the bombing that was possibly the strongest ever. In the same house, almost in front of our windows, there was a small synagogue and, of course, prayers took place there on this High Holiday. There was probably a lot of people there, and through the open windows came a shocking, pleading scream, sobbing, a cry that should have moved the sky. But each collective plea was answered with the whistle of an approaching bomb and the roar of something that had just been crushed down. And so it continued - the pleading, desperate scream and bomb blasts in response. And this is how I remember it, and this prayer in the little synagogue I have not forgotten so far, thus I shall probably never forget it.