I had formed a close friendship with Sholom Aleichem during his two visits to England in the summer of 1906. Two years later in Russia, during the celebration of his silver jubilee as an author, he became ill with tuberculosis; the acute stage of his illness lasted for some weeks, and after he had recovered sufficiently he was ordered to the Italian Riviera for a complete convalescence. He went to Nervi, where he stayed during the greater part of the twelve months from November 1908 to November 1909. In order to arouse public interest in his plight and to raise a fund for his benefit, I organized a meeting at the University College, London, under the auspices of the Union of Jewish Literary Societies, where selections from his works were read and I delivered an address. A message from Israel Zangwill, who was unable to come to London, expressed the hope that Sholom Aleichem’s silver jubilee would be made golden. But the meeting, which was rather poorly attended, did not yield much gold, and even after I supplemented the appeal by writing letters to the press the total amount obtained was just a little over forty pounds—a miserable tribute to a great writer. (I was under thirty at the time, otherwise I might have been a more successful shnorer; besides, the members of the Anglo-Jewish community in those days had not yet learned how to contribute generously to a good cause.) But Sholom Aleichem’s letters were full of gratitude and good humor, just as if the remittance were ten times as large.

In all I received nineteen letters, of which four have already been published (“Sholom Aleichem in Exile,” COMMENTARY, December 1949). I have since come upon the remaining fifteen, which are offered below. I have tried to translate the letters with the minimum detriment to their original flavor. —Israel Cohen

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Nervi, Italy
November 19, 1908

Dear friend and colleague Israel Cohen:

Your letter gave me so much pleasure that I begged the doctor to allow me to write you a few words with pen and ink, and this is for me a festive day.

Well, who is a prophet?¹ Sholom Aleichem! I can also prophesy to you about the evening that you are arranging, it will prove a success, not only morally. If I am not mistaken, I know Mr. Herman Landau well. He has a Jewish heart and is one of those rare children of the ghetto who, by his own efforts alone, became a real gentleman because he had a noble character from birth. I would be glad if Miss Helena Frank²—that kosher soul—would also be present. Dr. Rappoport,³ whom you mention, I remember very well. He is the only one who reads Yiddish and speaks Yiddish and writes Yiddish like a Jew, because he is—nebich—a Lithuanian.

If I should find grace and favor in your eyes, then you won’t wait until the papers print a report of the meeting some day, but you will send me a short report written in your own handwriting. Without any compliments, you write better every day. Through your writing to me, you will succeed in mastering Yiddish. And it would not be bad if the great Zangwill would show some condescension to the poor Sholom Aleichem. I would regard that as a gain, not for me personally but for our literature. London is a Kasrilevke, New York is Yehupetz, Paris is Boiberik—they should always approach one another and always convey to one another a warm and friendly

Sholom Aleichem

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November 29, 1908

Dear friend and colleague Cohen:

Your kind letter containing ten pounds I received by the first post, while still lying in bed. This is now the third day that I am feeling better, thank God. Proof of this is that I am writing to you with pen and ink. That is great progress! There are all hopes, friend Cohen, and every probability, that I shall (under tolerable conditions) become perfectly well and take up my pen anew. Never before in my life did I feel so capable of writing as now. Never before in my life were so many fine plots conceived in my brain, so many complete sketches and real pictures.

The only thing wrong is that neither the doctor nor my wife will let me write. “Eat!” they say. So I must eat Well, we shall see who will win. . . .

Sholom Aleichem

P.S. That Mr. Landau, I believe, is a close friend of Lord Rothschild. What would it cost him to induce Rothschild to give a couple of hundred (I don’t say thousand) little pounds sterling? Oh, what sort of people there are! Ach, mentshen, mentshen!

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December 2,1908

Dear friend and dear colleague Israel Cohen:

Scarcely had the ink on the pen with which I wrote to you about the first ten pounds become dry, when your very friendly letter with the second ten pounds reached me today. It is really a heroic achievement, in such a decadent—cold—dark—murky—gloomy—egoistic—drab city like London—to do something. And yet I hope that if you succeed in arranging a meeting in the East End you will have an even greater success. At any rate I press your hand fraternally with a very warm

Sholom Aleichem

P.S. I have forgotten the main thing. I am glad to inform you that I am getting on well, not only from day to day but from hour to hour. In one week I put on three pounds—that is, for a being like myself, more than enough. There is a little unpleasantness only from a cough, which goes on coughing. But even that must sink into the depths of the sea, as it stands plainly written in the prayer book, in tashlich. And then I shall become a Goliath the Philistine, a Samson the mighty one, supported by a Lord Rothschild.

Thank you for the papers and for conveying greetings to that pious one of the Gentiles, whose seat is prepared in Paradise over one hundred and twenty years, I feel sure not far from Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. You must understand yourself that I mean Miss Helena Frank. I have received a letter from her with a lot of Hebrew words, over which an English reverend would certainly have to sweat. Does she not perhaps embody the transmigrated soul of Mother Rachel? Hannah? or Queen Esther? or Abigail? A noble tender Jewish soul in a Christian body! Give her greetings from me. I have also written to her.

I am still waiting to hear good news from you. Can’t you let me know how you are? Where do you write and what are you writing?—In America as well as in Russia literary evenings are being arranged for the Chanukah days.

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December 20,1908

Best friend and colleague Israel Cohen:

I have received with thanks your dear and esteemed letter with the check for 329 lira, and I am fulfilling your wish that I should get better. Yesterday evening I sent a telegram of congratulations to Dr. Rappoport in Paris on the occasion of his marriage, and have also written him a letter. It is a pity you haven’t sent me the Jewish World in which Mr. Lurie writes about his visit to Nervi.

Tell Miss Carmel Goldsmid⁴ that I was in love with her. Her eyes pursued me for a long time. It is fortunate that I have a wife and she probably has a fiancé. So the world goes on as it is.

And last of all is the dearest—I mean the son of the London Chief Rabbi, Mr. Adler. I, the little Sholom Aleichem, did not have the honor to see the great Chief Rabbi, Dr. Adler. The people around the great rabbi did not let me get near him. My visiting card was also of no avail. And it was just on the eve of the Day of Atonement, when a rabbi and a leader in Israel is obliged to receive everybody with a friendly welcome, and particularly a stranger (“And ye shall love the stranger, for ye were strangers in Egypt”), especially as I informed the secretary and, I believe, wrote on the card that I only wanted to make the personal acquaintance of the Chief Rabbi of England. There is a proverb: To have been in Rome and not seen the Pope. May God forgive him—He is a pardoner of sins, not I. My prediction regarding your Hebrew has been fulfilled—that is shown by your signature.

Yours forever,
Sholom Aleichem

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January 14, 1909

Dear friend Israel Cohen:

It is now so long since I have written to you that I am afraid you have meanwhile made such progress in Yiddish that one must now write to you in Hebrew. Today I again had a visit from Mr. S. Lurie (of the Daily Mail) with his two daughters. He no longer found me in bed, but at my desk. With regard to my health, I can tell you that I am well. Would that I do not become any worse, that is, better—then it will be all right. The celebration of my (semi-) jubilee is not finished yet. America is now on the list. From my town in Russia—Kiev—I have received news that my friends intend raising a fund (they have already deposited part of it) and want to buy me a villa (a little house with a garden) in Palestine, because the doctors say that I must spend the next winter also in a warm climate on the seacoast. As soon as this news is definite, I shall write to you.

I am now writing a whole series of new tales, short and humorous, under a general title, “Railway Stories.” They will be printed at the same time in Yiddish, Russian, and German. It would be good if they could also appear in English, that is real English, I mean in some goyish magazine or a goyish paper. The stories are, first, short; second, quite original, and would be very suitable for the English public because they are not specifically Jewish.

Write and let me know how you are, if you have time to write. And if not, keep well just the same is the wish of your friend

Sholom Aleichem

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January 24, 1909

My dear friend, Mr. Israel Cohen:

Again a stiff envelope with a soft letter (97.50 lira), and I thought you had already long forgotten me. I thank you for informing me of your new address and wish your former landlady a complete recovery. I shall write you short letters from time to time about my health. With us in Nervi it is now summer. This week I again put on another two pounds. In a few days’ time you will receive my photograph. A neighbor of mine has photographed me about twenty times, and only at the twenty-first time did I come out satisfactorily, he said. I am now writing many new things, and some admirers of my old things—goyim—have now turned up who want to publish a couple of volumes in Russian. We are now conducting negotiations. The Warsaw Committee for my jubilee are making me a handsome present: they are buying back the rights of all my works from three publishers for the sake of my honor. This is a present worth a nice few thousand rubles.

Write good letters.

Your most devoted friend,
Sholom Aleichem

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March 6, 1909

Dear friend and colleague Israel Cohen:

My American colleagues in New York have presented me—may their hands never ache—on the occasion of my literary jubilee, with a typewriter, so I am no longer writing with a pen. And this is the best thing I could wish for in the interest of my health.

How are you, dear friend? Where is it written that Israel Cohen must send Sholom Aleichem only letters with money?

I am sending you at the same time my new story, which will be published in the Yiddish press in Russia for Passover. Read it through carefully first, and if you should find that it can have an interest also for an English Jew, then I would beg you that you should take the trouble to translate it into English and get it published in a journal (Jewish Chronicle, Jewish World, or altogether in a goyish magazine). If you are able to make any money by it, then you will first deduct something for translation and the rest you will send to me—for the four cups of wine on Passover. But if you should find that it is unsuitable for England, then please return it to me at once. In any case answer me quickly and straightaway.

Your most devoted and faithful friend,
Sholom Aleichem

N.B. Don’t sell the story at any price to a Yiddish paper! And in the case of an Anglo-Jewish (or English) paper, please see that it is not printed before Passover.

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March 19, 1909

Dear friend Israel Cohen:

Since you are so quick that you read quickly, judge quickly, and return quickly, I am sending you a second sketch of mine in honor of Passover, with the title “A Page of the Song of Songs,” hoping that this won’t occupy you long, because, in the first place, it is quite short, and secondly, it has a relation to the Bible, to the Song of Songs. And that which has to do with the Bible, and indeed still more with the Song of Songs, your English people, it seems, particularly like.

So, dear friend, if you are able to do anything with it, you will doubtless do something, “according to the good hand of God upon thee.” As a last resort we have a Jewish Chronicle or a Jewish World. But if the “Song of Songs” is not for them, then I beg you to be the same quick friend, Israel Cohen, and return it to me.

And may you have a happy and kosher Passover, according to the wish of Your friend,

Sholom Aleichem

P.S. When are you going to send me your new book?

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April 16, 1909

Dear friend and colleague Israel Cohen:

It is true that there is an evil star in heaven, but not yours, only mine. I’m afraid to send you anything more, in case some sort of accident again happens. And perhaps my work simply doesn’t please you, and you are reluctant to write me the plain truth because I am an invalid. . . . Now confess, it doesn’t matter, I shan’t become more sick than sick. I am still not all right, dear Cohen, I am still short of much, very much, to be all right. I only hope that I shall yet gain as much as I am short of. How much time I shall yet spend here, I don’t know myself: in any case, weeks. In May the doctors are sending me to some place in Germany, Switzerland, or the Tyrol (Austria), in some forest or other. That is what they want—that is, the doctors. And one must obey them! Perhaps, dear friend, you know a sort of remedy for doctors? . . . The “Page of the Song of Songs” that you sent me has not reached me. Have you received some things of mine these days from various editors’ offices? Do you sometimes see Miss Helena Frank?

I am writing new things now also, for Lag Ba-Omer, for Shevuoth, and just simple stories. The festival stories are not for translation. Perhaps my “Railway Stories” will meet with more luck, or perhaps—tell me now the real truth, don’t be ashamed. Where is it written that all Jewish stories must be suitable for goyim? For me to be humiliated by this would be a great stupidity on my part. What say you? . . . On the whole, I’m befuddling your head. Forgive me, but still write me a few words some time. I wish you luck in all your undertakings and, above all, health. Yes, health! . . .

Sholom Aleichem

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Sanatorium St. Blasien
Schwarzwald, Germany
July 31, 1909

Dear friend and colleague:

Your letter that reached me here today seemed as though it had fallen from heaven. It was sent on to me from Montreux, and in loshen kodesh [Hebrew] in the bargain. One could almost die laughing! Now this confirms the Hebrew saying: “There is nothing that can resist the will.” You are doing it better than Zangwill. Zangwill is seeking and seeking for a territory, but there is no territory.⁵ If only he had employed the time to better advantage and acquired a knowledge of Yiddish and Hebrew like you, he wouldn’t have a bellyache from the Jews.

How am I? I’ve been in Switzerland and suffered quite a lot, got over my illness in Italy, and now I am, as you will see on the other side of this postcard, in a sanatorium, and hope to God that I shall find here the real perfect cure. And as the main treatment here consists only in lying—hashkivenu⁶ is what it is called in Hebrew—that is why I have enough time not only to suffer but also to write. So I am writing as much as possible. I have arranged for the new Warsaw daily (Die Neie Velt) to be forwarded to your old address. When you get it, you can at once begin to read a whole series of my new sketches entitled “Railway Stories.” These will, I hope, make a bit of a stir in the literary world. They are already being translated into Russian for Gorki’s publication. There will probably be some enthusiasts for rendering them into German. But my heart is always inclined towards English. Perhaps you will read them through, and in case you should be seized by the desire, then you would translate them (or some of them)? Write to me whether you receive the above-mentioned paper, and also how are you? With what are you always so busy? Are you romancing with girls? Or perhaps—a question about Israel Cohen—have you set yourself to study the Talmud?

I await your dear letters.

Sholom Aleichem

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August 9,1909

My dear friend and colleague:

I have received the draft from the Jewish Chronicle for the money from South Africa, and am naturally very grateful. Perhaps you would be so good as to find out by writing a letter to the Chronicle who are the people who sent the money?—the town, the people, etc.? No news for the present.

Sholom Aleichem

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Regina Hotel
Lugano, Switzerland
September 27, 1909

Dear friend Israel Cohen:

You have guessed right, but not altogether. I have indeed left the Sanatorium St. Blasien, but am not yet well. The doctors (may they burn!) are sending me once again to Nervi for the winter. But because it is still hot there as in a bath, I am meanwhile languishing here in Lugano, near the frontier between Switzerland and Italy, and I plan to agonize here for not more than a month, and then, God willing, straight to Nervi.

I thank you for your book in advance, and wish you a happy New Year. I would like to know whether you receive Die Neie Velt from Warsaw, for which I have subscribed for you. Another thing: what news about Miss Helena Frank? Where is she now and how is she?

Your loving friend,

Sholom Aleichem

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Nervi, Italy
November 3, 1909

Dear friend Israel Cohen:

It has not yet happened that a letter of yours hasn’t been like the fulfilment of a wish. That’s how it was a year ago with the little stiff registered packets, and that is how it is with your letter which has reached me on the first day of my settling down for a winter cure in the ever young Nervi. I think that Dr. Cook could not have been so surprised at the North Pole when he greeted an American Yankee on the eternal snows, as I was by your “Sholom Aleichem,” the first greeting to me in Italy this season. I await your book. I am intensely miserable!

Sholom Aleichem

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November 10,1909

Dear friend and colleague:

I have received another letter from you (of the same date), and I answered you at once. I am now writing to you at length. I was in a state known as smohl. What does this mean? Smohl means: Pah! Do you know now? My people got quite frightened (there are such naive people who are afraid of death . . .) and soon packed me off here, to Nervi, and acted quite quickly. I already feel better here, and there is a hope in God that I shall have the possibility of passing the whole winter here without any cares. I only wish that, God willing, I become a man again. Probably God will help, it will be all right. Meanwhile I am writing still lying on my back. That is the custom here.

I have been expecting your book so long. It seems that in your country they print just like among us in Kasrilevke—with oxen!

Sholom Aleichem

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November 19, 1909

Dearly beloved friend Israel Cohen:

It’s a long time now since I had a letter from you. I am simply longing for one. I am getting better and better. There are even times when I suffer a little. Well, that is why one is in Italy. If one should really not have any pains at all, one could—Heaven forbid!—forget about God. How are you?

In America they are only now celebrating my silver jubilee: in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Baltimore, Cleveland, St. Louis, Montreal, Denver, Buenos Aires.

Sholom Aleichem

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¹ Sholom Aleichem had predicted that Israel Zangwill would not attend the public meeting in his honor, and his prediction proved correct. But Zangwill sent a cordial message of sympathy.

² Miss Frank, of Jewish origin but brought up as a Christian, was a translator of Peretz.

³ Angelo S. Rappoport, author of many works on different subjects.

⁴ The younger daughter of Colonel Albert Goldsmid, who had been head of the Hovevei Zion Association in England and a member of the Zionist expedition to El Arish.

⁵ A reference to Zangwill’s activities as a “territorialist” seeking some area (outside of Palestine) for Jewish settlement.

⁶ “Cause us to lie down,” the beginning of a paragraph in the evening prayer.