March 20th, 1951
Tel Aviv

Adorable Darling,

I have had so much post today, I feel like a Cabinet Minister. And from all the bits and pieces there has emerged the picture of my Boss, looking extremely fit or “so glaenzend in jeder Beziehung” – the latter heavily underlined – but constantly bemoaning his exile (without ‘h’ in the middle PLEASE) and constantly saying “oh boy, how I miss them”. You poor poor honeybee. And Anne mentions already a speedy return within three or four weeks time! What’s come into you, you dope? At least wait for the spring in England. Oh to be in England…. and all that. Once you’re back you won’t be able to leave again so soon. I also see that you failed to give the little dish to the Henschels. Remember I bought one of these for them, one for the Ullmanns and one for Hazel, who has also been notified. If you are short of presents you simply must make excuses… you lost it on the way or whatever you like. I got something really good today for the Kauffmann’s son. It’s a pen-knife. On one side it has the emblems of the 12 tribes and on the other a picture of a horse ploughing and a watch-tower and all the usual bla.bla. The blade is good old German Solingen, rostfrei or stainless, whichever you prefer and the whole todo is in a leather case. It is really most effective and cost a pretty penny too. Your father of course thought I should have bought what he got for Matty and said the blade must be as old as Noah’s ark. However I managed to cut myself with it accidentally and found it pretty sharp. Have you seen the family yet – auntie Betty, Alice, the Ullmanns just in case you can’t remember them all.

I sent an express letter today to the Kfms., saying I would be in Haifa on the 23rd. Later on I found out that I had turned the Lev Hacarmel Hotel into Hotel Leo Carmel. Isn’t it a scream. I hope the Post Office has got a sense of humour and a little intelligence. You should have had my letters now in which I told you about the Kfms. whom, as you said I would, I found very charming.

The photos should have arrived by now too. I can’t take snaps of myself, you know, and it’s your own fault that you didn’t take any snaps of me when you were here. I asked you often enough. Tomorrow evening when I go to the Simons I shall ask Ruth to take my measurements in case you can bring me something back. I need some nylons for the summer. Perhaps you can manage three pairs. I hear they sell them ladderless now. Also remember about the slacks and a nice blouse to go with them or a jumper. But I really don’t want to burden you and if you can’t manage we will get them here. I told Gaby about the children’s things. You might add pyjamas to the list, provided you have the money. If I can’t get shoes there will be an SOS.

I collected the results of my analysis today. This time there were only traces and the tiniest specks of blood. He said even the healthiest people have such specks and it was of no account. But I must go on dieting. Your father is taking the whole thing to Daniel and is going to enquire if there is any change to be made in the diet.

This afternoon I went with the children to Malchi’s. They both send you their best regards and she told me what a nice letter you had written to her. I was quite shocked at Jimmy. He looks so thin and ill. But then jaundice is no fun. He came into the room and told her his foot was hurting him. She had wanted him to wear a slipper on that foot. “Am I to go out like that?” he asked. “Of course,” was the answer, “how do you think people who are injured walk around?” “Thank you!” little Jimmy said, storming out and giving the front door a terrific bang. Awkward silence.

Buka is coming tomorrow and I am going to let her do the washing and I also want the kitchen spring-cleaned. There are so many things I had wanted to do in the house whilst you are away and blow me if I have done anything yet worth mentioning. I get up as late as possible and am as lazy as possible during the day and a b s o l u t e l y non-enterprising in the evenings. You can imagine the sum total of my activities.

I had a letter from Anne in which she mentioned that she had been extremely self-conscious of her looks. I think that explains her nervousness. Perhaps in England the sight of pregnant women is not as common as here and one has still got the Victorian notion of hiding away. You say that George is a bit of a pedestrian. All the chemists I have come across so far, including my friend Rita, have been terribly pedestrian. Look at John, as an example.

Beautiful mentioned ham and egg. It made my mouth water. In her opinion Gaby and Jack are getting on better, but if Gaby herself complains, there must be some truth in it. I wish he would come to his senses because she is such a nice girl.

Well, Boss, I must go to bed. It’s well after my time. Don’t be a home-sick little boy. Enjoy your work and seeing old friends again and do make the best of things! It really isn’t nice of you to make nostalgia your prime concern.

Loving you and missing you,

Bossy.