TRANSLATION WITH TRANSLATOR'S COMMENTS
Pithiviers, November 8, 1941 [written apparently in the French way – with „le”.]
Dear Child!
I am writing a letter to you on your birthday, when you turned 8 months old. I write to you, Beloved Jacqueline, every month on your birthday.
You are little and you can’t read the letters from your father, who is in a concentration camp.
I think your mother is saving them to show them to you when you grow up. These days it’s been half a year since I left you. It was on May 14, 1941 before dawn; we got up and we woke you up, Dear Jacqueline, to see me off together with your mother to the concentration camp.
The day was May-like, the sun in the morning was shining with its May brightness, but for many people it was quite dark.
The mother dressed you, and your eyes were closed because we woke you up so you could see me off as well. We took the stroller to Voltaire Boulevard, where I was supposed to come. As I was leaving, I never let the stroller out of my hands until I left you with your mother.
Pushing you, Dear Jacqueline, I never let you out of my sight, although you were still asleep with morning sleep. When you woke up, you cried, but just for a little bit. You probably were hungry but we couldn’t feed you because it was closed at your mother’s friend’s, but we didn’t let you cry for too long, since we also had tears in our eyes. [The reason why J could not be fed is unclear, the grammar and the word order in the sentence is rather unusual.]
Your mother comforted me that we would see each other soon, with tears, because she knew she was being left with you without any livelihood.
You were almost two months old, and now it has been 6 months during which I saw you, Darling, with your mother, only once.
As your mother writes me, you are growing and healthy, which gives me
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a lot of joy.
Although on the one hand there is joy, there is also sadness because I am not able to see my own child developing.
When your mother writes me that the whole street knows and admires you, but your own father doesn’t know you.
A lot of people play with you and talk to you, although you don’t understand anything yet but me, your own Father, have no rights to you for the time being. What a wretched world it is!
You laugh with all those who play with you, and I can’t see your sweet smile, I I have to imagine it only from the letters your mother writes to me. I always ask mother in every letter to write as much as possible about you, Dear Jacqueline.
Your mother writes me a lot about you in every letter, which brings me much pleasure and joy.
So, I am sitting here calmly and awaiting my day of freedom, so I can come to you, my Dear Jacqueline, and be together with you and mother.
I know it won’t be long, I will be dismissed and it will be a happy day for us.
I am closing my letter to you, Beloved Jacqueline, grow up strong, because I know that your Mother is taking good care of you so you can be healthy, even though it’s hard since there is a war going on.
I am sending you my regards, and I kiss you lots although from afar, I think it won’t be long and we’ll be able to really kiss each other.
Your father in a concentration camp
Leon
[General comments – it’s interesting how different Leon’s handwriting is in this letter, as if written with much more care, maybe to make it easier for the child to read?
There are also some language inconsistencies; some in spelling (like bysz instead of byś, częszko/ciężko, wypuszciłem/wypuściłem), some in the Jewish way of putting endings on nouns, as mentioned in one of the previous translations. But it doesn’t prevent one from understanding the sentences.]