May 2, 1943
Greetings, my little bits of sunshine! I wish you a happy May 1!1
I'm a bit late in writing you, but better late than never. About myself, I won’t say very much. I'm doing fine, I'm healthy, and I'm studying and working. I don't have enough letters from you. Meanwhile I haven't received a single one, and that's why I'm sending this one by registered mail. I'm downright frightened by your silence. Are you in good health? What are you eating? How is your financial situation? I'll give you my address again: Uzbek SSR, Bukhara, Podolsk Artillery School (PAU), Boris Iakovlevich Gurevich. I've already been away from home for five and a half months; I've been at the artillery school for three of them. It's already hot here in Bukhara, but we can easily tolerate the heat. Today, May 2, participants in an amateur group, and I among them, are taking part in the choir, giving a concert for the command personnel. I hope my words don't sound bitter to you, but I would be very hurt if your stomachs don't give you an opportunity to think about concerts and, in general, about incidental things. My dear ones! Just hold on for four more months, and then I will be a strong support for you. I know this is a long time, but try to find a way to kill this time! After all, it's summer now, and prices are probably "cheaper." I saw my friends from Riga. I learned from them that Garfinkel from Hebrew school died in the forest, and it's not known what happened to his family. This is a clumsy letter, but my thoughts are not very neat and well-rounded either—they run about, and are out of sequence.
With a big kiss, I love you, Boris.
Uzbek SSR, Andizhan (old), No. 22 Tashkilat Street., Bravshtein
[Stamp] Inspected, Military Censorship, Bukhara
[Above repeated on another side, with added words] Uzbek SSR, Bukhara, 212 Lenin Street, for Gurevich