August 6, 1911

The sense of my life--for every life must have a sense--is to bear my own soul, that coward, which God gave to me, until the end of my predestined path. That was not my truth and now it has become it. I yearn for the truth which once was and has gone. I killed it.

Now I kill my new truth. Who waits for me now? Death? I am a broken vessel without the strength to fall. Madness waits for me. I am not deceived: either I accept my truth and carry my cross happy, or-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By Moyshe Varshe

Translated by Corbin Allardice