Based on the recollections of Rachel Minenberg Baker, Blanche Halpern Goldberg, Sylvia Kremen Rosenberg, Sophie Turnoy Trupin, Amelia Ullmann, and Nellie Brody Werner, as told in “And Prairie Dogs Weren’t Kosher”: Jewish Women in the Upper Midwest Since 1855 by Linda Mack Schloff, published by Minnesota Historical Press.

June 1855

Dear Rose,

Life has been difficult since I journeyed to St. Paul last month. Before Jake and I married, I told him that I would follow him to the end of the world. But I never expected that the “end of the world” would be in Minnesota. How will we eat kosher food and keep the Sabbath and holidays when we’re so isolated? We came here looking for a better life, but I’m scared. I feel lonely and wish you were here.

Missing you,

Sarah

August 1856

Dear Rose,

Sorry it’s taken so long to answer your letter. Did Sophie tell you that we moved to North Dakota? Unpacking pots and pans and crates of dry goods has been difficult, but at least we’re near family now. Glad to hear that you had a rainy spring. I’m told that the winters here are bitter cold, but that will be a welcome break from the heat we had this summer. A week ago, we got our first taste of a tornado. Because the land here is flat as a nickel, I could see the clouds swirling like a black snake in the distance. Suddenly, one of them swooped down toward the ground like a funnel. Fortunately, our house was spared, but Blanche, my neighbor, was not so lucky. Her daughter told me how she and her mother raced inside, slammed the windows, and then felt a dreadful roar over their heads. The next instant, the wind ripped off the roof, and rain poured down in such torrents that the whole room began to float away. Blanche pushed her children into the closet to keep them from drowning, and she stood on a box with her youngest in her arms. When the storm passed, she opened the door to let the water out. Farmers who came to help found Blanche’s roof in pieces. Can you imagine?

Yours,

Sarah

March 1860

Dearest Rose,

You asked if I miss our childhood days in Russia. Not really, but now that Passover is almost upon us, I fondly recall the luxury of having a kosher butcher nearby. As you know, kosher meat is scarce, so we eat lots of cheese and fish. Last week, we bought kosher meat from Minneapolis, but it went bad during the trip. When the train arrived, the stationmaster yelled to Jake that our package had arrived. Jake said, “I know. Dump it. It smells way over here already.” This week I wrote to Rabbi Heiman in Minneapolis, urging him to visit us again. There are no new baby boys to be circumcised, but we desperately need kosher meat, and he is the only one who can ritually slaughter the chickens and geese.

Fondly,

Sarah

May 1864

Dear Rose,

You asked how we maintain our traditions in North Dakota. Truthfully, many Jews can’t make ends meet, and it’s difficult to stop work on Saturdays. Some families light their Sabbath candles in the back room of their house, and then go tend to their stores. Still, I am determined to preserve our traditions. On Friday, my kitchen is filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread. The table is covered with a white linen cloth. The dishes and silver that we brought from Russia sit on the table. The men come in from the fields earlier than the other days. Contentment and peace reign in our home on the Sabbath. In the heart of each, there is love of God and thankfulness for blessings, and for the privilege of living in the land of freedom—America.

Love,

Sarah

October 1865

Dear Rose,

I am writing to wish you a good year and to describe a remarkable experience we had on Yom Kippur. The day before yuntif, all the Jewish homesteaders from miles around gathered their families and journeyed to the Weinbergs’ farmhouse. They’re blessed with a large place that accommodated us all. The scene that night still lingers with me. Each woman lit candles for her family in the living room downstairs. After the men unloaded the horses they began to pray upstairs, and we joined them. We found it sweet to hear the old tunes and to be surrounded by our own people. We prayed with the fervor of those who have been deprived of something that was always taken for granted.

Shanah tovah,

Sarah