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Carmel, I May 37
Dear Father Freud,
I now feel a certain hesitation at sending off the two pleasantries I prepared for your birthday. You might well cast aside the one about Goethe in irritation, and not even smile at the ‘cover memory’. But we had to arrange some little display of fireworks for you, and it often happens at such displays that the man being celebrated or the guest of honour gets his sleeve a bit singed. I am saying all this to salve my own conscience, for my intentions were really of the best and it was meant in the most congratulatory way when at Eitingon's suggestion I wrote down a joke that had been improvised by me for our meetings in Jerusalem.
And now I wish you good weather and au revoir. Today it is hot here and as dry as in the desert, doubtless with you it is cold and miserable. But your birthday is an event here with us and we celebrate it and you by reading your works and realising with joy how much healthier, happier and more productive we have become through your lonely struggles, and this applies to our children too: I must tell you more about Adam sometime.
Best wishes to all your family whose lives have been