Introduction

The first letter after a long interval is always an approach tied to uncertainty. One presents oneself to someone who may have only a dim memory or have turned away, or indeed be eagerly waiting. Once the letter arrives, the preconceptions are reduced to speculations, since the letter now challenges the recipient, while the sender has revealed his intentions. Now the real work on the letter begins. The first reaction is not free anymore—however it is answered. The dependence on the first letter is manifest even in its most complete rejection. Every tennis player is familiar with the situation after the serve. Naturally, the ball—to stay with the metaphor—can be returned so as to produce an immediate winning point; the whole game can even be won in this manner. But this quality cannot be forced. It is, and remains, dependent on what was offered as the point of departure. First letters provide the original framework, but they can nevertheless not be understood without the rejoinder. Only the exchange makes it possible to offer an interpretation. A single letter, by comparison, remains self-referential and has, at most, documentary value. Naturally, there is also a type of letter that neither wants nor demands an answer. If there is nevertheless an answer, this too is altogether bound to the first letter. This sort of correspondence attracts no interest because it merely documents a second ending. A second one, since the actual first one was a factual one that one has temporarily ignored, often without knowing more precisely why.

What has been said applies especially to the letters that were written from Germany after 1945 to the exiles. In the cases made public until now, the attempt to develop a conversation appears most prominent—a conversation often with very clearly circumscribed assignment of roles that nevertheless allow for no conclusion about the manner in which the motivational designs behind them are exactly distributed. The hope for absolution on the German side—as the correspondence with Martin Buber shows most clearly—often mixes with pride at having led their own, distinctive lives.