Somewhere in Sicily

October 1, 1943

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Dear Mother, Dad, and Grandmother

I’ll open with a Happy New Year [i.e. Rosh Hashana], which will be gone by the time this reaches you, which should be some time under six months. This is the end of the second day of the holidays, the whole of which went according to schedule. Religion is queer in a lot of ways, and I sometimes wonder what is the ultimate reason why I have been much more faithful in the attendance of services here than I was at home. It’s none of the obvious reasons, as I’ve annalized those carefully, so I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s an accumulation of all my present surroundings, rather than one particular thing. I’ve been wondering how I’ll react when I get home, and if I will show a marked increase in my enthusiasm towards religious affairs.

The services went off well, without any hitches, and, for the first time, I can say I wasn’t in the slightest bit bored by the services, but was intensely interested besides getting a great deal from them.  Services started Wednesday night at seven-thirty in the area of the Medical Battalion, where the Chaplain had arranged for the use of a large hospital tent, which he had anticipated would be large enough to hold the audience. It was necessary to have the services in a lighted tent, as it is now dark here by six forty-five due to the time having been set back an hour.

Well, we arrived there, about sixteen strong, from

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our Battalion, about seven-fifteen, to find quite a large number of trucks in the area already. We entered the tent to find it jammed, so that it was necessary for everyone to stand up. By seven-thirty, the tent was no longer large enough, as there were over three-hundred soldiers present, very much to the chaplain’s surprise, as fifty was a good-sized crowd for his regular Friday night services. It seems that sudden religious yearnings on the New Year is not unknown in the army as in civilian life, and all the men that had been indifferent during the year, suddenly had become conscious of their religion. The Chaplain was greatly surprised, but undoubtedly pleased. At first, he was going to hold two services, but then decided to hold it outside, and we formed a large circle with the chaplain in the center. They were laughingly called Blackout Services, as it was completely dark, and the only light that could be seen was a blacked-out flashlight that someone held on the Chaplain’s prayer book. Our part in the services was strictly limited, yet they were very impressive to me. One of the things that make the services attractive is the continuous responsive reading and singing by the congregation, a good part of it being in English.

As the services went on, I looked around and noticed two small trees at the Chaplain’s back that could well have passed for candle-arbres. Behind the trees was the dim outlines of a mountain, near the top of which, there was quite a large blaze, which the Chaplain laughingly referred to as a convenient light of candles for the holiday.

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As always, the services were brief, lasting until about eight-thirty, when we returned to our units, and I to bed, as I went on duty that morning at three.

By the time I was relieved, had eaten a hasty breakfast and had dressed, I just had time to make our truck, which pulled [out] of our area at seven, as the town where the [next] services was held was some twenty-miles away, and a convoy had to be formed at a designated place to go into town. The services started at seven eight-thirty, which was the scheduled time, which was quite a feat in itself, as the expected six hundred had swelled into well over eight hundred, which taxed the capacity of the theater to the limited. A great many outfits other than those of our division had taken advantage of the chaplain’s invitation, so that he really had a splendid audience. As usual, the Jewish Welfare Board had been right on the ball, and despite the Chaplain’s pleading and writing for prayer books for the holiday, they had supplied with him with a lot of promises and not one tangible book, so that he was quite handicapped in conducting the services from our own limited number of prayer books, and what he had amongst his personal possessions.

The theater had evidently once been an attractive place, but had fallen into the usual state of decay that we find everything. Neverthless with luscious nudes rampaging across pink clouds on the ceilings in all sorts of phases of ecstacy, we surely had an unusual temple for our prayers.

The chaplain had a bare stage for a pulpit, which he

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proceeded to make holy by draping this covering with the Ten Commandments on them in various conspicuous places. He then promoted a table, which he proceeded to make into a pulpit with the aid of a box that he carried his equipment in, which he covered over with a prayer shawl. The services lasted until noon, and were brief and repetitious due to the lack of the necessary cooperation of the J. W. B.  The services were reform rather than orthodox (due to a lone nurse of somewhat large proportions being seated in the first row.) I sat in the first row of the balcony, as the fly menace seemed to be in less proportions there and didn’t stir until the conclusion of the services. Considering the lack of everything that faced the Chaplain, he did a wonderful job.

After the services, we went to the Red Cross, where we had our choice of spam, cheese or peanut-butter sandwiches, as we couldn’t get back to camp in time for lunch. The second day was a repetition of the first in every way, everything going off just as well.

I think I’ll close for now with love to everyone and the hope that my time to come home will be soon.

Love,

                     Warren