I was MeMed by Mark Horan. I guess it is like a flue: you get it, you have to pass it on. I also noticed that some people got it several times, This is scary, like any epidemics, so I hope to handle it only once. With a growing number of members there is a hope that is achievable.
So, here it goes. I have read masterpieces. This is not one. Just bits and pieces of one life.
I never had grandparents. The family consisted of my mom and my older brother. My grandparents from my mom's side lived in the Ukraine in Malin, a small town near Kiev. In 1941 when the war started, my grandma came to Kiev to take care of her daughters (my mom and one of the sisters, who were in Kiev). She told them to leave Kiev, but she said that she would stay. She was not afraid of Germans, she was under them during the 1st World War. She, as tens of thousands others (over 100,000 Jews) was executed in Baby Yar, a ravine on the outskirts of Kiev.
"Operational Situation Report USSR No. 101, 02.10.1941:
Sonderkommando 4a in collaboration with Einsatzgruppe HQ and two Kommandos of police regiment South, executed 33,771 Jews in Kiev on September 29 and 30, 1941
Several days later, when Nazis took Malin, they brought all the Jews to my grandfather's house and burned them alive. These were different Germans, but my grandparents did not know that. I was born 10 years later. I did not know what I missed until I became a grandpa myself. If I could, I would tell that to Ahmadinejad, so that he stops telling his BS to the world about the Holocaust.
Then I showed some resiliency and outlived Josef Stalin, which was not the plan (Stalin's, of course). In 1953 Stalin ordered all Jews in the Soviet Union to be moved to a remote Siberian region (actually Russia's Far East), an area where they have never seen a Jew before. In the 90s, already in the US, I ran into the documents that 75% of Jews were directed to be exterminated on the way and only 25% were supposed to reach the destination. My mom had all belongings packed into two suitcases (all you were allowed), and we were waiting for our echelon, and suddenly Staling died on March 5, and the whole operation was halted. I was 2 y.o., but I had different plans and luckily mine took precedent. Though I was too small to remember it, but I figured that tyrants plan whatever they want, but even they are under the G-d. I guess he changed the plans in my favor.
My mom was an MD, but they were paid very little, so she always worked double shift, plus she had 4 mandatory night duties at the hospital, plus she was taking as many paid as she could, so she was out 13 nights a month. Of course, every Holiday she had a night duty (after the double day shift) as they paid more for Holidays. So, I really saw her very little, and was growing as a street boy, and by all means was far from being a model schoolboy.
After graduating from the University we ended up in the Arctic just a hundred miles above the Arctic Circle (this was a very practical decision, they paid more there).
Living in the Arctic is a separate story. There was little fun and a lot of hardship. Long polar nights are very depressing. Not a good place to live, but life is life, we raised two kids there, had friends, had dreams. This time was special. I sometimes can't actually believe that was really us, who lived there. From sunny Florida, where we complain when the temperature dips below 70, it is difficult to imagine living in -60. Or surviving blizzards.
With Michael Gorbachev in power in 1985 and with all Perestroika, Glasnost (Openness), people started opening their mouths, people started talking. And in cities like in Moscow and St. Petersburg people started making lists of Jews. Not that those old ladies-activists hated Jews, no. They just did not want the discomfort of gangs going through the apartments destroying everything, looking for Jews should the pogroms come (and we were sure they would), so to make the massacre more 'civilized', they had those lists handy. This was a warning sign. We did not want to live in the Arctic all our lives, and where could we go. My wife was worrying that our son was getting to the age, when he would be drafted, and having 'Jew' in the passport was not a good sign for survival.
When I decided to emigrate to US, I wanted to try if I would survive in a similar situation. So, I moved to Moscow, leaving the family back in the Arctic. I did not have residency permit, I did not have the right to work in the government sector (at that time good 99% of all jobs. But I survived, and even eventually started making more money than in the Arctic, and second year brought the family to Moscow. In order to go through the whole process of trying to get out of Russia, we all desperately needed information, which was not available. So, my friend and myself decided to put together a guide to emigration. I was proud that we did. It was called 'Begunok' (a runner, meaning when you need to get all the permissions, you are running from one office to another). It was published by an underground anti Soviet Jewish organization Irgun Zioni (don't ask me what it means). I hope it helped thousands in their pursuit of happiness. It is not the only thing I ever published in Russia, but this was the most fascinating.
We came to US (New York) as refugees in 1991. That day my son turned 19. We were happy and we had $400 in our pocket. My daughter got in love just before we got the permission to go, she did not want to go, and the only way to take her with us was to have them marry, so that her husband would have an easy way of coming. Well, he chose not to. But in two weeks we got the news that she was pregnant. By that time our $400 miraculously disappeared (life is expensive). We somehow managed to fell through the crack of the social services system, and there came the hunger. I am not sure you know what it means. Not that my 18 yo pregnant daughter wanted something particular, she just wanted to eat. I still do not know whether we broke the law, as my grandson Daniel came as a precious contraband.
Well, it is a separate story. We moved to the Bronx, and after the move we were left with a quarter in our pocket. A year later I worked in the social services and I could get food stamps for my clients the very same day, I could get food packages ($25 value) for my clients 2-3 times a week and that did not cost them a penny, but that was later and for others. We did not know that we could demand, we were just waiting. The Social Services office was 7 miles from us, but we did not have money for a subway or a bus, so in the 90F+ August heat of 1991 I was jogging through the South Bronx to this office every day to see if we got the Food Stamps for 1.5 months. One hour one way, and one hour back. But hey, I was in the perfect shape. Anyway, my son saved us. He got a job as a delivery boy in a local supermarket, helping older people to deliver their bags to their apartments, and he was paid $90 a week, but he was bringing tips. And we started eating. So I learned a very important thing: if you are looking for a diet, just don't eat. Period. Works wonders, especially if you are also jogging for 2 hours a day. The best part is that satisfaction is guaranteed. Works 100% of the time. Tested.
I worked in the Social Services helping Russian Refugees to settle and get the entitlements. What surprised me was that people were complaining about what they had to endure in the US, and were bragging how high they were in Russia, and how really good was the bear sausage back there in comparison to the one in Brooklyn Russian Stores. I was very surprised, as never not only tried bear sausage back in Russia, but never saw it and never heard of it. I did not see much of any sausage back there, so I soon figured that we might have come from different countries. Theirs, so beautifuld that I could not figure why would anyone leave it, and us, simply from the Soviet Union.
Then I had to deal with so much negative reaction towards everything here, that I started offering them help to go back. First time I did it absolutely sincerely, the guy was so miserable here, and there he was this and that, so I offered to get him the ticket back to his wonderful Riga, Latvia. To my surprise, he did not want a ticket. He wanted that Americans would change something to his liking. So, I figured that not only we came from different countries, we also came to different countries. And the one I am in is real America, and I love it dearly.
I guess that takes care of my MeMe. Guys, do you really like other people stories? I will get 3 names tomorrow, it is darn late and Monday is a busy day
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