Category: <span>Present</span>

Imagine being eleven years old and finding yourself suddenly blind, deaf and mute. That is exactly what it felt like when I moved to the United States. We landed at JFK in the afternoon of August 21st, 1994. Dusk had settled over the Big Apple by the time we exited immigration, customs and picked up our luggage. We drove to my aunt’s house in the suburbs of Philadelphia and began our new life.

I was enrolled into a local middle school and started 6th grade on September 6th, 1994. That would be a short two weeks after we arrived here. Here are a few facts about me on my first day of school:

I did not speak any English. I did not know anyone. I had never used a school locker or seen a locker lock before. I was 11 and most other 6th graders were 12-13 years old. I was enrolled into ESL (English as a Second Language). I was also enrolled in Spanish class — and why not? It was all the same for my brain… English, Spanish… they could have added Mandarin and it wouldn’t have mattered to me. I had to take a test to be admitted into 6th grade. My math level was that of a 9th grader.

I was sad, nervous, anxious, relentlessly teased by my classmates for anything and everything. I could not complain to my parents or my sister; They were busy getting on their feet so that we could move out of my aunt’s house and begin rebuilding our lives in our new homeland. My parents and sister had to get drivers’ licenses, jobs, and find an apartment.

… and move out we did a scant three months later. My mom and sister got jobs first, my dad followed. My sister enrolled into Drexel University. My parents worked hard, incredibly hard — all the time. My dad worked three jobs initially and my mom two. They helped pay for my sister’s college education (though like me, she paid part of the way herself).

Fast forward four years — my sister married and my parents were homeowners working normal jobs and saving for retirement, for my college education. We were comfortable…

Fast forward two more years and I was attending Drexel University on a merit-based scholarship.

Fast forward five more years and my parents were attending my graduation from college.

Fast forward three years and we celebrated my marriage to an amazing man.

Fast forward three more years and my parents were helping my husband and I move into our first house. Fast forward another six months and my parents were helping us bring Sophia back home from the hospital.

This is the truth. This.. this is a story of determination, of hard work, of not being spoiled. This is a story of immigration, of the American dream. This story isn’t really about me. It is about my parents. It is and always was just about them. I dedicate this story, this series to them.

Life Past Present

2 suitcases per person. Your whole life, your children’s lives — all in 8 suitcases. Memories, special mementos, family heirlooms — all in 8 precious suitcases. I don’t remember those suitcases — I don’t want to remember those suitcases.

I do remember my parents sorting through hundreds, maybe thousands of family pictures and albums and selecting a precious few. I remember the rest were burned … no other option. Perhaps more tragic than the fact they were burned, is the fact that each and everyone one of them, my dad took. He enjoyed photography as his hobby and would take, develop and print every picture. He let me “help” him when I was a little bit older and it was such an amazing treat.

I remember amazing pictures he took of my mom when they were dating. I remember pictures he took of my sister and me, of my family, my aunt when she and her family came to visit in 1988. They’re all gone. In fact, and I am sorry I missed seeing some that my aunt has from when my grandmother would post them to her. I want to see them, I want them. It made me very sad.

Life Past Present

I was 8 or 9 when my parents began the application process for moving to the United States and thankfully unaware of the difficult road they were embarking on.

Immigration is a tricky word you see. One can immigrate for different reasons such as seeking political and religious asylum, for a new employment opportunity and many others. Most Jews immigrating from the Eastern Block countries were seeking asylum from religious persecution. Your emigration status was directly linked to the assistance you would receive upon your arrival in the states. HIAS was formed especially to aid in the resettlement of Jewry in the United States.

We had family in the United States (my mother’s sister) and applied to emigrate based on a re-unification program. The reunification program meant that the United States would allow you to immigrate to rejoin your loved ones (mother, father, sibling, child). Any social assistance had to be applied for separately. We did apply for social assistance (refugee status), went through an in-person interview at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow and were the only family out of hundreds interviewed that day to be denied.

An especially poigniant moment of the interview stands out in my mind; we were in the office of one of the embassy employee undergoing the application interview. The interviewer, a man in his middle to late 40ies or maybe even 50ies, speaking in almost flawless Russian said:

“Mr. Colonel, you want to apply for refugee status and come to the United States asking for aid? You are a Colonel and in America, Colonels have staffs of employees and aides. Do you think it is something you will be able to do, to stand in line with your hand open asking for free flour?”

The employee didn’t have any comprehension that my parents’ number one goal was to bring their children to America, to raise and educate them and enable them to live a normal life with rewards based on their achievements — and that yes, they would do whatever it takes to do that — forget who they are, let go of statuses and possessions. The fact is, that while esteemed and enjoyed a comfortable living, a Colonel in the USSR army didn’t retire with staffs and aides.

By denying my family refugee status, the United States essentially denied ANY and ALL assistance (financial and otherwise). They were permitting us to enter the country with the right to work. The reasons for the denial are unknown but could be any or a combination of the following: my mother’s sister who resides in the suburbs of Philadelphia was enjoying a very comfortable middle class life and my father was in the military and the embassy had a difficult time envisaging his new identity in America. I suppose the government had decided that if we did emigrate, my aunt was going to support us. I should also say that most families denied social assistance did not emigrate to the United States, instead opting to stay back or head to Germany or Israel who had more social aid oriented programs.

The lack of assistance did not weaken my parents’ resolve. We sold, donated and distributed all of our possessions packing up our 8 suite-cases (2 per person) and heading to a new life in America.

Life Past Present

The next installment of the story of how I came to be who/where I am … if you’re new here, the previous ones are here, here, and here.

My dad, a Colonel by this point had made a decision to retire so that he and my mom could emigrate to the United States. The decision, I am told, was difficult. My parents had everything going for them; Being a retired, esteemed and decorated member of the armed forces, my dad was entitled to a cushy pension, a private apartment of substantial size in the city of his birth (Kiev) and many other perks (e.g., in the former USSR, Colonels did not have to wait in line at train stations or airports).

My sister and I however, had extremely limited prospects. Education was free (in fact, they paid YOU to go to college — if you were accepted to a program that is) excellent, required and respected. Nonetheless, education was not guaranteed even if your grades were outstanding and your entrance exams passed with flying colors. Corruption and wide-spread racism (your religious affiliation was forcefully stamped in your passport) were major causes for concern and barriers to attaining a spot at a respectable university. Employment opportunities were becoming scarce and even though it was the nineties, my parents were all but certain that neither my sister nor I will enjoy the same quality of life as did my parents. They made the ultimate sacrifice to emigrate.

Life Past Present

As has been a tradition for the last few weekends, this post once again documents our precious time off. Our weekends seem to fly by faster than all the other days of the week even though we try to take it easy. This weekend was extraordinary; we got a chance to get out for some hubby and me time and we got to catch up on less thrilling things like taxes, laundry and shopping.

My parents came down to visit with us and spend some time with their granddaughter. They brought dinner — many nights worth of dinner, in fact and I provided dessert.

Reading Books

 

… and Shopping?… and I didn’t forget about dessert!

Banana Nut Bread

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Life Mom's Cooking Moments Present

The fact is that even people who are trained teachers and psychologists are challenged on a daily basis in their attempts to parent their children. In fact, I don’t believe that any amount of education in any field can adequately prepare you for the task of bringing up the next generation.

“The amount of time you will spend with your child is constant. You will spend it either when they are little by playing, learning and teaching or you will spend it later in a therapist’s office listening how your child really feels.” These words are perhaps the most salient advice I’ve received about parenting. They are the advice of my husband’s graduate advisor who besides being an incredible applied mathematician, is very wise.

Simple, right? Spend more time getting to know your child now and there will be fewer unanswered questions and surprises down the road. And isn’t this what we are doing — getting to know our children? A child’s personality is pretty much set at birth and unlikely to change. Our job, albeit terrifying at times, is to shape them as people and teach them how to cope with various situations in life.

Every weekday as the clock ticks 4 PM, I will myself away from my computer and begin my second shift of the day as a Mama. I remind myself that albeit it is the afternoon shift, it is the most important one of the day, of my life.

Life Present

One can classify my early childhood as idyllic. Being ten years younger than my sister, I am the baby of the family. I enjoyed my sister’s [almost] undivided attention; She taught me how to read, played with me and was and still is the person I admire the most and absolutely adore.

Baku was a lovely place to be a kid. The city is unique, a perfect melding of European and Islam architecture.

 

The people are warm and generous showcasing Middle Eastern sensibilities and the food, oh, the food so delicious. The markets were always brimming with unique, exotic, always ripe fruits and vegetables. Some of my very favorite dishes are really Azeri. The locals are masters in utilizing herbs, greens, lettuces and eggplants, peppers into their cooking.

The remainder of my childhood was less idyllic and can be characterized best by uncertainty: 1. we were refugees in a war, 2. my dad retired, and 3. my family moved to the United States.

I don’t remember everything from my time as a refugee in Kiev, but I do remember realizing how much I missed my dad once we came back in the Spring of 1990. He stayed back as a member of the armed forces assisting in establishing order in the city that was ravaged by war. I don’t know of a single family that wasn’t impacted by that conflict. Baku was never the same after we returned in 1990 and we never felt safe. I heard gunshots nightly from then until 1991 when we left. Even now, when I watch the news and I see conflict and human suffering, I have a very real understanding of what that is.

Life Past Present

It is a rarity now-a-days that we have the whole weekend to ourselves. It just so happened that our Purim plans had to be cancelled and so we spent the whole weekend at home as a family. Here’s a recap in pictures:

Starting with Hearts and Flowers

 

We toddled, and we baked. Hamantashen

 

We crafted with our crayon rocks and counted them too.Crafting

WalkingWe walked and then we enjoyed a lazy Sunday night pizza (Pizza Margherita in case anyone is wondering. Home-made of course).

Pizza

 

Crafts Life Present

I remember our summers to be extraordinary. We spent the majority of them at my maternal grandparents’ house. My paternal grandparents both passed away before I was born (I am named after my dad’s mother) and my maternal grandparents were the only grandparents I have ever known.

Baba and Deda as I called them, owned a house with a large garden. They built that house with their bare hands after the war. My mom still remembers moving into the house before the floors were down. Thankfully, the floors, heat and plumbing had all been there by the time I came around :-).

Baba and Deda’s house, garden and yard were magical. There was a vegetable garden where they grew delicious things like red and black currants, gooseberries, strawberries, rasberries, and rhubarb. There was what seemed to be an endless row of fruit trees of every kind — tart cherries, bing cherries, peaches, apricots, apples, pears, plums (red and yellow), and walnuts. There was the vegetable garden where they harvested potatoes, beans, peas, carrots, squashes, tomatoes, and peppers.

The gazebo right outside the front door covered by grapevines that provided a welcome, shaded refuge from the summer’s sun. Everything tasted better, brighter and more special when consumed while lounging in the gazebo.

Last, but not least and perhaps what I cherished the most, was the flower garden that surrounded the house itself. I remember vividly, springtime’s pungent aromas of peonies, tulips, lilly of the valley, daffodils and roses and a faint buzzing of the bees as they worked their magic on the garden and flower beds. The flowers at our wedding reflected my Baba’s garden. We didn’t miss a single flower, each had a meaning and that is how I made sure Baba and Deda were there with me on my wedding day.

Past Present

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you already know that travel is a passion of mine, my family’s, and one day, hopefully Sophia’s. And while I enjoy travel to places, I have long thought about taking myself and those who surround me on a literary journey — back in time.

I’ve been reading blogs written by many different people — travelers, cooks, authors, moms, and political scientists for a few years now. I thought hard about starting this blog, the real motivation behind it and what I wanted to get out of it. On the surface, this is where I share my family’s life, the trials and tribulations of raising Sophia. But really, this isn’t just about that. This is a conduit for the output of self introspection, a cathartic release.

And so this series is born… a set of posts where I will share my life’s story (until now, at least) and in the process, maybe understand and share with you, why I am the person you “see”.

Born in Ukraine into a Russian/Jewish family of a mother, father and an older sister. My father was in the army (a Major at the time of my birth) and my mother was and still is a pharmacist.

My mother’s family lived in Haisin (Ukraine). My maternal grandmother was a loving early childhood educator and my grandfather a technician of sorts. I to this day don’t really know what he did. I do know that my grandfather was born in Poland, ran from the Nazis, was captured twice, escaping once and released (by a soldier with a good heart). His entire family perished in the Holocaust (his father, step-mother and sisters).

My father’s family lived in Kiev (Ukraine). My paternal grandmother was a child of Polish immigrants, married young and had two daughters. Her husband was accused of treason by the Stalin regime, tried, killed and [much] later absolved. A widow at the age of ~21, she married my grandfather. He was a gentile from an upstanding family in the suburbs of Moscow. He had fought in, survived the war and studied law.

My parents, set up by mutual friends, met in Kiev in 1972. They were engaged three months after meeting and married within the year. That is how it used to be, by the way. To contrast, my husband and I dated for four years, were engaged for two more and have been married for five come this June. My mother became an army wife and followed my dad to his first exciting posting (Almaty, Kazakhstan). My sister was born there.

My sister and I
My sister and I

After Almaty, they went to Moscow where my dad pursued his graduate education at the prestigious Frunze Academy, and then Baku which is where I grew up. By all accounts, we enjoyed a comfortable living affording a car and vacations on the shores of the Black Sea. My dad insists that my mom never had to work, but she always did.

More to come…

Past Present