“Because We Are Jewish”: Lessons from a Childhood in the USSR

I have always been Jewish – but what does it mean? My family lived in the former Soviet Union, where I could not learn about being Jewish by going to a synagogue or celebrating Jewish holidays. Instead, I learned about it from life, from time to time learning very memorable lessons. Two lessons stand out.

I was 5 years old and bored at home when my grandmother sent me to play in the yard and to get some fresh air. Other kids were outside playing, too, and suddenly, the neighbor boy started to insult and threaten me.

I didn’t understand the names he called me, but I sensed they were offensive. He announced that “unfortunately,” Hitler did not finish killing my family and me – but, he said, he and the others would soon take care of it. Some of the other kids in the yard laughed and supported my offender, while others turned around and left. Scared and humiliated, I went home.

My parents were at work, and my Grandma Esther, who was at that moment busy in the kitchen, was in charge of me. Grandma Esther had been through a lot in her life. She did not have much time for my emotions; neither had she found the situation to be special. She reacted quite casually, as if it were common: “He is an idiot, and you should not pay attention to what idiots are saying. So it does not matter,” Grandma Esther told me. Then she added, “But if he starts beating you, you should fight back.” 

“But what is he saying, Babushka?” I asked. “These offensive words – what do they mean?”

In five minutes she could spare between watching the soup and boiling laundry, Grandma Esther explained to me that we were different from the others because we were Jewish. We had some different beliefs and traditions, she said, which we should have observed quietly in the house without anyone knowing.

“It is good to be Jewish,” Grandma Esther said. “We are good and smart people, but some of ‘them’ don’t like us.”

And then she turned away from me to attend to the kerosene stove with boiling laundry. When I went back outside, my offender was gone. Life continued.

When I was 10 years old, my father had a massive heart attack. For a long time, he lay bed-bound at the hospital, and my mother sat by his side, helping with routine tasks like meals and using the toilet. I was by myself, loosely supervised by Grandma Esther. She was old and ill, and we rarely left home.

During that time, I became close friends with a neighborhood girl called Lena. In the middle of the summer, her father took a vacation from work and planned to take his daughter and me to the beach and to other fun activities in the city. When I hesitated, concerned about expenses or the possibility of annoying them, they insisted – and so I spent my summer vacation with them, getting in on all the fun.

Sitting on the beach with Lena’s family – on their vacation, eating their food – I asked my friend’s father: “Uncle Roma, why do you bring me with you?” He said, “Because your dad is sick, and you have a difficult situation in your family.”

“But I’m not your relative,” I responded. “Why are you concerned?”

In response, Uncle Roma said something I have remembered all my life: “Because we are Jewish,” he told me, “and we Jews help each other.”

Soon, we left the beach and went home, but as I walked uphill to the city, I continued to think about Uncle Roma’s words. Days and weeks passed, and still, I remembered our conversation. Just one of those lessons you do not forget.

Years passed. Grandma Esther died in Odessa in 1979, and Uncle Roma died 10 year ago in Brooklyn, NY. I grew up and moved across the world; many things changed. My grandson Jason is 3 years old, and every Sunday, I am look forward to hearing what he has learned at synagogue. One of the first things his religious school class learned was about Jews helping each other. As for the other part? Well, if anyone dares to insult him for being a Jew, I will channel Grandma Esther and Uncle Roma and do my best to teach him the lessons they taught me – to hold his head high and be proud to be Jewish.