THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS
15
books about the Soviet Union by Hedrick
Smith and David Shipler, both former
New York Times correspondents. The
Soviets reportedly disapprove of both ac-
counts of their nation. A supervisor perus-
ed the books, then passed them.
We had arrived at an auspicious mo-
ment. Talks between the USSR and the
U.S. were about to open in Geneva. Soviet
premier Chernenko was very ill, rumored
near death. The name Gorbachev was cir-
culating as a possible successor.
International Woman's Day, one of four
legal holidays in the USSR, was imminent.
And Purim was about to be celebrated
by Jews around the globe.
.
ome sit at Misha and Marina
Fuchs-Rabinovich's table with
me. Taote Marina's home-
baked meringue cookies. Smile at 11-year-
old Mishka's big, well-hugged yellow ted-
dy bear. No longer just "Soviet Jews,"
they become Misha, Marina and Mishka.
No longer just a case history but a family
Sit at the table of Arkady Mai and
Helena Seidel. The big hamantashen that
Helena baked measured fully 16 inches
across. She worries about her hugsband's
asthma, coddles him more than he likes,
reminds him to take his medicine. They
squabble a lot: What truly constitutes
anti-Semitism? What stimulated Soviet
Jewish Zionism? What future awaits their
daughter Natasha, now called Naomi, who
was denied permission to study in her
chosen field, sociology. The family first ap-
plied to emigrate eleven years ago.
Join me at Abram Kagan's table. A dis-
tinguished senior researcher in theoretical
mathematics at the Academy of Science,
he held onto . his job — extraordinary for
a refusenik — having successfully argued
at a hearing that he never had access to
state secrets, the official rationale for de-
nying him permission to emigrate when he
first applied in 1976.
Force a first-rate mind to focus on sur-
vival as an outcast in society and he'll in-
vent superb techniques: Abram is a very
"professional" refusenik. He uses each mo-
ment of our visit profitably.
But what future is there for his son,
Vadim, dismissed from the Meteoroligical
Institute of Leningrad after hospitaliza-
tion for bleeding ulcers? As Abram asks
for help in editing the English grammar of
a paper he is preparing for the "open" sci-
entific press, Vadim struggles to control
the family's frisky black poodle which is
jumping on the bed in the room where
Abram and my husband sit at a desk look-
ing over the paper. Nearby, the rest of us
sit around the dining table with Abram's
THE REFUSENIKS
E lsa Sole nder
lawns of many American synagogues:
"Freedom for Soviet Jews."
Like many other well-meaning people,
we had spared the signs little more than
a glance. Fewer than a thousand Soviet
Jews were granted exit visas by Soviet
authorities in 1984, down from a high of
51,000 in 1979.
"Free Soviet Jews." Old story. Sad
story. Endless story. So familiar. Too
familiar.
What can I tell you that you don't
already know?
We travelers had to hold firm to the idea
that we were tourists, doing what tourists
do. This was important, especially when,
at the passport control desk of Moscow's
Sheremetyevo Airport, a uniformed young
official "eyeballed" each of us. He stared
accusingly into our eyes, checking our
faces against our passport photographs
and against each of the pictures on our
visas, one photo for each city we would
visit.
This disconcerting staring contest is
normal procedure. The official gave
Norma Berlin two long looks. He bestow-
ed two more endless gazes on Rabbi
Berlin.
For me, four.
I stared back, smiling, smiling, smiling.
In our final contest, his lips twitched. He
almost smiled. He looked away first.
I was only slightly intimidated by the
burly blue-gray uniform, complete with
heavy overcoat, brass buttons and leather
belts; my first encounter with the Soviet
military, or quasi-military. I noticed that
this young chap was barely older than my
own sons. An unpleasant exercise, the
staring ritual, but having endured it, I
gained confidence for handling the next of-
ficial step of entry.
The young woman pawing through my
purse and hand luggage was not checking,
she was prying. She passed over my New
York Times — "Gold in the Soviet Union,"
I had been told. She was uninterested in
books I had brought, including works by
I.B. Singer, Mark Helpern and other
Jewish authors. She opened my lipstick
case, my wallet. She opened the container
where I keep sanitary tampons, took one
out and asked me what it's for. I told her.
She blushed and looked no further.
She took no notice of the two cameras
I was carrying, two tape recorders,
numerous rock music tapes and extreme-
ly large supplies of films and batteries of
all kinds. No curiosity about the "magic
slate" I had packed for communication in
surroundings that I suspected would be
bugged, such as my hotel room.
The American Tour Club passed into
Moscow without having any goods con-
fiscated, although there was some ques-
tioning about the club's many copies of
Friday, May 31, 1985
Refusenik leader Pavel "Pasha" Abramovich
(on the cover), a much-beloved former
engineer was a Hebrew teacher until the
Soviet authorities banned Hebrew instruction.
He holds a card (Six of Diamonds) from
which a brighter future was predicted by a
fellow refusenik reading fortunes at a Moscow
Purim party.