THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS
were employed as high-ranking scientists
or academicians.'
Food, while of very limited variety —
fresh vegetables are not seen in Moscow
in winter; lines form to purchase apples or
oranges — is relatively cheap, as is
transportation and entertainment.
Various circles of refuseniks have estab-
lished mutual aid arrangements, sharing
resources and putting one another in touch
with wage-earning opportunities. They
also help sustain each other's morale.
- M
y husband has a
red board," Ma-
rina told us over
the telephone when we asked how we could
recognize Misha on the Metro platform.
We joked about it: "Look for the red
board," we told each other.
Once Misha's beard must have been red.
Now, though, it is streaked with gray.
How like Marina, a beautiful, loving wife,
not to notice the change. No doubt the
gray came partly because of the normal
aging process — Misha is 47 now — but
surely a man ages more quickly when his
career as a highly qualified meteorologist
is abruptly terminated, and he is forced to
take minimum wage employment watch-
ing the dials on the boiler of a big building.
Knowing nothing about boilers, he can't
fix one if anything's wrong — he has to call
someone else.
Forget Misha's beard. We recognize him
right away by his broad smile. Big fur hat,
burly fur coat, radiant eyes, and the smile
of a man who loves life and lives it with
all the joy and wit he can muster, even
after almost eight years in a limbo which
cannot but have embittered him.
Misha jogs ten miles a day in summer,
somewhat less in winter. He reads avidly
in English as well as Russian: "Does a
native English speaker get a coherent idea
of James Joyce's meaning in the stream
of consciousness passages of Ulysses?" he
asked me.
He loves painting: "In Moscow, you
must visit the Pushkin Museum, and in
Leningrad, you must go to the Hermitage:
twice at the very least." Reproductions of
works by Leonardo are propped on the
bookshelves on one wall of the combina-
tion living-dining room where we gather
around the table. I suspect that the sofa
we sit on doubles as a bed in the three
room apartment.
Misha never had a Jewish education as
a child: "Who of my generation here did?"
He wants his son Mishka, 11, to be a bar
mitzvah. He himself is hungry for Jewish
knowledge. When he learns that Donald
Berlin is a rabbi, he asks, "Will you
organize for some friends and me a little
seminar — on free will in Jewish thought,
perhaps, and on the practices of Reform
and Conservative Jews at festivals?"
We agree to come back a couple of days
later: Friday, which happens to be a legal
Soviet holiday, International Woman's
Day, as well as erev Shabat.
"Don't call me a Russian," Misha insists
gently but firmly. "A Jew, a Soviet Jew
if you must, but I am no Russian. Don't
confuse me with Sakharov. Admirable
man that he is, he wants to change the
Soviet system. I just want to leave it."
This is not because he was born in
Lithuania. "They have made clear to me
that I am an outsider in this country,"
Misha explains. "They have said I am a
Jew and a cosmopolitan, and that I don't
belong here. All right! So now I accept
that.
"I am the slave of slaves .in this
country," Misha declares. "All I want now
is to go to Israel."
To Israel? He's sure? Not to the United
States where so many Soviet Jews have
settled?
"One 'favor' the Soviets have done for
us refuseniks," he says, not without
humor, "is to give us a long time to decide
where we really belong. A long time."
He differentiates the refusenik — the in-
dividual who has applied to go to Israel,
has been refused and persists in applying
— from the ordinary Soviet Jew who
wishes to leave the country to achieve a
better life. He bears no rancor towards
those Jews, he says, but he and the more
than 10,000 other refuseniks are moti-
vated first by positive Jewish identifica-
tion, not economic motives.
He advises Jewish groups to press the
Soviets for an overall plan to open emigra-
tion, to work toward the general principle
of a Jew's right to leave, rather than just
present lists of special cases. Handed a
list, he argues, the Soviet authorities get
off too cheaply: They "generously" release
a few people on the list, then collect big
dividends in return. The tendency has been
to focus on release of a few long-term
cases. While he himself might now qualify
as such, Misha thinks of the mass of Jews
who want to leave, of the less famous
refuseniks, as well as the distinguished
professors or musicians.
Bargain hard, Misha advises American
negotiators. The Soviets are only out to
win their own objectives, giving up as
little as possible in return. Americans need
to have their own clear objectives and
negotiate hard for them, without excessive
-fear of how the Soviets will react. Meet
Soviet toughness with American tough-
ness, he urges. Like virtually all the
refuseniks we encounter, Misha expresses
admiration for President Ronald Reagan's
THE REFUSENIKS
Friday, May 31, 1985
The Fuchs-Rabinovich family — Mikhail
(Misha), Mishka and Marina, with Mishka's
much-hugged Teddy bear. The parents were
once meteorologists, both dismissed since they
applied to emigrate.
•
Helena Seidel and her husband Arkady May
welcomed Purim visitors with a huge
hamantashen. Dr. May chaired a series of
Moscow seminars on Jewish culture held in
Refuseniks' apartments until the Soviet
authorities banned them. The Mays were
placed under house arrest at that time.
Mathematics was the "family business" of the
Katz family, Shimon, Vera and their
, daughter Lena (1. to r.) shown with Mishka
Fuch-Rabinovitch at a Shabat dinner table.
Both Katzes were fired from their university
positions once they applied to emigrate.
17