PATH TO FREEDOM
Photo By Gary Rosenblatt
Rabbi Hirsh Rabinski, a
Lubavitcher, is the only rabbi in
Ladispoli, teaching classes in the
Joint Distribution Committee
school and officiating at the
synagogue.
"Had He split the Sea for us, but
not led us through on dry land,
Dayenu, it would have been
enough."
The Haggadah
Ladispoli is normally a sleepy,
seaside town of about 15,000. But
with an additional 9,000 refugees, life
is far from normal here. The
transmigrants have little to do. As
refugees, they are not allowed to
work, and while the JDC offers pro-
grams to keep them busy, hundreds
of people can be found in the small
town square each afternoon, sitting
quietly or sharing their anguish.
One sees a look of despair in the
eyes of the men and women who have
left behind the only world they have
known in the Soviet Union for the dis-
tant dream of success in America.
Now they are waiting, fearful that
they will be rejected by the INS.
What then?
They can always go to Israel, but
very few do. They say that if they are
rejected they will appeal. And if their
appeal is denied?
They have no answer, but they
say they will tough it out and apply
again. On a practical level, though,
most of those who are rejected the
first time are turned down on appeal,
and only one INS appeal is allowed.
24
FRIDAY, APRIL.21,1989
At that point they are truly
without a country.
This new predicament is forcing
hard decisions within the Jewish
community. How long should the
JDC and HIAS continue to pay for an
emigrant who has been turned down
by the United States and refuses to
go to Israel?
A decision must be made soon to
put a cap on JDC and HIAS spending
on people in this category. (Such deci-
sions are being made by a group of lay
and professional American Jewish
leaders known as the Monitoring
Committee, chaired by Mandel Ber-
man of Detroit.)
At some point, those transmi-
grants whose visa applications to the
United States have been turned down
either will have to return to the
USSR (which virtually none of them
want to do), apply to the United
States on a parole status (which is
discouraged because it precludes
social benefits and future citizenship)
or reconsider settling in Israel.
Walking through the park in
Ladispoli, talking to the people in
Yiddish, one feels an almost palpable
sense of frustration and anxiety
among them as they plead with a
visitor to help them get to America.
An elderly woman from the Ukraine
asks why her son and family were
allowed to go to New York while her
application to the United States was
rejected. She grabs a visitor's arm,
begging for a visa.
Such is life here, where the ranks
of transmigrants grows each day and
the local population is unhappy about
the thousands of Russian-speaking
foreigners pouring into town. There
has been some friction, and a visitor
sees several swastikas on walls, but
Soviet Jews who are
emigrating claim that an
unexpected byproduct of
glasnost and perestroika
is a dramatic increase in
Soviet anti-Semitism.
officials say that the town is relative-
ly calm. For now.
"One of our most important tasks
is to keep the people here busy and
productive," says Uri Ben-Tzion, one
of the handful of overworked JDC of-
ficials in Ladispoli. Ben-Tzion, an
Israeli born in Iran, has been on the
job for more than two years as direc-
tor of education and social services
programs, and he speaks with em-
pathy about the despair that sets in
among the transmigrants. He and his
small staff are doing all that they can
to dispel that despair and help the
transmigrants prepare for their new
lives. He is proud of the JDC'S two
schools, with classes for more than
500 youngsters, and the variety of
adult programs and classes geared
toward giving people a sense of nor-
malcy and stability during this
stressful time.
At a makeshift community
center, as many as 800 adults a day
take advantage of the recreation area
to play chess, ping-pong and other
games or attend classes in English,
instruction in various professional
fields, or learn about orientation to
American life (from democracy to
shopping malls). There are also
classes twice a week on Jewish
customs and learning Hebrew, but
these are not as well attended.
The most visible Jewish religious
presence in Ladispoli is Rabbi Rabin-
ski, an emissary of the Lubavitcher
Chasidic movement, who teaches
adults and children and officiates at
synagogue services. (By arrangement
with the JDC, his instruction is not
geared toward Lubavitch philosophy
but rather basic Jewish tenets.) Uri
Ben-Tzion explains that he and the
rabbi try to teach the transmigrants
that "the reason you got out of Russia
is that you are Jewish, and wherever
you decide to live, you must remain
a Jew and give your children a
Jewish education."
JDC officials acknowledge that
the Soviet Jews are woefully ignorant
about Judaism and somewhat
suspicious about learning more about
Israel. All that they have heard about
Israel while living in the Soviet
Union has been negative, though to
an observer the transmigrants seem
quite selective in what propaganda
they choose to believe about Israel
and America: America's streets are
paved with gold while Israel is a
sweltering war zone with no food, jobs
or housing.
Most of the dedicated, Zionist
refuseniks are now in Israel. The
Soviet Jews emigrating these days
know only that their grandparents
practiced the religion, that their in-
ternal passports were stamped
"Jewish" and that being Jewish has
caused hardship and discrimination.
Yet it is also their ticket to freedom
through an Israeli visa.
As an Israeli, Uri Ben-Tzion is
pained and angry about the situation,
the lack of an aggressive effort to con-
vince more people to live in Israel.
But as a JDC official, that is not his
job.
It is the job of the Jewish Agen-
cy's lone shaliach, or emissary, in the
Rome area who offers one class a
week in Ladispoli on Sunday after-
noons and is available on Mondays
for private consultations.
Most Jewish officials agree that
the Jewish Agency's presence in
Ladispoli is entirely inadequate, and
that what is required is a number of
shlichim, preferably Russian olim,