HOW MY DAUGHTER WAS BORN

Timidly, I laid myself down on the bed, afraid to join this bedlam. Then, I felt pressure and my water broke under the blanket. And, suddenly I heard with horror from under the blanket .... [a - la - la! My baby? Now, all the women were shouting "Nurse, Nurse! There is a baby here!" The nurses came running, lifted the blanket and grabbed the child like a kitten, used scissors to cut the umbilical cord and ran out with the child. I was left so bewildered. Is it over? How good I felt! Is it a boy or a girl? What now?

The women around me were all excited and extremely envious with my efficiency; so fast, only arrived and - bang! The baby is here!

Finally, the nurse came back with a stretcher on wheels and reprimanded me about my “wrongdoing” of giving birth on the bed... She ordered me to climb on the stretcher and she rolled me to the operating room and there she ordered me to climb on the table. I climbed up and she examined me. She told me I had to wait for the doctor who came in at nine o'clock. Then she disappeared. No word about the baby. And I was afraid to ask.

Funny how the women around me were excited with my quick delivery and envious that I had it behind me when they were still there jumping and screaming.

One young woman was cursing her husband. She was already two days suffering. And here came a 30 year old (she was 20) and hove a child out.

I was myself surprised with this miracle. I can't believe my luck.

One the other hand, the indifference of the staff, the nurse who didn't even tell me the gender of my child, and who didn't find a good word for me, except for scorn because I did it in bed.

It was not new to me to meet rude and insensitive people. The whole system was rotten, but a woman should be more polite to a mother who gave birth to a new life. It is her job. But whom I am asking? They were not paid to be gentle. Sure, not all Russian women are like this nurse. I had wonderful friends, intelligent and sensitive. I simply was not lucky this time.

There I was, lying on a table in a dim, cold room and worrying about the child. Suddenly, I heard from around the corner of the big room: "La - la - la!" Was this musical baby mine? After two hours, the doctor arrived, finished the job and told me I had a girl, six pounds, five ounces, fifty centimeters long. That's all.

Because there was no room, they put me in the hallway temporarily. It was a long corridor with a lot of traffic. Nurses with bundles were running around to mothers for feeding. Time passed, nobody was looking for me .... where was my baby?

In the afternoon, they "found" me and brought in the bundle for feeding. I looked at this little white face with sleepy green eyes and thought, "Is this mine?" I had a baby, what a miracle!

Meantime, Aron had asked at the receptionist desk about me several times and they told him, "Not yet! Still trying." He wrote me a note: "I know it is not easy for you, but tell me how it is going? How soon will the baby be born?" I answered, "You are a father of a girl who is one-half day old. She is beautiful."

He ran to Bronia with the news. Bronia ran to the market and bought a chicken, cooked a chicken soup with mandaleh and brought it to the reception desk for me. Wasn't she wonderful? I enjoyed the food because the hospital food was bad. Bless Bronia. The hospital rules were strict in Russia. No visitors for the mother and newborns. We could show the bundle through the window to the fathers and family hanging outside on the fence.

While I was in the hospital, Aron and Bronia bought a crib, a stroller and other things a newborn needed. Aron sent a telegram to Canada: "Born a daughter, Sima!" That was enough for my sister. She immediately sent a parcel of children's clothing, which I received a few months later. Bless my dear sister .... I would never be able to repay what she did for me all my life. I had the best sister in the world! Smart, kind, alert and practical.

After five days, the doctor came to our room (there were ten women) and told every mother about her baby while looking at a list. Almost everybody had some birthmark; defect and I held my breath. Sure, she was the last baby on the list. Baby Rothbart-Kapstan .... everything is normal, a fine girl! Was I happy? You bet!

Coming home was the beginning of a changed life. I forgot everything about myself, all my needs, nothing mattered; the baby was the focal point of my life now. But, I didn't even know how to change the diaper. There were no "ready made" diapers then, they had to be white cloth folded in a special way, but I didn't know how. The next day the home nurse came to my house and I learned how to do it properly.

I learned how to be a mother, but I went overboard. I was such an overprotective mother; I didn't have a good night sleep in over two years, jumping from bed many times at night. My husband commented once, "You have an inborn antenna to the child; her every movement alerts you." I fully agreed with him.

Being an orphan and not having a family made me anxious. My own flesh and blood, my family, my new family, out of the ashes ....

Now I was a slave, even though the baby didn't understand yet, but I would always be a slave ....

My duties included taking care of my husband, cooking, cleaning, etc. He came home for lunch and a cooked meal was always on the table. To get food I had to take my bundle in the stroller and bang! Bang! Down the stairs from the fourth floor we went, to the market. I had to do it everyday because we didn't have a fridge. Going back up was harder with the child, the stroller and the bag with the food I bought. Then I would cook, feeding my husband and the baby. Then, we had to go out for fresh air, so again bang! Bang! Down the stairs we went.

After a few weeks, I took her for a check-up. The doctor admired her so much that he called the nurses to take a look at the baby. "People are lucky," the nurses said. I was so busy and involved in her welfare that a few months later some mother told me, "Sima had curly hair!" Curly? I hadn't noticed.

Aron had trouble getting her birth certificate. He went to the office on a Friday and the registrar asked, "Name?" He said, "Sima." Since the baby was Russian and this was not a common name, the registrar decided the baby was a boy, "Sema" and he wrote, "Boy, Sema.”

BRONIA'S HOME

Wala got pregnant and gave birth to a boy. She was a negligent mother, wife and a daughter-in-law from hell. She liked company, clothing, and restaurants and eventually the baby was Bronia's responsibility. Grisha got an ulcer in his stomach.

A year later, after Bronia had an argument with Wala, she had a stroke and died at fifty­-six years of age. Life was not fair.

Bronia was for me a surrogate mother, a woman who didn't have an easy life, but this didn't make her insensitive to others. She was the first person in my life who showed me real kindness, without reward. It was so tragic that life treated her so harshly and the last blow came virtually from her beloved son, who didn't listen to her and married a loose, greedy whore.

Grisha soon came to his senses after developing an ulcer (she never cooked) and having heart trouble. He divorced Wala after five years and left everything to her, the apartment, all Bronia's hard work in furnishing and decorating. He ran away to Vladivostock, the far east, near Japan, to begin a new life.

And again, he found a shiksa (it's not that all of them are bad). He found a certain kind of shiksa whom he married and soon divorced! She was cheating him with another man. He was transferred to Moscow as a high ranking specialist. Here he married again, but about this later.

Bronia's death was a shock to me. I was in Liepaja, but I mourned this noble woman because she was like a mother to me.

When my maternity leave ended, I didn't return to work because I didn't have anybody to take care of the baby and I didn't trust anybody, anyway. It was better that we survived on one salary than to put the baby in a nursery. I was well aware of the kind of care she would get there. So, I stayed home with her. I was convinced that a mother should look after her own baby for at least six to seven years, until school began.

A salary of an engineer in the Soviet Union was ridiculously small and for a family to survive on, it was a struggle for life. But we decided, for the sake of our child, to give up my salary.

When Sima was six months old, she had curly blond hair and green eyes and a smile everybody admired. When I went to the market without her, the Latvian women asked where was my "spraganemeiteniu?" (curly girl).

Eva helped me with clothing, so our money was spent mostly on food and rent.

The joy in having a healthy beautiful child outweighed all the material problems. Sima was perfect. Doing everything she should have been doing at her age; sitting, walking at eleven months, talking, and toilet trained at twelve months. But, you could never be safe with children. When she was thirteen months old, I went to the market and placed her on the counter as I paid for our purchases. She fell off the counter, down on the cement floor. She was crying hard and I called the doctor to find out what I should do although Sima said she was O.K. The doctor advised to take her to the hospital for observation and quiet, but I disagreed. I decided she could be observed at home where it really was quiet and I could always be with her.

The doctor called Aron and scared him with possible complications if there was a concussion. Aron didn't want to listen to me and took the cheerful child to the hospital as I ran behind them. After that, he went on the bus to Riga to play chess for a month. I was left under the window of the hospital, listening to my child cry. Parents were not allowed to enter the hospital when their child was there because they felt it would upset the child. So, I spent the night crying with her. In the morning, the doctor ordered to have her isolated from the rest of the patients because the crying was disturbing them. They put a one-year-old child, alone, in isolation.

I begged on my knees to allow her to come home. In despair, I wandered the hospital grounds where I met up with the wife of the port director. The weekend before Sima went to the hospital, we rode in their car with their kids to the campus for the weekend. I was very miserable there because my gums hurt me like hell (periodontal disease), it was freezing in the tent and I shivered all night. It was not a picnic. The woman told me that her kids had come down with chicken pox. I went to Sima's doctor and told him about our contact with these kids. Immediately, he released her for home care. I carried her home in my arms and she was so happy! I swore to myself that there would be no more hospitals.

We were finally home. I watched her. She was feeling well and happy and the tears were forgotten.

A learned not to trust doctors. I learned that I am alone, when it comes to making tough decisions. I learned that this child is all I have in this world, and I can only count on myself.

And I learned that hobbies, fanaticism in any form, not only for chess, are a handicap in a marriage. The wife and family are not always the first priority.

It made me more depressed and sad. I often went with another mother and her children to the sea (the only place where you can find your child an excellent playground) and Lea (that was her name) told me once, "You love your child too much!" I was thinking "How much is too much?" Who could understand my life, lonely for many years without a family and now having my own flesh and blood - what does this mean to me? She is the family I lost. How can I love her too much?

At the same time, when I got pregnant again, I went for an abortion.

I can't handle being alone again. I have to work to give Sima a decent life and I have nobody to help me even though I am married. Maybe it was cowardly but in Russia, most people have one child.

A week later, she came down with chicken pox, but I didn't ever report this to the doctor. I kept her home and everything was fine. There was a nurse who checked on her and told me what to do. There wasn't much, just to wait and watch.

She was thirteen months old when we took a plane to Odessa for a vacation. We sat in the front seats because on the opposite wall was a hanging portable crib for little passengers and it was there I put her to sleep. I heard people from behind us laughing. I looked up and saw a curly head hanging over the edge looking down at me with big surprise. This made people laugh as nobody had expected somebody to be in there, and there she was!

OUR VACATION IN ODESSA

We stayed with Aron's sister, Sara and her twenty-year-old daughter, Lina and her obedient husband, Mosia whom she kept under her heavy heel (she was a large woman). They owned a little dacha sixty kilometers out of town in a place called Karoline-Bugaz. It was such a little flimsy shack with a leaky roof that it looked like a broken box. But, the weather was sunny, and the surrounding area was beautiful and we decided to stay for a few days.

After living in the north, the south seemed like a paradise to us. Some distant relatives of Aron's allowed us to stay in their dacha which is more habitable and we enjoyed it. Food was a big problem because we had to walk to the market that was three kilometers away in a place called Zatoca. Since fridges didn't exist there, it was difficult to keep food fresh in the heat. Fishermen were selling the popular bytchki, a tasty little fish with big heads that we fried outside on a few bricks.

It was a primitive life, but charming. Right behind the fence the River Dniestr was washing the shore, and the water was very warm but muddy.

Usually, we went across the railroad tracks to the beach on the Black Sea on the other side of the long strip of land called Carolino-Bugar. It was a working class neighbourhood where people got pieces of land from the factories and were permitted to build dachas. Not mansions - this was forbidden. Everybody planted grapes, vegetables and the climate was excellent for such plants and other fruit trees.

The one thing was that drinking water was in demand, so we always went to the beach with a bucket. Then, on the way back, we stopped by a pump and carried the water home.

The other thing was that there was no electricity and no fridges, so the food in this hot climate didn't last long. Every day we had to look for fresh supplies, especially with a small child.

Not to mention the laundry. Actually, Sima was toilet trained before she was one year old so the diapers were not a problem. All children in Russia are toilet trained at this age. It takes only more patience by the parents.

The evenings were so balmy. The mosquitoes were bothering us a lot but it was worth the suffering.

Sima got bathed in a bucket, which she enjoyed. The one thing we didn't foresee was the milk. It must have gotten sour as Sima got cramps and spent the night crying. The next morning we went on the bus to Odessa. Sima recovered at Sara's place and we spent the rest of our vacation in the city going to parks and visiting friends.

Katia Waizer was pregnant at this time and her husband was a good friend of ours named Lenia Stolyarov, an engineer and chess player. They were looking around for a place to rent of their own so they could move out of her parents’ place. Eventually, they succeeded and after we left Odessa to go home, they had a daughter named Marina.

I went to see Tonia, my former landlady. She had divorced Sergei and married a young student who didn't treat her very well. I think she got back what she did to decent and quiet Sergei.

Aron's oldest sister, Fania was a math teacher and long ago divorced her Ukrainian husband. She raised her son, Wolodja who was graduating from the Polytechnic Institute. She took great care to register him in his father's nationality and it helped him to make a top career in the automobile industry. He married a gentile and had one daughter named Lina, but divorced soon after.

Fania was so obsessed with her son's career that she cut him off completely from his Jewish relatives. If he came to visit Odessa, she made sure that the Jewish side of his family had no contact with him. Pathetic, but this was a fact of life.

So, Wladimir, Fania's son was a half breed, passing for all as Ukrainian. In spite of his mother's efforts, he sometimes, when we were visiting Odessa on seeing his Uncle Aron (they were friends) he came to talk to us.

But, his non-Jewish father gave him the opportunity to make a career, which being Jewish he never would have achieved. He was, and I think he is, a big wheel in the auto industry.

I don't know his second or third wife. We don't have any contact with him. Fania did a good job of alienating him from the family and I don't think he is sorry for that.

Fira had two sons, David and Peter. Both are born businessmen and they were doing well financially even during Brezniev's time, but now even better. Both of them divorced their wives and married again.

Fira was Aron's favourite sister. They are closest in age and she was not so vicious like Fania (she passed away already) and bossy like Sara. Fira likes to sleep, eat, and is lazy, but more amiable, kinder.

Sara had other sorts of problems. She was obsessed with getting her daughter, Lina, married. She was not a beauty, but was a good girl and her mother was using "shadchan" all the time. Sara was so energetic in her hunt for a husband for Lina that she begged everybody, including me, for help. She had her eye on two friends of Aron's, prominent bachelors: Grisha Gidal in Riga and Grisha Aizenberg in Odessa. She didn't ask Aron for his help because she knew he wouldn't, so she begged me to interfere but I couldn't.

The help ended up coming from my friend, Katia who was a born "shadchan". She introduced Lina to a coworker who was a bachelor-teacher by the name of Misha. He succumbed to Katia's agitation and married Lina. Lina was twenty-six years old at the time and very, eager to marry.

One day, when we were back in Liepaja, we had guests, the honeymooners, Lina and Misha. At that time, we had a two-room apartment that was located on the same floor as the first one. The industrial port had closed and the military base took over. Aron found a job in a plant.

When Sima was three and a half years old, I went back to work and put her into a Kindergarten. It was a tragedy for both of us. Every day we both cried when we parted, and she waited all day for me to pick her up. It killed me when she said, "I was afraid that you will never come back!" A few days later, she woke up during the night, stood up in her bed and very seriously and sadly she told all, "Mama, I love you." No matter how much you felt love, it was never expressed verbally. That is why it killed me. I knew she was very unhappy in Kindergarten, but I had to work.

I have to work. Aron's salary was so small that we needed another to survive and I went to work heart broken. I wanted to be home with my child. I was in constant worry. I knew how understaffed this institution was, 30 kids with one day care worker.

Once, late at evening, I had a call from kindergarten. They asked me if I had already taken Sima home. What? No! I am coming! I ran fast and the woman met me with a question, "Where is Sima? She is not here." She asks me? How did I survive this ten minute search? When they discovered the 3 1/2 year old child in the yard, sitting in the snow in the darkness... Every couple of weeks she caught a cold or a children's disease. The one year she attended, she had chicken pox, mumps, and other infections. It was a bad year for both of us. I will never change my opinion that children should be raised not by strangers, but by parents; only parents.

I had a new boss, Uvarova, a wicked woman but I was fully aware of all her tricks. She was a Communist - a convinced anti-Semite, a whore, a thief, an informer, a drinker and a lazy bum who didn't want to work, but was eager to get paid. She didn't have one good quality. And, I had to work with her. ....

So, our newlyweds, Lina and Misha came to spend their honeymoon in Liepaja and we didn't get any warning that they were coming. But, we did our best and gave them our biggest bedroom. Even though I was working, I still had to prepare meals and be a host to the guests.

Misha was a little plump guy who collected dirty jokes and told them all the time. We soon got tired of jokes.

I discovered that the previous tenants (the television watchers) after they moved out, had left us an unwelcome gift - bedbugs. We had just moved in and 1, busy with work, Sima and a new apartment didn't notice them. But, our honeymooners were having a great time they couldn't sleep. I am sure that they still have memories of how Sasha was sired in my bed in the company of bedbugs. I was so ashamed after they left. I vigorously cleaned the house and swore that I would never again have pests in my home. I couldn't guarantee no mice or other types of pests, but no bedbugs!

SIMA

Our daughter loved to have stories told to her and we finally got to the point where we couldn't invent any more. There was only one solution, and she asked for it. While I was at work, she asked her father to teach her how to read. She was four years old and in two days, she was reading her books without bothering us. I took her to the children's library and she became an honoured member of this institution. Very soon, she had nothing to read again, so I dragged home suitable books from my library.

The experience of spending one year in Kindergarten left bad memories for both of us so I found a babysitter by the name of Nadierda Pietrowna. She was a woman who was in her sixties, childless and agreed to look after Sima for the few hours between my job and Aron's. I began work at one o'clock in the afternoon and Aron was supposed to finish work at five-thirty. I paid half my salary for these few hours. But it was worth it because Sima liked her and they got along well. The only thing that bothered me was even though Nadierda was very proud of how pretty the child was; she walked on the back streets because she was ashamed that she was the nanny of a Jewish child.

The other thing that gave me a lot of anxiety was that Aron liked to play chess after work with his friends and was not in a hurry to go home and take over the responsibilities. I had to phone and beg, but it was the same every time. Nadierda got tired of this and after five o'clock she would drop Sima off at my work place, the library. It was no big deal; the child would sit in a corner and read a book.

But, it depended on what mood my boss Uvarova was in. Sometimes she didn't say anything, but more often than not she would run to the main boss, a captain of the Navy, and tell him. He reprimanded me for keeping the child at work and the situation became unbearable. Finally, Nadiefda quit her job after a year and I was forced to quit my job again. The main reason was because Sima was starting grade one soon and there were a few intersections on the way to school. I wanted to take her myself to be sure she was safe.

From the very beginning, she had to attend both schools, the elementary and the music school. For a seven year old, it was a lot of work and stress, especially because she was good in both schools and a top student.

As a mother, I felt that my help was necessary to make her life easier at home, so that she would always have a cooked meal waiting for her and a clean uniform, and I went to pick her up. We walked home together.

Usually on weekends, I baked something for my family. These years you could still get the produce you needed in the stores. Later, it was a big problem to feed a family.

You never planned your menu ahead because you never knew what was in the store today, what you could get. Sure, there was a market, but you couldn't always afford the prices. The state stores were cheaper, but they were often empty.

That's how life was in the USSR - paradise was going for some - nothing was stable, solid.

In the summer, when she was six years old, Aron got a two week vacation in a resort near Riga, Bulduri, and he phoned to ask us to visit him there. We took the train to Riga, which was a big trip for Sima that she enjoyed very much. She was singing songs on the way there and a woman asked me if I taught her music. When I told her I didn't, she told me I should, as Sima was very musical.

We spent a day with her father but that evening Sima got a fever so we took the train home. A few days later, when she recovered, we went to investigate music schools. We were just in time as there was a registration for exams to find out who would be accepted and who would not. We put down our names. The next day, we went for the exams. There was a crowd of parents and children, buzzing with excitement. It was known that only ten new students would be accepted, but there were over two hundred candidates. We began our long wait. When we were called in, it was almost the end of the line. The teachers tested Sima and asked her to sing and clap rhythmically with her hands, etc.

After everyone had been tested, the results were announced. Among the ten children chosen, my daughter's name was called. Not only that, but the head of the piano department showed up in the hall, looking for me. She told me that she would personally teach her and I should fill out the application in her name.

We went home, amused and bewildered because what we considered a chance ended up to be serious. Aron was still on vacation in Bulduri and I had to make the decision about acquiring a piano. They were not cheap, but I couldn't ignore such an opportunity - to be accepted in a state music school was very prestigious. It could be a future profession, and it was free.

And the teacher I talked with was the head of the piano department, Antonina Reuquiece, and I heard that she was the best and most noted teacher. She is Latvian, lived alone, a spinster, and teaching children music is her life.

So we can't miss such an opportunity. I am not very musical and never learned to play any instrument, and I have a very vague understanding of how serious a burden you put on a young child to attend two schools the same day, do homework for one, and practice piano for the other.

Only a couple of years later it occurred to me that it was like robbing the child of its childhood and all the freedom. And, as I found later, it is not enough to be a student of a state musical school, you had to perform publicly from the beginning to the end. Exams, concerts, all in public. Not many children get used to such a regime. Not my daughter. She is absolutely scared to play in public. The fear of failing paralyzed her hands and ruined her nerves. I was so sorry to see her in such a state that even her high marks and prizes of the teachers couldn't comfort me. Why was I doing this to her? But it was too late to back out.

I spent all of our savings on a piano, a new one from the store, and then we were ready for the school year to begin. The age of regular school students was seven years, but children were accepted at the music school at six years of age. I had quit my job just in time as I had to be home to help the child adapt to the new regime and mainly to take her to and from school as there were neither cars nor busses.

The port was closed and Aron worked in a different plant. Once, while on a business trip, he got the flu and came home. He wasn't getting better and finally he was diagnosed with a kidney infection and was put in the hospital for four weeks. The hospital in Liepaja was in poor condition; overcrowded and understaffed, very old and not modern. We were visiting him every day, bringing him home cooked food and spending time with him in that depressing place. Once, he told us of how he was administered an enema before a test. Very soon he was heading for the washroom but there was only one toilet. The whole floor of sick people, and some of them were given enemas, too. One.can imagine the line of people who could hardly hold on ....

After the hospital, he had to be on a special diet and drink special water by the name truscoviec. In the summer, he had to treat his kidney at a resort where the main treatment consisted of drinking this water.

The climate in Latvia was similar to the British - foggy, wet and in Leipaja it was always windy but mild. The summers were not hot. If it wasn't raining, there was always a breeze from the sea. But, if the sun was out, everybody hurried to the beach. The Baltic Sea was not deep and not so blue like the Black Sea; it was more grey in colour. But, I loved it anyway. It was a great place in the summer, especially for children. We had a routine. If it was a sunny day, we spent the day there, made a picnic in the dunes, read books and played volleyball. We loved to hunt for amber. After a storm, a lot of sea grass was on the beach and that was where we found little pieces of amber. They were never big pieces, only little but still exciting to search for and find.

When the weather was cool, we spent time behind a hill hidden from the wind. We even had a special bench.

Years later, I found out that not far from there, was a common grave of Liepaja Jews, shot by the Nazis right on the shore during the war. The villas situated in the park that were being used as a sanatorium, was where the Jewish district of Liepaja was. It was like walking over the graves of innocent people, whose only guilt was that they were Jewish.

Sima was six years old, a student of a music school and an avid reader. Once, one of my coworkers met up with us and asked how she was doing? Sima took the question seriously and answered, "I don't understand two things in life. The first, why everything has an end except numbers, they are endless. The second problem is children, babies .... where do they come from? Mother told me they come from the hospital, but how do they get there?"

She became a real bookworm, she was five when she read Mark Twain’s “Tom Sawyer” and enjoyed if so much.

In 1964, Russia was under the regime of Nikita Kruschov and the country was on the brink of mass hunger because of a poor harvest that year, and poor management of the Russian economy. They were buying grain in Canada, but white flour became a rarity, and we stayed in lines for even black bread. I didn't ask for help, my sister and her husband were well informed by the press of what was going on in Russia.

When I was working in the library, it was my duty to look over fifteen different newspapers, to fill the catalogue with news, but all the papers had the same "news;" there was no difference between them.

But, they knew in Canada what was going on behind the Iron Curtain. Anyway, they sent me a parcel of white flour! It was like manna from heaven, such a godsend for us. It helped us go through a hard time. That was Eva and Paul! They did it on their own and God bless them for that. Thanks to them, we were decently dressed in imported clothing. The items they sent were priceless, as we could never have afforded them. Sima was the best dressed girl in the city and people were envious.

A year later, she began elementary school. I was doubtful that I was doing the right thing by sending her to the first grade as she could have managed the third or fourth grade. I didn't want her to be bored, but on the other hand, I didn't want her to be among the older children. When I asked these questions of her future teacher, she strongly advised me to send her to the first grade. Later I found out that the teacher used the children to her advantage.

I stayed home during her first year of school as she attended everyday. Now, I had to guide her through traffic to two schools. She was the top student in both schools but had to work very hard after music school at home. Like her music teacher said, "For music you have to have not only talent, but also a strong behind.” She spent hours sitting at the piano, practising. Elementary school was easy for her. Although she had this advantage, it seemed odd that the teacher would give her trouble.

The school belonged to the Pedagogic Institute and was considered the best in the city, an experimental exemplary school.

In some way it was; there were a few good teachers but like every organization in Russia, corruption and careerism of some unscrupulous people poisoned the good idea of the special education the children could get there, but are not getting. Unfortunately, we had the bad luck to have such an educator.

Contrarily there was one excellent teacher who sometimes replaced our teacher and she was so impressed with my bright child that many years later she was telling my friend (she had no idea that she knew us) while travelling in the train, about her experience with an exceptionally bright little girl, Sima Kapstan. And my friend said, "I know her".

The teacher, who had held her back from starting in a higher grade, who was also a Communist, made use of the bright child. She made her sit with a boy, the son of the manager of the grocery store. When they wrote a test, she quietly ordered Sima to write the boy's test first, then her own. Sima was seven years old and obeyed the teacher, but what a moral to teach a child, dishonesty, lies and cheating. I was furious when I found out, but I didn't confront the bitch because I didn't want her to take her anger out on Sima. So, I politely asked her to allow Sima to sit with a friend that she liked. The teacher got the message that I knew what was going on and did as I asked.

Even worse, the woman took bribes from mothers in materialistic ways. She told them when her birthday was and what she wanted as a gift, a bathing suit, an amber, bracelet, etc. Her "friends" were collecting money for this purpose.

Otherwise, Sima blossomed in her class, had friends, and even had her first admirer. His name was Igor Soroka, the son of a Military Officer. The military was always in a better position than the civilians when it came to the food distribution, and chocolate bars were hard to get. One day, Sima discovered a chocolate bar in her school bag. Knowing that the only person that could have put it there was her manna; she enjoyed it very much.

The next day, another chocolate bar showed up, and again she ate it. Then, the boy, Igor, asked her what she did with the chocolate? She got scared but admitted she ate it. He told her, "Good, don't give it to anybody, it's for you." That was an act of love. Not long after, his father was transferred and he changed schools.

After Sima entered the second grade (with honours), I returned to work. I was invited to my old job. They had fired Uvarova and I was glad she was not there any more. A younger woman, an officer's wife named Galina, took over. She was also a Communist with very high ambitions, but much smarter than Uvarova, and was willing and able to work. She also appreciated others who worked. She was really good at her job and it was a nice change after the lazy, dirty bum to have an intelligent boss. But, nobody is perfect as she had her faults, too, and not faults that could be dismissed. First of all, she told us that she was an informer for the KGB, went with groups abroad (mostly to Germany) and then reported how the group behaved. Very nice profession for a decent girl ....

Her second fault, which I think in some way was as a result of her first fault - dishonesty, was that she was stealing new books from the library to form her own private library and not spending a penny. Smart? Yes, because she was trusted in her position, but she used it to her advantage.

Anyway, I didn't know about these things in the beginning, but I got along with her well and we were both hard workers. Again, I couldn't be lazy; I had to feel as though I was of some use; inventing something, drawing library posters, making new signs. Finally, we expanded and I got the former conference hall as my reference hall and was allowed the freedom of deciding how to organize the shelves and the propaganda tools.

Speaking of propaganda in the library, we were under scrutiny of the political department of the military. An admiral was the head of the department and he was a shrewd, powerful guy. He made an inspection of the books we placed on the "new arrivals" stands and he always took of some of them, saying, "Don't forget that just because we are not in active war with the Imperialists, we are still in an ideological war and we have to be constantly alert." From his point of view, he was doing his duty perfectly.

ISRAEL, ZIONISTS, WERE THE FIRST TARGETS OF PROPAGANDA

I always kept anti-Israeli books on the stands but it was one subject I sabotaged often. I only did it when I knew the admiral was supposed to visit. As I said, he was smart and a likeable guy, and we got along well. He had some weaknesses and would jokingly ask me in confidence to "help him" find reproductions of naked women in the magazines; pictures of famous artists like Rembrandt, Goya and others. He explained that he loves "art"....

Anyway, we worked hard with Galina and soon our library became the Mecca of the whole Baltic region. We had monthly seminars to teach other librarians and I had to inform the readers about new books on the radio. I liked to invent things that would help. It sounds like I am boasting, but it is true. I was active in my work and that was why I got recognized. My portrait hung on the honour wall under the title "The Best People" every year of the fifteen years I worked there. Also, they publicized a few methodical guides for other libraries that I prepared, and my bosses were proud! They were so pleased with the fame that they invited me to become a member of the party. I deserved that, but I had an opposite opinion and had decided that I would never belong to a party again; I knew enough to avoid them like the plague.

I simply said to the party boss, who gave me the recommendation, "I can't, and I don't deserve such an honour because I have relatives abroad in capitalistic countries." That was enough, everything was forgotten and I was left in peace.

Sure, I knew that to be a member of the Communist party gave you many privileges you didn't have as a non-member, but nothing could convince me to pretend to be what I was not. I am a loyal citizen, but have no faith or respect for this army of parasites who joined for materialistic reasons, not for ideals.

I saw so many of them; I worked with them and despised them. Seldom did you meet a decent person in the party.

Sure, years ago the first Communists were fighting and giving their lives for ideals which sounded so attractive to people: equality, internationalism, etc. After seventy years in power, there are many joiners, especially the lazy ones who don't like hard work. The few old “communists" are respected. There is even a joke: Because the elite had so many privileges, their own best clinics, stores, schools, the joke tells about a brothel for them, a special brothel where all whores are members of the party from 1905 (!) This was in the 80's. How old were they? Good joke!

It was not only me, but my husband had the same aversion to this party business, even if we both knew that our financial situation would gain if we compromised. But not ever.

The Navy Club employed one hundred people of whom five were librarians, the rest were artists and other serving personnel. At the top were an officer a major who was a drunkard and a womanizer but a Communist!

So, because I liked my creative work, I was not complaining; even though the pay was pathetic. The one thing I didn't like was working until nine o'clock in the evening. At this time, Sima wore a key to our apartment around her neck and at the age of eight was independent. She came home from school, ate what I prepared for her, did her homework and practiced her music. After that, she locked the door and marched to my work. She had her place in the reading hall, at a special table where she spent the time waiting for my shift to end so we could go home together. She read and ate treats I prepared for her. She spent most of her childhood in the library and I thought it wasn't a bad place to grow up. First of all, she was away from the tobacco smoke at home and secondly, I could watch her since nobody protested about her sitting there and the place was very quiet and pleasant.

Then, in the darkness, we walked home together where her father was playing chess, waiting for supper. I cooked supper, talked about school, read and went to bed. Sometimes at lunch, I went home to check on Sima after she got home from school. She locked the door by the inside latch and I had to knock. Seeing that she was O.K., I would go back to work.

One night I had a dream. I went to the door and knocked but nobody answered. I became panicky and knocked harder. I woke up to Aron's screaming, "What are you doing, banging on my head?" I looked at his bald head and it occurred to me what I had been doing. We laughed and laughed until morning. It was a fantastic joke to Sima, so funny.

When Sima was ten, in grade four, we decided to go on a one day trip to Riga to go to the zoo. It was summer vacation and I had promised her this adventure. We chose a sunny day, of which there were not many, and boarded the train to Riga. We were there within five hours, but it was still early. We had taken food with us so we decided to have our breakfast there. In high spirits, we chose a remote bench near the camels, took out our sandwiches, and placed them of the bench. It happened in a second; when I looked the other way our food was stolen .... by camels! I was annoyed, but Sima was hysterical with laughter, so funny. We had to go to a cafeteria, something I had not planned on. But, seeing the joy and curiosity of my daughter made me forgive the camels. The zoo was a real adventure and we spent most of the day there. Then, we went back home. Aron was somewhere playing chess.

Meanwhile, the Russian economy was cracking under the Brezniew rule. We felt it in the stores, which were often empty, and we had to stand in long lines for necessities. People were not happy; even toilet paper was limited to ten rolls per family and for that there was a long line. The toilet paper was on a string and the lucky people who managed to get this product would proudly walk home with a garland of toilet paper around their neck.

I worked diligently at the library, more relaxed now that Sima was a school girl and managed her tasks on her own. But, I spent all my free time in a hunt for food in endless lines at the stores. It was such a waste of time. The whole system was rotten. Even if some produce got into the stores, it was stolen by the managers and clerks and distributed first to their families and friends through the back door while we waited in line for hours and often went home with nothing because "there wasn't enough." The most pursued profession was that of a store worker because they had a nice life. The educated were staying in lines, hoping for a miracle, often hungry. They organized "special stores" for the elite, such as party functionaries and police, at which they got things without standing in line and had a nice choice. These stores were not open to the general public.

I remember a story that is funny now, but wasn't then. To get a one half kilo of sausage was a big achievement, even bigger if it was better quality than bologna. Once, I spent many hours for a piece of salami, as this was a delicacy that we had never seen before. I phoned home, telling my family we were going to have a feast that day of salami and they waited for the treat with anticipation. I was lucky and got one pound, which was the limit and proudly walked home, carrying my bag with the treasure. At home, I opened the bag and almost fainted - no salami! Somebody had stolen it. The disappointment was so great that this little misfortune was remembered for a long time. We still joke about "Where's the salami?"

When Sima was eleven years old, we decided to go on a vacation to the south - Odessa again. It had been seven years since we last went. We took the plane and Sima and Aron got airsick. I still liked the plane. The sunny, noisy Odessa was buzzing with big news: Jews could leave the U.S.S.R. to reunite in Israel. The Helsinki Conference resulted in lifting the Iron Curtain.

The first to rush were the Jews who were in "danger"of being arrested for some illegal activity they participated in while they were enriching themselves. Store workers who made deals in the manufacturing field - people, who made a good living, but lived in constant fear of being arrested. This had nothing to do with the politics or dissidents, it was purely economic, and I didn't have much sympathy for people who dealt and speculated. I considered them parasites that lived at other's expense.

Officially, they got an invitation from Israel, but upon reaching Vienna or Italy, ninety percent of them turned around and went West. I suspected that some of these people were the foundation of the future Russian mafia in the U.S.A. The Russian way of making money was not suitable to them; there were no shortages in America, so they turned to crime.

Odessa was boiling with news of who was going and who wasn't. The Ukrainians were deeply envious and resentful of the Jews who were leaving. Like "rats running from a sinking ship," they said. A few years later, they would follow the "rats". Meanwhile, the customs officials at the borders were openly robbing the Jews of their possessions; taking away things on the pretence that they were not allowed to take them across.

So, we arrived in Odessa at an exciting time. Our friends and relatives were still there, but talking about emigrating. We stayed with Sara, her husband Mosia, divorced Lina and her five-year-old son, Sasha. Sasha was the apple of his grandparents' eye, especially Baba Sara. This five year old was so wicked, so spoiled that we got a taste of it within the first minutes we got there. I gave him a plastic toy boat and instead of a polite thank you, I was given a barge of insults: "Take your stinking boat back and go back to your stinking Latvia ...." We all looked at Sara's treasure, open mouthed. This was only the beginning, and later he became our tormenter and the hated devil in that household. Sara's grandson bewitched her; everything he did was great. She, a long time day care worker, told me, "This child smells different than other children, something special." Yes, special, I thought with disgust.

We went from Odessa to i Carolino-Bugaz to rest a little from this pervert, but they followed us there. We had Sasha on our backs a couple of times. Aron, his uncle, got so mad at him that not listening to Sara's protests; he slapped the behind of the villain. A normal child would cry when he was spanked, but this devil got the giggles. Because Lina was working, she depended on her parents to raise her son. Sara's husband, Mosia, was a kind and sweet man, but his dominating wife turned him into a slave, a jelly. He didn't have any say nor respect in that family.

Fira, who lived in the same yard, had two married sons and lived with her husband Josia. He resembled Sara's husband since he was also quiet and obedient, but a little more selfish. Fira was a lazy bum who liked to sleep long hours and didn't care much about cleaning, washing, cooking, or chores in general.

Fania, the math teacher, was a horrible housewife, too and her only ambition was to protect her son from the Jewish side of the family so that he could make a career for himself. And, he did.

We visited our old friends Katia and Lenia and their nine year old daughter Marina. Katina had always been a business woman and they were settled comfortably in a two bedroom apartment in new Odessa, but they were also thinking of leaving. We were looking forward to returning to our quiet town in the North, and to be further away from the scoundrel Sasha.

But we can't be indifferent to this situation. Many people rushed out because you never knew when the Iron Curtain would close again. The Russian authorities played with the Jews like a cat with a mouse.

One step ahead, two steps back. I was really troubled. After so many years in this country I even stopped dreaming about a reunion. Is that possible to see my relatives? How could we make a living with our diplomas there? People say they are not accepting Russian diplomas.

And how different we became, two sisters living all our lives in different countries and systems. How could we patch these differences?

Then, I thought about my daughter. She is young, talented. How life could change for her. How could I sacrifice her life for our fears and uncertainties?

Yes, I wanted her to have a better life, and I wanted her to live in a free, not totalitarian country. She didn't have a future in the Soviet Union.

And Eva and Paul are inviting us. They want us to come to Canada. Many friends in Odessa looked at us with surprise. "You are still here? We thought you would be the first to go?"

The first of us to leave was Aron's niece, Lusia who worked in the food business, got rich and feared arrest. She went to New York with her family.

When we got back home to Liepaja, there were only a few Jewish families left, and the main topic of conversation was about emigration. We had our routine life again. We worked, studied and hunted for food to put on the table.

My work was going very well with the expanded reading hall.

Eva and Paul were well aware of what was going on in Russia, and asked us if we were planning on a reunion with them. It was my sacred dream to see her again, but my husband didn't want to listen to me. He couldn't risk going to a new country without knowing the language and his diploma, as an engineer, wouldn't be accepted. I had to agree with his logic, but my heart felt otherwise.

Meanwhile, Sima graduated from both schools with honours and decided to try the exams for Music College, which with all the competition, were not easy. Fortunately, she was accepted and with her high marks got a stipend from the State. Her life was busy with studying and practicing piano. A boy friend by the name of Wolodja was pursuing her and she soon became even busier. The guy was serving in the Navy and stayed in Liepaja afterward, to keep an eye on Sima. She was sixteen years old and he was twenty and she told him that she would never marry him. He told her he still had hope and that when she turned eighteen, he would propose. In Aron's and my opinion, he was a nice guy, but he wasn't Jewish.

I had not told my daughter of my childhood, but she knew that I wanted her to be Jewish, and to have a Jewish family. In the meantime, they dated; went to movies and we trusted him because he was her protector and was devoted to her immensely. Once, he asked her if he could become a Jew. This problem officially did not exist in Russia as internationalism made no difference between nations on paper. But, it made a difference in reality.

My daughter already had an experience in this area. When she was five years old and playing in the yard with other children, an Ukrainian girl told her, "You Jew, you will be killed soon!" Sima came home crying and I told her to defend herself on the playground. She took it to heart and the next time, a kid called her a "dirty Jew," she slapped her in the face. I was very pleased when she told me what she did, but shortly after there was a knock on the door and the mother, with the child, had come to complain. I told her why Sima behaved the way she did and that it was my advice, and the woman stupidly said, "But I always say 'hello' to you, even though you are Jewish." And, that was all.

Another time, the children were noisy as they played under the windows of the house and a mother opened her window and singled Sima out, even though she was the quietest one of the group, and shouted, "You dirty Jew, don't play under my window." It hurt me more than it hurt Sima, she was a child and I was an adult and I knew what racism meant. There were a few old Ukrainian Babas gossiping in the yard. Their favourite subject was the wartime and the persecution of the Jews. It was the best time of their lives!

In 1975, we went back to Odessa for a vacation and emigration was in full swing, the "Exodus". Everyone wanted out, but not everybody got permission. A new word appeared in the Russian lexicon: refusnik. There were many of them not talking about the dissidents in camps. To be refused was like becoming an outcast; they lost their friends and their hope of ever getting out. Professors worked as watchmen, waiters, and cleaning ladies. A few of our friends left, and the rest sat on suitcases, ready to go.

We found Katina and her family under these conditions. Because they had money, they bought beautiful amber things such as an amber chessboard, to sell in the West, and other things that they were officially permitted to take with them. When they went to the border, the customs people stole their most valuable things. They just simply confiscated them. Meanwhile, we had gone to say goodbye to them and to wish them luck. We found out a year later, when Katia wrote to us from a San Francisco hospital, that she had an operation related to cancer, and that they didn't have much luck. Later, she bounced back to health (that's Katia!) and that they were doing well in San Francisco. I was happy for them.

Jews were leaving in masses and we, the guests, watched sadly at the great adventures that could turn one's life in another direction. Subdued, we returned to our quiet city and again I thought about it. We were welcome in Canada, they expected us, and I dreamed about it. But, my husband got tired of my nagging and frankly told me, "I don't want to hear the word 'Canada' in my house." He forgot the help we got from them, and he didn't understand my longing to have my family after thirty five years of separation. I couldn't leave by myself because the rules were, even if people were divorced, that spouses had to sign a written permission for the other to emigrate. Because a child was involved, it usually ended up being a hopeless case.

After Aron rebuked me in silence, I couldn't stop thinking about this problem. Our situation with the shortage of everything, especially food, was hopeless. We didn't have enough money to buy in the market, where prices were high. The only solution was to stay long hours in lines, not knowing if you would get something in the end. Many food stores were simply closed. You couldn't plan a meal ahead, because you didn't know how lucky you could get and what would be sold this day.

So I was the hunter in the family, always on the lookout for a line to join; whatever they were selling I needed.

I already resigned myself to end my life in Russia. I made a mistake many years ago and I paid dearly. But I wanted a better life for my child. This was why I was ready to emigrate, fearing that we would lose this rare opportunity to get out.

So many years the Iron Curtain was closed, and now they lifted it Wasn't it time to run? I never felt at home there .

Actually, I had some experience with the KGB and their refusal to allow me to visit my relatives. The first time was in 1959, when Luba invited me to visit her in Paris. I applied and waited for half a year for a response and finally, I got one: "No, it is not necessary." They knew better. The second time was in 1967 when Eva sent me an invitation for a visit. The answer was the same.

With so many leaving, the attitude of others was very hostile towards the remaining Jews. They were not trusted. Many were fired from responsible jobs. Many were refused jobs even though they were educated and had experience. So, it was risky to leave to venture into the unknown, but it was worse to remain behind.

The economic conditions were deteriorating (if that was possible) and the lines were longer, food scarce, and hopes for the better were diminished. All the meat stores in the city were closed. I had a dream to get a chicken for New Year's supper, was it too much to ask, one chicken a year? Or, even better, I hoped that maybe I could get a leg of a cow to make a holodiec (aspic). My dreams were far from reality.

Finally, my husband decided to change his job, to be closer to the food distribution. This department badly needed an engineer, a builder, and they asked him to fill out an application. They wanted him. As usual, the application asked the questions that Jews didn't like: 1) Your nationality (what difference did it make in an "international" country?) 2) Do you have relatives abroad? My husband was "guilty" in these two areas and was promptly refused the job. They didn't even hide the reason from him - he couldn't be trusted. Half the city was built on his projects and now they couldn't trust him.

Now it got to him. He is disappointed and simply mad. I thanked God for this refusal to hire him, because otherwise we would still be there .... Brrrr....

Katia Vaizer's letters from San Francisco were the last straw which convinced my husband that people had another life, and comparing our existence here without hope for a better future was like night and day. There is such an expression in Russian - when the difference is drastic.

Now, the refusal to employ him was so unfair, having such political meaning, anti-Semitic lining, that he was very intimidated, insulted, and mad.

I was in a resigned mood this year, and it hurt me just to think about Sima's future. Should parents sacrifice their children, have the right to be passive where the future of their children is concerned?

No, the children should be first! No question about it, but how could I convince Aron?

There was a joke in Russia about Jews applying for employment. A Jew fills out the application form and question number five asks for the applicant's nationality. The Jew promptly writes, "Yes", meaning, "Yes, I am guilty of being a Jew."

One can only image my surprise when I returned home from work and was told "Let's go from here. Ask Eva to send us an invitations."