My Life in Ukraine
I am often asked: "Why do you so rarely talk about your life in Ukraine? What do you remember about your childhood, adolescence, and adulthood?”
We lived in the city Kharkov, which used to be the capital of Ukraine. The city, even back then, was big, industrial, and very beautiful, especially in the center of the city (downtown). There were many trees and bushes, like the birch, poplar, acacia and lilac. In early spring, all the trees and bushes blossomed, and the fluff from the poplar flew around and tickled your nose.
My family, the Gershkoviches, consisted of 5 people. My parents met in a Jewish technical school, which was the only one in the USSR. They studied together, and their friends told us—the children—that they were the most beautiful couple at this school. My father, Moysey, had wavy hair. My mother, Mariam, was a lovely girl. In 1939, they got married. And in 1941, my father went to war and stayed through to the end; after receiving two serious wounds, he returned, with the rank of captain. He began working again at a military plant that produced T-34 tanks, as a forge shop technologist. After the terrible years of the war, my father’s wasps of hair became gray; I remember him looking only like this. Our mother during the war became wounded in the head, lost her newborn son, and could not work because of her epilepsy. All the relatives of my father, with the exception of one sister, were killed by the Nazis. My mother’s mother died from childbirth when her daughter was 9 years old. My grandfather lived in Belarus; when the Nazis started bombing the capital, he managed to get on the roof of the last train, which brought him back to our city in Ukraine, from Belarus. Our mom’s older sister, Lisa, was a deaf-mute and worked in a military hospital where she became infected with a disease and died. My mother and grandfather were evacuated to Kazakhstan, where my brother was born and died, and then my only sister, Larisa, was born. Life during this time (the evacuation) was very difficult, but my mother and grandfather Zalman survived all the difficulties and returned to Ukraine. In 1947 I was born, and all 5 of us, as well as our cat Basil, lived in one small room. We had to enter our room through entering our neighbors’. Our neighbor at first lived alone, but soon got married to a man who turned out to be an anti-Semite. He began to call us a derogatory name for “Jew” when we passed by. We tolerated and did not answer him. After all, we were happy that we had our own living space! In the middle of the room there, was a dining table, and there were beds around it. I remember my first day at school. I returned home and pushed all the pots and plates on the table, because I had to do my homework! I finished the first grade with all 5’s [A’s]! I loved my school and my first teacher! Later, when I’d returned to work at that school as a teacher, I found my grades! Nice!
Of course, I remember a lot. Beginning in March 1953, when the country was in great mourning because of the death of Stalin. My sister Larisa was then a member of the children's pioneer organization. She was entrusted to stand in the guard of honor near the bust of the “leader of the people.” I envied her a little and stood close by.
In the second grade, I went to another school where I found true friends and acquaintances with whom I talk to this day, despite the fact that we live in different countries, thanks to the Internet! Now, with my old teacher of Russian language and literature, we get together and talk for a long time. She told me that she was proud that I became a teacher, and I fulfilled her hopes. It was very nice for me to hear that!
It was always fun and interesting for us in our own school. Like any children, we sometimes wanted a break during the week. And I remember how, one morning on a very frosty day, we went to class. But we were not let into the school; we were told that there had been a fire in the attic overnight. Being silly kids, we were very happy and rushed home, hoping that next day there would be no school! Yesterday, on the social media network Odnaklassniki, I saw a picture with a caption. Standing under a banana tree are a few black kids, rejoicing: “Hooray! The teacher was eaten by a lion! No school!”
I remember that several times the school was closed for quarantine because of the flu. Nobody thought about sitting at home, everyone grabbed sledges or skis and skated until it became dark! How beautiful it was!
Winter is the coldest time of the year. Nevertheless, this is a lovely and beautiful time of year. It snows frequently in the winter, and all the trees, except conifers, stand naked. The frozen earth becomes covered with snowdrifts. Only in winter can we see such magnificent birds as bullfinches, clysters, waxwings and others.
Children especially love this time of year. They spend a lot of time on the street, sledging, skating and skiing. There are many hilly “ice slides” around, and many people go to the ice rink. In some parks you can see ice sculptures—real works of art. Families with young children can have fun building a snowman.
Winter is a magical time of the year. In winter, people celebrate the New Year. This is the time when everyone turns into a little boy or girl and begins to believe in miracles. Only in winter can you wake up and see the amazing frosty patterns on the window of your room. When it snows, you can see that every snowflake is beautiful and unique.
And now I am reminded again about my school days. I remember my schoolmate, Leonid Pilipenko. Perhaps our fellow student does not deserve to be remembered, but I want to tell a little bit about my relations with him. We studied in the same class, and sat at desks close to one other. The boy was a little selfish, and was not friends with the rest of the people; he somehow was all alone. We lived close to each other; our apartments were adjacent. Lyonka was fond of fencing, and went to a sports club. Sometimes, at school, we received very difficult homework in mathematics or physics. I would gladly start with my homework exercises for Russian, Ukrainian, or French. But when it came to the math or physics problems, I lost my inspiration. I needed help. So, passing by the door of my neighbor Leonid, I ran upstairs to the apartment of another schoolmate, Tolik. Why? The always-benevolent Tolik explained incomprehensible things to me and helped me with the homework, without using any unnecessary words. Besides, I didn’t want to speak with Lyonchik again; he only did things if he could get something out of them. And I even remember how, once during class, Pilipenko made me a remark about my origin—he did not call me out explicitly, but somehow it was bad enough that my reaction was unambiguous: Lyonka received several punches from me. I think that all of our friends remember this episode. Lyonchik's mother complained to my mother and my mother only asked me: "Was this the case?" Nobody in the family was going to punish me, and my classmates supported me.
My son Vlad studied at our high school for a couple years. And here is where history repeats itself. I was summoned by one of Vlad’s teachers because of a fight with a classmate. At that time, I had worked as a teacher for a while, and understood that the conversation was serious. It turned out that my son broke the rules during a break between classes and struck a classmate. I asked Vlad: “Was this deserved?” It turned out that the boy had acted like Lyonka in his day and had insulted Vlad. The teacher was very young and frail, and she walked away, frightened, when I answered that the fight was fair and I would not, in fact, punish my son. I answered her just like my mother did, a long time ago.
Here is a Jewish theme in my life for you!
After having graduated from high school, I tried to enter a pedagogical institute. There was a contest to enter, but there was a restriction on the Jews; I was not accepted, so instead I went to work at the plant where my father worked. I was lucky; there were many wonderful coworkers around me. I'm still friends with some of them. There, I learned how to work with a microscope, print on a typewriter, and other such things. All these skills were useful to me later on in life.
But the next year, I got into to the university after all, and studied there for 6 years. I am still grateful to my friend, Ana, for being a student of the University; she helped me to prepare for admission—I had to pass four exams. By the way, my sister Larisa was not admitted to the university. She went to study in the same technical school as her parents, and later her son studied there as well. Only, at that time, the technical school was no longer Jewish.
Lara and I have always been on good terms; I do not remember even once us getting into any big quarrels or fights. She was three years older than me, and she would look after me. Lara knew how to sew and knit beautiful things. Dad would often go to work in Moscow; only there, at that time, could one buy good cloth. The sister sewed herself and me dresses, skirts, etc. I was already in high school (at school it was required to wear a uniform), but I still dressed up in things sewn by my sister! When Larisa started making money, she continued to dress me; I will remember the gray artificial fur coat that she bought me for my whole life. Then, one day she got married, gave birth to her eldest son, Konstantin, but she had to go to classes to get her diploma. Kostya was born very beautiful; I loved him and tried to look after him to help my sister. After graduating from college, she left to another city with her husband to work, and the child stayed at home with us. A very smart boy, he quickly started to read Russian, and I proudly took him with me when I visited others and demonstrated his reading skills.
I was a good aunt! By the way, my friend Anya and I named him Konstantin, which went well with the family name Aginskiy.
Over those years, I managed to get married and give birth to my eldest son. Life is so interesting! Our neighbors were the uncle and aunt of my husband Kim—that is how we met. In our house, there were only two families of Jews, so we talked to each other—Rabinovich and Gershkovich! Sometimes they had to defend themselves and each other together against anti-Semites, using insults and offensive words. My parents inspired me to marry only for a Jewish guy; he would never call me a dirty Jew (the worst insult).
It’s been almost 50 years after my wedding, and I have gradually realized how right my father and mother were. It's interesting that they could not communicate with each other in Yiddish. It turns out that Jews in Ukraine and Belarus have different dialects. But my parents were a role model for young people. Leaving early in the morning, my father would always kiss my mother, and when he returned, he did the same. Dad was very calm and intelligent person; he never allowed us, daughters, to complain about my mother, always defending her. He was always a loving husband, explaining to us that our mother was ill, and her remarks should be treated with understanding.
Very sadly, we had to endure the death of our parents. I was there until the last moment. Mom left three months after Dad, she had the same illness; she called out to her husband before she died, she did not recognize me. How terrible it was! We are so sad that it was not possible to take our parents to immigrate to America.