Tears Not Of the Birch, But Mine!
I have already written of my first trip to Canada. Many know that my close relatives have lived in Toronto for more than 30 years. We recently moved to moved to America, and had just started our new life. The first thing we did was find our aunts
and uncles, and their families, on the Internet. We were very happy when we found them, as we hadn’t been able to see each other for 27 years.
I had just started at my new job at a daycare center, and was worried whether they would let me take a vacation, which I had not yet earned. With a new suitcase and the happy thought of being able to see my relatives after so many years, I went to see my family.
I didn’t have the opportunity to visit with my favorite aunt and her family before this. My father was a Communist and worked at a military factory which produced the T-34 tank. He was concerned about the consequences of having close relatives living in Toronto, Canada. My son located the telephone numbers and internet addresses of a number of our relatives living in Canada.
I was so happy when I got a ticket to Toronto. While aboard the aircraft, I thought of how it might how will be meeting with such loving relatives.
At the end of the flight, the steward brought out some sort of declaration papers, which everyone had to fill out in English. I was looking around at my neighbors, to see where others were putting checkmarks. My English was not very good. But what was I, worse than them? I decided, no; my English was not good enough, but arrogance, I had enough.
So I decided to put check marks “where I needed” (or so I thought). When the aircraft landed, I could see my cousin through the plastic fence. I had grabbed my luggage, and I couldn’t find its handle, so I became sad as I was making
my way to her. I went up to the customs window and approached the officer.
At that moment an officer began asking me some questions. I wasn’t paying much attention to the officer; just listening to him and nodding. I didn’t pay much attention to him until I heard him ask, “Where are your weapons or narcotics?”
I responded with a shout, “I don’t have anything like that”!
Then the officer indicated on my form where I’d marked that, indeed, I was carrying weapons and narcotics.
And, thank God, the Canadian policeman understood my foolishness and allowed me to exit through the doorway. Hooray!
I won’t write about our visit in detail—it was nerve-racking and very pleasurable for me.
On Sunday, my aunt and I went to a Russian restaurant to celebrate her friend’s birthday. And there I had tears again. For 2 years, I had been living in Columbia, where there was not a single Russian store or restaurant. And here, on the tables, I saw Russian food; and there were Russian singers singing. The environment was similar to the one in which I’d lived in Kharkov. My tears were flowing, like rivers.
But these were tears of happiness, upon hearing Russian and Ukranian songs, and eating Russian food. The only thing missing was a juice, called birch water. Canada doesn’t have that sweet drink.
And once again I cried when my relatives took us to Niagara Falls. We were walking in the park before the waterfall, and that was when I saw a birch, not too tall, with white bark. I couldn’t contain myself; I hugged the tree (this is when they took a photo of me).
My aunt and her husband lived in the Ukraine during World War II. During that time, because they were Jewish, they had a difficult time. The life of Jewish people in Kiev, Ukraine was hard. Although my aunt Anna lost all her family, she still had a
brother, my father. During the war, my relatives were killed by Nazi soldiers.
Aunt Anna loves my family so very much. We have not been able to see one another for a long time.
Unfortunately, my dad passed away before we left Ukraine.
My cousins took me to see Niagara Falls. The trip was both interesting and nice. Once again, I began to cry. It was because I had found the tree-birch, a
conection to my motherland. I hugged that tree and again.
This time it was my tears and not a birch.
So they were my tears, not those of a birch!