As a little boy, I never had my own dreidel. Once, when I was little, my grandpa brought me a gift. It was a small russian spinning top called "YULA".

Grandpa painted four strange signs on the upper part of the toy. He explained that now it is a very special Jewish spinner called Dreidel, but not a russian "YULA" anymore.

   - When spinning will stop and fall to the side, depending on the symbol on the top, you either win, lose, pass, or double your gain. But in any way, - Grandpa told me - Life is like that Jewish dreidel. If you balance longer, you will always win.

I quickly became a master of spinning and later in life managed to balance myself without fear of falling. I preferred that to a comfortable position to dig my bottom down and sit still as the soviet school was teaching me to do. 

​

***

                                          

1. A very young and happy family

​

 

It was the end of the 1979. Our small family, Lily, little Mark, and I finally achieved real financial independence. Lily's parents left the country almost two years ago. The apartment where we lived with them together became ours. For anyone in the Soviet Union, it was an incredible luxury to have a three-room flat for a young family like us.

 

 I had a soviet-dream job. There was a popular Russian anecdote - "The soviet government pretended to pay for our labor, therefore we pretended to work for their money."

I worked as an engineer in a government office responsible for the efficiency of the small power plants in Latvian collective farms. The collective farms were the most inefficient experiment in Soviet agricultural history. By extension, the power plants there were even less efficient, and no one cared about it. 

Every month I was given a list of different collective farms in the Latvian northeast to inspect. All I had to do was to write a report and get a collective farm president's approval signature on it. 

As a general rule, those presidents did not want to spend any funds on improvement. They kept money to themselves and were happy to sign my report without any work done. They would invite me for a dinner that mostly consisted of vodka or moonshine and ask me to present the report for a signature at once. And that was what I had done.

I had a stack of different reports prepared in advance for any possible scenario. My archive was always in my briefcase and my one-month work was usually done in a week. I, however, did not waste any time.

For the rest of the month, I worked at the company I created myself. Yes, it was possible to have your own business in the USSR. It was possible but illegal. I had to balance myself as a spinning dreidel.

 

I got a fake ID and a forged government labor registration book. It was necessary because in the Soviet Union by the law people were allowed to work only in one place. That fabricated ID presented me as a city handyman who was doing house calls for small repairs of any kind. My work was very good and efficient, and word of mouth was my best advertisement. People called our apartment phone number. Lily acted as the secretary/dispatcher, making appointments for me. People willingly paid me for a job well done, and I was making in a day the equivalent of a one-month engineering salary!

 That certainly sounds unbelievable, but that was the way the system worked and I worked that system very well.

I was spinning as a dreidel that would never ever fall.

 

Of course, it was all illegal and very dangerous to do, punishable by 3 to 10 years of imprisonment, but for us, it was a well-worth risk to take. We were young and restless and as a result, could afford financially anything that we ever wanted. 

Yet there was one, very special item in the USSR that money couldn't buy. It was the freedom of choice that we desired but didn't have while in the Soviet Union.

Therefore we had dreams. Lily dreamed about leaving the country as her parents, her brother, and many of our friends and relatives did.

 And I ...?

 I was dreaming about changing our communist-ruled country into a different free-thinking democratic society with justice and prosperity for all.

 Both were dangerous dreams to have in the Soviet Union. Both led to the accusation of treason and a long punishment thereafter.

   ***

​

 

2. That was a very special New Year 

​

 

It was December of 1979 and we started to think about a New Year celebration. It was always the best time of the year, even in the soviet union, and we wanted to arrange something very special. Our first New Year together we celebrated on a train going to Moscow. That was perhaps a silly and uncommon way to celebrate, but we both wanted something daring and not commonly acceptable in our lives. 

This time it was our fourth year together, and we decided to make a trip to Moscow a tradition and repeat our first year experience. Moscow was a fun place to be during New Year's time, especially for the people with the money, and we finally had that privilege.

 

In Moscow, we visited with relatives on my father's side of the family. They were our close friends, and we always enjoyed spending time together. My cousin was a scientist at one of the top-secret research facilities. 

It was the evening of December 28th. We planned to start the New Year's celebration early and waited for him to come home from work. 

To stretch the celebration for several days was quite common among us.

My cousin opened the door without an expected smile. His face was pale and displayed extreme anticipation.

   - We invaded Afghanistan three days ago. - he said quietly.

   - You are kidding, - I replied in disbelief, - they couldn't dare to do it, and the Voice of America didn't talk about it. I was listening to the news just an hour ago.

   - Believe me, I know that from the source, - my cousin replied in a very worrisome manner.

 

That special moment I remember throughout my entire life.

That was the moment when my world changed.

I knew that the soviet government was conniving to turn the country of Afghanistan into a second Cuba-like ally of the USSR. It was kept secret, but many people knew and talked about it. However, starting a full military invasion of the foreign nation didn't sound probable.

  The Chechoslavakian fiasco of 1968 should have taught the soviet generals not to make a mistake like that anymore, - that was what I thought. 

But I couldn't be more wrong!

 To me, it was a huge fiasco of the soviet doctrine. I use the word "fiasco" loosely. For the Soviet generals, it was a huge victory that extended the soviet grub over the Czech Republic for the next 30 years. For me, it was an incredible failure of the belief in the possibility of "Soviet democracy with the human face". I understood it was impossible.

The whole Western world was against that brutal demonstration of the soviet aggression. 

Yet, it wasn't so for the soviet generals.

I couldn't believe that the military wing of the soviet government would prevail, but I knew that most people in the country wouldn't care. They lived submerging themself into the daily routine of their gray unentertaining life. 

Most of them suffered from the common condition of the "not willing to know and not willing to learn". It was to live as life goes and go with the flow.

 And now soldiers in that gray soviet uniform would die for those generals in Afganistan. And the generals will line pockets of their gray, yet red velvet-lined military coats. And I knew that very possibly I would be drafted to the war. And I knew that I would have to put that gray uniform on. And I would follow the command unthinkably. And our little boy when grown up will put on the very same military uniform to attend to the will of that communist monstrosity somewhere.

No, I couldn't allow that to happen.

Oh, what a dupe I was, what a foolish dreamer!

All stages of human understanding ran through my head instantly.

The decision came to me quickly at that very moment.

I turned to Lily and said, 

   - I am ready. We go. We are leaving this country for good. 

 

She didn't say anything. She looked at me and just hugged me tightly.

 

Years later she admitted that this was the happiest moment of her life.

And many years later she told me also that at that time she made the toughest decision of her life to file for divorce and to leave the country without me if I wouldn't change my mind by 1980.

 

We came back to Riga happily united in our decision to change our lives forever. To emigrate from the Soviet Union wasn't easy, but we knew the required process very well. We started to do everything quickly and enthusiastically. 

 

We realized something peculiar. When the decision to leave was made the fear of authorities instantly disappeared. Somehow it freed our mind from a heavy load of everyday fears and precautious. We had our goal set up and nothing, absolutely nothing could stop us from reaching the desirable goal.

​

***

                                                  

3. The Invitation

​

 

The very first requirement to legally apply to exit from the USSR for good was to be invited to do that. The mandated formal invitation was an official document, legally notarized in the ministry of the internal affairs of the country of origin. That invitation should be coming from close and immediate relatives living overseas.

 We had Lily’s parents living in the USA, but the Soviets at the beginning of 1980 refused to accept all American invitations.

Russian relationship with the USA was somewhat warm and fuzzy during the 78-79 years when Jimmy Carter was the president, but broke apart completely after the russian invasion of Afghanistan followed by American protest and boycott of the forthcoming 1980 Olympics in Moscow.

 

The Soviet Union continued to accept invitations only from Israel and only for close relatives. But we didn't have any close relatives there, just numerous Lily's cousins, aunts, uncles, and many of our friends.

However, the decision to leave the USSR was made, and at that point, we didn't want anything to stay on our way. It was not that we didn't care what the Soviets would do. Their rules were changing daily and we followed the rules very closely. We wanted to do everything possible to go around those rules. We wanted to get an invitation from anywhere and to deal with the circumstances of the departure as the time would show.

 

In the very first week of 1980, we reached out by telephone first to Lily's parents and then to all our friends and relatives in the USA, Israel, Austria, and Italy. We announced our decision, and our friends ordered the invitations for us. Lily's parents in the USA were the first who started the process. They contacted all their friends and relatives and asked them to help as well. 

 

I must mention that making a phone call to the USA from Riga was not a simple task. We should go to the central Telegraph station, pay in advance, and wait for the connection to become available. We could order the conversation from the house phone, but that would extend the waiting line for a few days. We couldn't wait that long. When connection becomes available the voice over the overhead speakers will call us by our last name and say that we are called to talk to America. That would be intimidating since we might be seen by people in line as some sort of foreign agents or traitors. 

As we went to the phone booth to talk, we knew KGB would be listening. That was why we would roll the phone dial to number 8 and stick a pencil in the dial opening. I remember doing that very carefully and dialing till just before the last click, trying not to disconnect the line. That we believed was preventing agents from eavesdropping on our conversation over the phone, as well as in our apartment when we talk about politics. Now that number 8 rule sounds so silly, but back then, we tried to use any protection we could. I didn’t know if it really worked, but we did that, anyway. 

 

 In a week or two some friends and relatives started to reach out to us with the good news. Their invitations were on the way to us.

We knew that the Soviets would try to interrupt the process and intercept the invitations before they would reach our mailbox. The invitations arrived in a large official envelope with a red ribbon and were very noticeable.

Every apartment building had a groundkeeper of some sort. The russian name of the profession was "DVORNIK". This person's job was to keep the grounds clean, but concurrently he or she would report to KGB all and any suspicious activities and perform small chores, like stealing mail from the mailbox when needed.

​

I developed a very special relationship with "auntie" Bronya, it was our "DVORNIK's" name. I bought a few bottles of vodka and several boxes of imported chocolate for her. That combination usually softened anybody's heart in the USSR. "Aunt" Bronya promised to help.

   - I'll watch the mailbox for you and when that special letter shows up I will deliver it to you personally, - she promised me smilingly.

That was enough precautions and we started to anticipate the delivery.

We expect to receive the invitation by January 15th at the latest.

Meanwhile, I decided not to wait and to announce my decision to leave the country at my place of employment. To my surprise, the reaction was overwhelming. Everybody in our small company was ethnically Latvian, except for me and another Jewish man, Misha. The general rule in Latvia was - if there were no russians, therefore no soviet sympathizers either. Of course, every rule has an exception, but my place of work was totally on my side. Everyone disliked the system, yet worked for it because there weren't any alternatives. Everyone including my boss congratulated me on our decision and wished me good luck, asking me to send them colorful postcards in the future. All the people came together and arranged the party for me with drinks and food provided. My boss told me, that if I need any time off for things to do I should feel free to take it. That was overwhelming.

​

We didn't try to change anything in our life routine, work, apartment, care for our son, food, grocery, yet it all changed by itself. Everything in our lives becomes about waiting for the invitation to come. As it was something our entire existence depended on.

 I stopped working my illegal handyman job. It was too risky. Too many people knew what I was doing, and I didn't want to get cut one way or another. 

                                                                                 ***

​

4. The phone call that wasn't ordinary

​

 

 

It was Thursday the 10th of January, and my workplace conducted one of the two days per month required to be in the office. Sometime in the afternoon, the phone rang. Someone from the military conscription headquarters was asking for me…

 

Military training was a required part of my university education. I wore the military uniform for one day a week and listened the lectures about the history, tactics, and technology of the Soviet army. We marched in the university backyard, practiced artillery shooting on some training military base, and in the summer went through the boot camp to become the officers of the reserve. 

After graduation, the army called me once a year for a month or two of military training. That was a small price to pay for the privilege not to serve in the regular army for two or three years. All men who didn't enter higher education right after high school graduation were required to be drafted at the age of 18.

   - Oh my…, - I thought. - they are not calling me for military training again!

   - Hello, I'm listening - I said quietly.

To my relief, the phone call wasn't related to that at all. 

The voice congratulated me on the honor and well-deserved award!

 As it was five years after my graduation, and I had completed the required time of military training, the army decided to advance my military rank. They promoted me to a senior lieutenant.

They reviewed my paperwork and accidentally misplaced the copy of my engineering degree. They asked me to come by and help them to fix the mishap.

​

That wasn't a problem. My work office had an extra copy of my diploma, and I promised to come by after work.

   - You know, we actually can help you to do that - the voice on the phone sounded polite.  

   - We happened to have a car nearby, and they can pick you up.

   - Wow! That would be great, - I replied.

I had no suspicions of any kind of conniving trickery on their part. Just the paperwork, that's what they said.

In a few minutes, I was in the back seat of the dark green Soviet military jeep. Two soldiers sat on both sides of me, and I… And I didn't suspect anything!

An officer was on the right side of the driver.

   - How did I deserve such royal treatment? - I exalted trying to make a joke, but no one smiled.

   - Soldiers... they don't have a sense of humor, - I thought.

 

We entered the military office together. The main conference room was busy with a lot of people. Everyone was very preoccupied. No one smiled. I recognized a few guys I remembered from my years in college. Two of them had tears in their eyes.

   - Something is happening, - the worrisome thought went through my head. But I didn't know what...

The officer invited me to the head office, and I entered.

The man in charge of the drafting process, a comrade major in uniform stood up and invited me to come in.

   - Comrad Mirsky, I'm glad to congratulate you on a special military promotion. - He said, and my heart dropped to my stomach. I started to realize what was happening.

   - You have been told, that we need a copy of the university diploma, -major continues.- We need that, of course.

   - Yes, I have it with me, - and I put my paperwork on the major's desk. At that point, I hoped that maybe that was all they wanted. Maybe...

   - That is not the only reason you were called, - Major paused and looked at me squeezing his eyes.

Suddenly I understood everything, and the realization wasn't good at all.

Everything settled together in my head at once. My unexpected military promotion, the recent Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, a ride to the military office in the company of the military guards, sad faces and tears in some men's eyes, and finally me standing in front of the major who was in charge of the military draft... I needed to do something. But what?

 

I wasn't afraid to be drafted. My father and his father were military, and they instilled in me if not love, but respect to the military order. I loved my country and genuinely called it my motherland. If my motherland required help, I was ready, but did she? I had no love and neither respect for the aggressive communist doctrine, especially the military one.

 

What can I do? And especially now, when we decided to leave this country and cease everything for good with this communistic paradise!

 

My head was going in circles. I was desperate but didn't show it and decided to act on the spot. All I needed was to leave this office and never come back. I didn't have a plan, but I instantly started to improvise.

The following was the best improv I have ever performed in my life.

 

   - Let me tell you the real reason we called you to come, - Major continued, - You probably heard that the enemies are attacking our motherland at the southern border.

   - Yes, comrade major. I am aware. I usually start my day with the newspapers "Pravda" and "The Red Star", - I was acting my best. I was in character and on the stage. It was the biggest stage in the world, as it was my life.

   - Good... I am here to announce that you are honored with the new officer's rank. - Major passed for a second - You are being called to serve your duty at the southern borders of the USSR.

 

A freezing chill came through my spine, but I didn't react. I was in character already, even though I hadn't figured out yet what I was playing. But that was how I started:

    -Yes, comrade major. Glory to the Soviet Union! - and I jerked my arm into the military salute. - I am ready to kill all the contra-revolutionaries! Give me! Give me the gun!

   - That's an excellent attitude! - exclaimed Major. - You are a good example to all those other crybaby boys. Let me give you the paperwork. Fill in all the lines. Answer all the questions. The uniform of your size has been already prepared. The military trucks are ready to take you to the railroad. Your echelon is leaving tonight. You will be given a chance to call your family to say goodbye without revealing the destination. Your personal items will be sent to your family later. -

I walked back to the conference room, and my heart was trembling. I sat at the table and started to do the paperwork. Somehow I knew I needed to disqualify myself, but how...?

​

One of the lines of the "application to hell", as I called it, was a question about relatives living permanently overseas. I instantly decided what to do and put a list of all the countries from the USA to South Africa, countries that weren't friends of the USSR. When my paperwork was ready I asked to see the major again and immediately.

   - Let us see what you scribble there, - Major put his glasses on and sat down to read my writing.

Suddenly Major stopped reading. He put his glasses up on his forehead and looked straight at me.

   - Do you really have all these relatives overseas in all those capitalistic countries?- Major sounded surprised.

   - Well... comrade major, yes and no. - I pause my answer.

   - What is that supposed to mean? - Major asked.

   - You see, those aren't my relatives necessarily. They all belong to my wife's side of the family. But I certainly hope that this little fact will not break my opportunity to kill the contra-revolutionaries! Give me, give me the gun! - I exclaimed and opened my eyes widely.

   - Well, you probably do not have many connections with all those people, do you? - Major asked.

   - Oh, on the contrary. We all exchange postcards, letters, and parcels. But I certainly hope that this little fact isn't going to break my opportunity to kill the contra-revolutionaries!!! - I exclaimed.

   - I could understand some letters you wrote to those people. Perhaps some parcels, because we have to help our brothers and sisters in the capitalist world, as they are suffering from exploitation. But postcards? Why do you send them the postcards? - Major wondered.

   - Oh, I am surprised you didn't know why. We congratulate them on the holidays. - I whispered.

   - But they do not celebrate our holidays in the capitalistic world - Major looked genuinely surprised.

   - Oh, no, comrade Major. We congratulate them on the religious holidays. I am a JEW! - and I paused for a second letting a Major swallow what I just said, - And we have many religious Jewish holidays, starting with the Jewish New Year, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah, and many others. But I certainly hope that this little fact isn't going to break my opportunity to kill the contra-revolutionaries at the south of our motherland border! Give me, give me the gun! - I exclaimed and opened widely only one eye.

   - You are not going to tell me that you believe in God?!! - shouted Major, and his face started to get red.

   - Oh yes, I certainly do.- I replied promptly and continued - I go to the synagogue every Friday night to pray. Synagogue, you know is like church for the Jews, if you don't know. And of course, you certainly don't know, as you are a respectable Party member. But I certainly hope that this little fact isn't going to break my opportunity to kill the contra-revolutionaries at the southern borders of our motherland! Glory, glory to the USSR! All the enemies of the revolution should be murdered! Give me, give me the gun! I want to kill all our enemies! - I was screaming emotionally.

   - Listen... - Major paused for a second. He was clearly trying to put all of his thoughts together after everything he just learned about me. - Do you have everything right in your head? - He asked.

         I lowered my voice and whispered, 

   - I want to be totaly honest with you, comrade major. I know that you should know everything about me... Because you are... you are ultimately responsible... Are you?! And that is why I tell you. I don't believe anything is wrong with me. I want to do my military duty and kill the contra-revolutionaries! Look, if I stood on the edge of the roof of the 10-story building with the concrete block in my hand and looked down. Does it mean that I am a jumper? Does it? You don't believe I am a jumper, do you? But they... They didn't understand me. They came in scrubs. They called me a jumper and took me away... Comrade major, please... I am telling you this in earnest, as a secret. Don't let me down. Give me the gun! Give me the soldiers! Just give me the opportunity. I want to do my duty and kill the contra-revolutionaries! - I exclaimed and looked at the major with my eyes wide open and trying not to blink.

Comrade Major froze in silence. He opened the folder with my name on the cover and flipped a few pages.

   - Have you ever been committed? - He asked.

   - I don't know if you can call that committed necessarily. Maybe twice, and only for a few months. I don't believe this would jeopardize my opportunity, - I replied quietly.

   - Stop that, - Major was angry. - There is nothing about it in your file.

   - See, I told you. It was very minor. They didn't even put this in my file. - I tried to smile.

   - Where have you been committed? Which institution or hospital? - Major asked.

   - Riga's Mental Institution. The nuthouse, as they called it. They should have my records - I answered.

   - Do you think, you can bring me a copy of your medical file? - Major asked me.

   - I think I can. They should remember me there, you know... - I acted as if I wasn't sure.

   - Well, it is about 15:00 hours now. I'll give you till 17:00 to bring me a copy of the medical note. And fast. Do everything fast. - Major commanded.

   - Yes, Comrade Major, - I said loudly - Glory to the Soviet Union! - and I exited the room.

In a second I was outside the door of the military office. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could hear it. I was able to get out. But what I am going to do next?

Three years before it, I was detained briefly by the KGB for watching the anti-soviet demonstration organized by the local Zionist group. I knew those people, but I wasn't a part of the demonstration. I just came to see it. Soon after detention, the authorities forced me to be committed to the special ward of the mental facility to be re-educated from anti-soviet mania. That was a common practice in the 1970s. Following the two months of so-called treatment, they let me sign the promissory note and let me go. I remembered my doctor. We played chess together. 

​

What if I will go to him, and ask for some medical note that would hold me from being drafted?

I grabbed a taxi, and in less than half an hour I knocked on the doctor's door. The doctor was surprised to see me. He was just a few years my senior. Of course, he remembered me. We spent hours talking and playing chess. I quickly explained my predicament. But he told me that he sympathized with my situation but couldn't help me even if he had my file. All "political" files were taken by KGB officers after the treatment. The hospital didn't have any records anymore. I didn't ask him to fabricate a note for me. That would be too much. We shook hands, and I left.

​

***

 

5. In the grip of a chance

​

 

It was dark already when I came home. I didn't know what to do next. I explained everything to Lily. It was about 18:30 hours. We were sitting in our living room when someone knocked on the door. Lily looked through the door viewer.

 There was a young soldier in uniform.

I hid in the bedroom. Lily carefully opened the door.

   - I'm looking for Alexander Mirsky. Does he live here?- asked the soldier.

   - I have no idea where he is, - Lily replied.

   - He left me with the child and disappeared somewhere. I wish you would find him and let him pay for what he has done to me! - and Lily gave a very angry look to a very shy young soldier.

The soldier didn't know what to do and just left.

   - They will come back for you I am afraid - Lily said. - You need to hide. 

​

I knocked on the neighbor's door. There was an old Latvian man. He was a good friend of Lily's dad. He had a very large post stamps collection, and I remembered once he showed it to me. We asked him to let me hide. He didn't say a word. He quietly gave me an attic access key, pointed up to the attic with his finger, and closed his door.

We lived on the sixth floor without an elevator. That was why the soldier came without the commanding officer, who didn't want to walk the stairs. The attic was just above our apartment, and as I was closing the access door behind me, I saw the people in uniform coming up the stairs. I sat quietly like a mouse. The attic was covered in pigeon poop and trash, and some people used the space to dry clothes after the laundry. There was a small window under the roof. I looked down and under the streetlamps and saw a parked military car down below. In about 15 minutes people in uniform came down. The officer took his hat off, wiped his bold head with the handkerchief, and looked up. For a second I thought that he had seen me and got scared. But of course, he couldn't. It was dark, and the attic window was too dirty.

I came down to our apartment and hugged Lily. We didn't know what to do.

   - Apparently, I just became a fugitive. Am I? - I said.

​​

                                                                                   ***

​

6. In hiding

​

 

The next day we ordered a phone call to the USA and talked to Lily's dad asking for his advice. He gave me a contact number for a military lawyer who was his friend, and who many years ago helped him as well. 

We found the lawyer and visited with him. The lawyer was an old retired man who still wore his old uniform jacket. He recognized Lily right away, as he was an old friend of their family, and asked about her parents. We all sat around a small table, and a lawyer offered us tea.

I started my story.

 He listened to my story, took a dip pop of smoke from his cigarette, and told us that I got myself into a very difficult situation.

Technically I just became a draft dodger, a delinquent military absentee. During the war, in the presence of certain military conditions, I could be considered a deserter. That was a very strong offense in the Soviet Union, punishable by the military tribunal and not by the civil court.

There was one good news. According to Soviet regulations, anyone who applies to leave the country and to become a permanent resident of an adversary nation would be deemed untrustworthy and ineligible for military service.

   - Get the legal invitation. Apply to exit the USSR. Get permission and leave. Otherwise, nobody will be able to help you, - the lawyer said.

We left the lawyer's apartment trying to comprehend our situation. Perhaps it was the first time when we realized how serious it was and what inadvertently we got ourselves into. It was especially hard for Lily. She didn't imagine that our departure from the Soviet Union would be so complicated. Most of her family and friends were overseas already. If I were taken away, she would be left with little Mark without any help and support. That possibility was scary. I didn't want to allow that to happen, but it didn't depend on me anymore. The invitation was our last straw and we mentally grabbed it, but it wasn't real.

 

Old Lawyer gave us very good advice, but we haven't even gotten an invitation yet...

                                                                         ***

 

That was how I got myself into hiding. I talked with my boss at work and he promised to tell the military police that I went on a long business trip to the rural area of Latvia without phone service and will be back a month from now. That was actually what he did and I was very thankful to him for helping me.

 

I decided to reveal everything that was going on to my parents. I was afraid that they might be not on my side. However, they understood my situation and actually helped and supported us ever since. This wasn't easy for them. They were the kind of people who always followed the rules and accepted the will of authorities, even if they knew that would be a rotten one. This time the situation was too critical and their love for me prevailed. 

My life would be in danger if I ended up in Afghanistan. 

My life would be in danger if I ended up arrested. 

The only way to save my life was to leave the country, and that was the obvious choice they agreed to accept.

I hid in different places every night, but never in our apartment. Fortunately, our friend's parents owned a summer house in Yurmala by the sea coast, and even though the house had been sold to a different family, I still had the key. The key came in handy because no one lived there during the winter. It was quite cold as there was no heating, but it was a safe place to hide.

Military people came back to our apartment to ask for me a couple of times. They searched our apartment looking for me and then they stopped coming. Two weeks passed, but the expected invitation didn't arrive. We were so desperate and very sad, not knowing what would be happening.

I don't remember the date exactly, but it was probably the last Monday of January that year. I came back home in the morning from the train station earlier than usual. Right at our house entrance, I met the mailman.

   - Did you deliver anything special for apartment number 46? - I asked.

   - I sure did,- the mailman said. - You got that fancy envelope with the ribbon again. You have to be someone important if people from foreign countries are writing to you like that. This is the third envelope like that in the last two weeks - Mailman told me.

   - No, never mind. I am nobody actually, but I really need this envelope. Where is it? - I asked.

   - I just put it into your mailbox, - the mailman replied.

I ran to the mailbox. I opened it and the beautiful large envelope with the big stamp and a red ribbon was there.

   - I was such a fool by giving Aunt Bronya all those bribes! She was probably the one who stole our mail. - I understood that.

But I didn't care. I ran upstairs not stopping even once. All six flats! I was very happy. Lily and I sat up in the kitchen and opened that so-anticipated envelope. 

The legal invitation came from Israel. It was from Genya Levin. Genya was Lily's aunt. She was married to Lily's mom's youngest brother. That was why her last name was the same as Lily's mom's maiden name. That was good. She, however, wasn't a "first-degree" relative as the Soviets requested.

I instantly came up with the tale that Lily's parents, after arriving in Israel, got divorced, and her mom changed her first name from Hana to her middle name - Genya and started to use only her maiden last name. That was the story we stuck to when presented to the authorities with the request to leave the country. That however wasn't as easy as it sounds.

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7. Collecting all the necessary paperwork wasn't an easy task

                                                                            

It took me several days to gather all the necessary documents required for our application to leave the country permanently. I did most of the work as Lily was home taking care of our little Mark. 

That was a notorious process. However, it seemed that the sole purpose of collecting these documents was to publicly shame the applicant.

We had to get the note from the district apartment committee, signed by the "DVORNIK", that we were actually residing in our apartment and intended to leave the country. That was done to be known by all of the neighbors and therefore those will be looking down on us, as we were traitorous bastards now.

We had to submit a note from work about our lack of moral character due to our willingness to leave the country. That was done to be known to all our coworkers and therefore those will be looking down on us. Although at my place of work, it was easy actually. My coworkers all were on my side.

We needed to bring the decision from the local Young Communist Organisation that we were publicly judged and expelled.

Lily never was a member of the "KOMSOMOL", the young communist organization. Her parents had been applying for emigration since the early 1960s and were in "refuse status" for many years.

My office didn't have a "Komsomol" organization and I wrote and signed the required note myself, just to avoid complications. I also expelled myself from "Komsomol" and returned my membership ID to the authorities.

There were a few more documents required, but I don't remember all of those anymore. 

There was however one required document that was the most difficult for me to get. That was a piece of paper that actually broke my heart. It was legal permission from my parents for me to leave the USSR. Yes, as crazy as it sounds, the adult children had to obtain legally notarized permission from any living parents if they wanted to emigrate. 

Of course, the reason for that monstrosity was obvious. Everybody should be intimidated, children and parents both, no matter what age they are.

That legal document should be notarised at the parent's place of employment, therefore everybody would know, that their children are traitors of the soviet ideology and are willing to leave for the capitalistic world. 

My Father had an engineering position in the purchasing department of the factory, and that wasn't as complicated. 

My Mom, however, was a physics and astronomy teacher with many years of honorable employment. She was very respected by her peers and loved by her students. When her colleagues became aware of the situation and understood that her son intended to immigrate, that jeopardized her career, and she might totally lose her job. 

I took it upon myself to meet my mother's boss whom I knew personally since I was a little child. I had a long conversation with him and left him an envelope with a very large sum of money, as an appreciation token. He promised me that would do everything possible for my mom not to lose her job. I trusted him. And it was true, my Mom didn't lose her job when we applied to leave, and when we finally left the country. 

It was three months after we left when they fired her. 

She was told that because her own son happened to be a traitor to the USSR, she could not be trusted to teach other kids. That, of course, was devastating for my Mother. Yes, we left my parents a lot of money, more than ten thousand rubles and that was a huge sum by the soviet standards of living. It actually supported my parents well until we finally had been reunited with my mom 10 years later. But morally she was crushed.

 

It took us a few days to collect everything required, and on Friday, the 1st of February, we went to the special office to apply.

The application for permission to leave the country was to be reviewed and considered by the Visa and Registration Authorities, called "OVIR" in russian.

"OVIR" employees were notorious for treating applicants harshly, especially if the applicants were Jewish. We were ready for it.

Our district department of "OVIR" was just a few blocks away at the local police (MILICIA) station. It was taking applications only once a week. Friday was the day, and therefore we went.

It's amazing how certain details stick in our memory so vividly, as if they occurred just yesterday, even if it's been over 44 years ago.

 

It was an early afternoon. My mother came to stay with little Mark and we left to do the most important step in our lives. 

We walked in silence. So many things happened in that first month of 1980.

Now my life was hanging by the tread, and the future of our young family which I felt ultimately responsible for, was balancing on the edge of the paper that would or would not give us permission to save that very life overseas or crush it with the very possible refuse here in the USSR. 

 

We walked by the only one highrise building we had in Riga at that time. It was a very tall and pointed building, a typical example of Stalinist architecture. It was big and heavy on the bottom with a very small steeple-like and empty top decorated with a shiny star. 

I smiled at my own comparison. It was comical actually, every man in the soviet government was built like that, big and heavy on the bottom with a tiny and empty head.

 I laughed nervously, but it relieved my tension.

 

We walked across a small park just in front of that giant building. Dirty snow was piled up on the sides of the alleys. It was cold and windy. Lily noticed on one of the benches a young woman that she knew. The woman was all in tears crying hysterically. Lily went to her to ask what happened.

   - I'm coming from "OVIR" - she said through her tears, - We wanted to apply...They told us... They told us... that beginning February this year they will not take any applications to leave the country. The door will remain closed for people like us indefinitely... I don't know what to do now... - and she fell into the tears again.

We were shocked. The world was crashing around us.

   - I'm not going to take no for an answer! - I said, and we walked across the street toward the militia station.

The office was on the first floor. We entered, and walked the long hallway with the walls painted green on the bottom half and of white on the top. At the end of the hallway was a waiting area with a few chairs, a door, and a small reception window in the wall. The door had a sign - Do not enter.

 

We both gazed at that window with a piece of paper attached to it. There were some scribbles on the paper, but we were still able to read it,- "By the resolution of the special committee of the department of internal affairs: As of February 1st, 1980 "OVIR" would not accept an application for family unifications indefinitely".

 

Our hearts sank to the bottom.

We knew that we had to apply, no matter how. No matter what the cost, but to apply. That was the only way to keep me from being charged by the military tribunal. Based on the lawyer's advice, we saw it as our last hope.

Back in the USSR, when talking to the bureaucrats I always was at full attention and thought not for two, but three steps ahead. Otherwise to go around the system was impossible, but to go around was the only way forward.

 

I saw a woman in uniform through the window. She was at her desk, shuffling some paperwork.

 I knew that the new rule about not accepting applications came through only today.

 All I needed to do was to make her put yesterday's date on our documents and process it as it would be in January.

But how can I make her do it?

 

I couldn't just ask her and a bribe wouldn't work in that situation. Women working for "OVIR" would be an antisemite, no doubt. Any request like that would only make her mad.

I knew that people in the soviet bureaucracy always wanted everything to go smoothly, with no troubles. Troubles only cause problems in the office and more work. And nobody, absolutely nobody wanted to do more work.

I had no other choice but to bluff and put everything on a cone.

 

I knocked on the window.

   - What do you want, - asked the woman.

   - I got all the documents. We want to go to Israel. We need to apply. - I answered.

   - Are you blind? Don't you see a note on the window?

   - Oh, that note? - I made a wondering face. - I see..., but that can not applied to my case. I am subject to the Helsinki Accords, which were signed by the Soviet Union and President Gerald Ford!

 

There was an accord like that signed in 1975. That was how some soviet jews obtained the right to unification with their relatives abroad.

A woman in uniform looked at me scrupulously but with a shade of query.

 

That shade of query was all I wanted, and I continued, 

   -  As a matter of fact. If you refuse to accept our application, foreign news stations will broadcast about it tonight. I am connected with journalists from the BBC and Voice of America. - I said all that strongly and confidently.

 

In any other situation while in the USSR, a statement like that given to the authorities would be suicidal and a cause for immediate arrest.

I, however, was bluffing, hoping that she didn't want to deal with the troublemaker and would take our paperwork.

 

A woman was surprised but unsure of what to do next.

   - I hereby declare that I am commencing a hunger strike with immediate effect. - I stated loudly and set on the floor in front of the little window.

Lily was standing nearby. Her face was white as paper. - Don't worry, I know what am I doing - I whispered to her.

 

There was a few minutes of silence. 

My strong will was on one side of the window and the lady in uniform on another.

   - Come on, come on, don't make that much noise... Come here and show me what you got. - A woman in uniform glanced around to make sure we were alone. I realized that luck had once again favored me, as my bluff had succeeded.

Lily and I came to the window and I passed through the window all our paperwork.

A lady in uniform started to check each page at a time carefully moving her eyes from one line to another.

   - I have worked here for years... - she said - and I never met anyone as ..., - she rolled her eyes looking for the right word, and continued..., - as persistent as you are.

   - Thanks, - I said and smiled.

Now, all those years later I think that smile was my mistake. I should have kept my cool, but a smile gave away my bluff.

   - There is one form missing - a lady in uniform told us. - Therefore, I can not accept this application. It is incomplete.

   - Wait a minute. It can not be. We checked the required list of documents. We got everything included. I am absolutely sure of it! - I spoke strongly.

   - And I just added one more... - This time the woman in uniform smirked.

   - What did you add? - I asked.

   - You have to provide a note that you never were a member of the communist party. - and she smirked again.

   - That is absurd, - I yelled.- How can I bring a note about something that I never was a member of? No one would give me a note like that.

   - That isn't my problem, - she told me,- If you want me to take this paperwork in, get me the note. If you not going to provide that note, I am not going to accept your paperwork. Period, end of story. Oh, and please be sure not to be late. I'm closing in a little over the hour - and she smirked mockingly.

 

I didn't smile. Everything just crushed around us again...

My world was spinning and I was spinning with it.

 

But only a second later I had another plan in my head. I left Lily to wait for me in the office, ran outside, and grabbed a taxi.

   - There are 10 rubbles, - I told to the driver. - I need to be at Rigas Power Plant in 20 minutes, you wait for me 15 minutes and bring me back. That should be 10 minutes till 6 PM when we should be back. You do that, and I will give you another 10.

And so, we went for a ride.

 

To type a note I needed a professional office typewriter, an official legal page to type my note on, and some kind of a stamp. 

In the Soviet Union general public wasn't allowed to have a typewriter at home. The authorities were afraid that people might type some provocative antisoviet leaflets or copy forbidden books. The typewriters were all cataloged and assigned to different offices for official use only. Typewriters were typically stored in archives and required a signature for use.

At my present work, we had a typewriter. But it was Friday after 5 PM. That place was locked and empty by noon already. I, however, had an old archive key on my keychain. It was from the time I worked at Rigas Power Plant a year ago. I just forgot to return it. Therefore I thought to sneak into the archives, get the typewriter, and fabricate that idiotic document.

 

A taxi got me to the Power Plant in less time than I even requested. A taxi driver was happy and eager to get so much money in less than an hour.

I walked through the checkpoint as I was working there still. An old security guard recognized me.

   - Oh, my God! I haven't seen you in ages!- He screamed. - Where have you been hiding? 

   - I was on a long business trip. In fact, I am still there, - I smile. 

   - Don't you say anything about me to anyone. I am not supposed to come back yet.  

   - That is not going to be a problem. I see nothing and hear none. - A guard told me.

I hurried through the gate and entered the administrative offices. 

The entrance wasn't locked. I ran to the second floor, where the archive was. The first office from the stairs was for the director of the power plant station, and the door was slightly open. I looked inside. A cleaning lady Anushka was dusting the furniture and I caught with my eyes a typewriter on a side table. She noticed me and recognized me instantly.

   - Sashen'ka,- she called me by the name, - were you have been? You disappeared so long ago, and people didn't talk about you for some reason.

Anushka was an old lady who worked at the power plant forever since the day it was first started in 1952. Nobody ever noticed her, but I did, and she liked me. All the older ladies liked me. It was the younger ones who had problems understanding my principles sometimes.

   - Dear aunty Anushka, it's been a while since we last saw each other. I hope you're doing well. I am away on a very long business trip... - I said. - I just came back for a split second to type something. Do you mind me using that typewriter?  

   - Go ahead, I already finished with that side of the room. Just put everything back as it was. You know, Michail Ivanovich is very strict about everything being in order. - she said.   - Don't you worry, aunty Anushka - I replied.

It took me a few minutes to type just two sentences. I was using my two fingers, as I never knew how to type.

   - " To whom it may concern, - I typed. - This document notarized that Alexander Yakovlevich Mirsky of the 14/04/1952 D.O.B. had never been a member of the Communist Party of the Soviet Socialistic Republics."

I signed the document as Michail Ivanovich Novikov, the Power Plant director. I found a big rubber stamp on the director's desk. I dipped it into the purple ink pad and made my very forged document very official-looking.

My taxi was waiting for me and we made it back in time. My driver got an extra 10 bucks and I was glorified by my so well-accomplished trickery. 

I came back to the "OVIR" office where Lily was waiting for me. I approached the window. I was sure not to smile. My face was like a stone unemotional.

   - I brought the required note, - I said and put that piece of paper through the window.

   - I don't know how you got that. - A lady in uniform looked at me scrupulously. - But I am not going to ask - she continued. - I gave you my word and I will keep it. No matter what you people are saying about me... I will take your paperwork, but get yourself ready for the refusal - she declared.

We walked outside. Everything inside me was trembling. I am absolutely sure that Lily felt the same. We made the first actual step toward the goal we set for ourselves. We understood that it wasn't a victory yet, but it was a huge accomplishment.

 

I had an official document in my hand, notifying me that Lily and I applied to exit the USSR for permanent residency abroad.

 

That document was supposed to protect me from being drafted into the military service and sent to Afghanistan, as it was intended. 

That was what the lawyer told us. We didn't know if it was true or not, but we chose to believe it.

   - Did you hear, she said they are going to give us a refusal, - I said.

   - I think she was bluffing - Lily replied. - How can she know? She just wanted us to feel bad. You know, while I was waiting, I noticed through the window she wrote something on the side of our application. I came closer and I was able to read. "The three-room apartment would be left behind" - her note said. That is a very good sign. They speculate with apartments left by Jewish people who emigrated and make a lot of money that way...

   - Well, that is a very good sign, - I said.

 

We walked back home crossing the little park across from the Riga's Stalinist-style highrise. I looked at that building and said, -

   - You know, that building looks like that "OVIR" lady, heavy on the bottom and little on the head, but sitting very very well, - and I laughed at my silly joke.

 

It was February 1st, 1980. The day we applied to leave the USSR.

The next day was Saturday, and we invited all our friends to celebrate Lily's 25th birthday. What an amazing party it was! We announced to our friends that we had applied to leave the country, and everyone celebrated our decision with us.

 

I, however, held back stories about my hiding from being drafted to Afghanistan. That was a dangerous topic to discuss even with friends.

That February for the most part was uneventful. We were in a stage of waiting. Every day we checked our mail for a little postcard from "OVIR".

That postcard should give us a day to come and hear the committee verdict. Are we allowed to leave the country or not? 

For me, it was certainly even more than that, but I was trying not to think about it. I continued to work, write my reports, and visit the collective farms in the rural parts of Latvia.

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8. Customhouse practice

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It was about the middle of February when Lily's uncle Fima's family was leaving the country. Asya was his daughter and Lily's cousin. That family was a big one, with both sets of parents, Asya's and her husband. They got permission a few months ago, and now it was time for them to go. That family got permission to leave the USSR from Moscow via air. We all were close and decided to travel to Moscow with them. We wanted to help them, especially, because Asya was six months pregnant and expecting their first child. We wanted to help and to say goodbye one more time, but most of all we wanted that trip to be educational for ourselves.

 We hoped that maybe in a few months, we too would fly out of the country like they and we wanted to get familiar with the custom process.

But actually, our present there happened to be very useful. 

 

We were all set and waited at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport for about 24 hours. It was a customhouse requirement for the Jewish, Armenian, and Georgian immigrants. The rest nationalities went without delay. 

We all spent time in a segregated part of the airport without any food and water and with only one small restroom for all. 

It was especially difficult for Asya, as she was with a child. She had a large bright red pillow to support her back, that eased up a bit of hers waiting on the airport metal bench.

Uncle Fima started to feel unwell. He was complaining about his heart. His medications were in the luggage already submitted to customs for checking. I asked the customs officers if I could go through the check-up of their luggage myself, in place of Asya's father.

The permission was granted and I learned the whole beauty of the soviet customs unpredictable savagery.

I set all of the 6 huge suitcases on the customs tables and opened them. It was one customs officer who reviewed all the personal belongings. He went through each and every item asking me why Asya's father needed that. I had to know the answer to every question. If my answer would not be considered satisfactory that item would be confiscated.

It wasn't easy. There was an old shoemaker tool set in one of the suitcases, and I said that the man used to be a shoemaker. 

The next suitcase had carpenter tools, and I said that before the man used to be a carpenter. As we got to the third suitcase there was some oil painting set and a doctor's stethoscope. I explained to the officer that the man needed to unwind after a long day at work by engaging in oil painting and imagining himself as a doctor.

  I was able to convince the authorities to allow almost everything in, except for an extra set of house slippers, a back pillow, and a screwdriver set. It was a big accomplishment for Uncle Fima and a great experience for me.

Asya and her husband went through the customs on the opposite side of the room. I didn’t see what was happening, but I heard it was a problem with the pillow. The authorities suspected that there was something hidden inside it. They cut a bright red pillowcase with the blade. And got all the geese down out. They checked. And, of course, they found nothing. They gave Asya a torn pillowcase and asked her to collect a goose down spread around. She didn’t. Asya and her husband left toward the plane entrance, leaving behind the bright red pillowcase that coincidently looked like a torn soviet flag.

All of Uncle Fima’s family left, and we returned to Riga satisfied with everything that we learned.

 

The month of March was just as uneventful as February. Our daily trips to the mailbox didn't bring an anticipated postcard. Our baby boy turned 3. We celebrated his birthday in a special children's restaurant. Many of our friends came with their children and had a lot of fun.

 

We began making preparations to leave and invited some speculators to evaluate all of our belongings. This would allow us to sell everything quickly when the time came to depart. I was surprised to discover how many people were taking advantage of those who were leaving the country by buying their items at a low price and reselling them for a profit.

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