Texas Jewish Post (Fort Worth, Tex.), Vol. 52, No. 19, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 7, 1998 Page: 3 of 24
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IN OUR 52ND YEARI-THURSDAY, MAY 7, 1998, TEXAS JEWISH POST
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By Leonid Belyavsky
Tamara was nearly 15
years old when the Soviet
troops occupied Bessurtia
(part of the former Soviet
Union). It happened in June
of 1940, according to the
Molotov-Ribbentrop pact.
Her happy childhood was
quickly over. Severe perse-
cution was caused by her
membership in the youth
movement “Shomer
Hazair", plus the fact that
her father, Favel, was in-
volved in a Zionist Organi-
zation, “Poalei Zion”.
In June. 1941, a week be-
fore the Soviet-German war,
the whole family was exiled
to Siberia because the KGB
did not trust them. On the
way to Siberia, Favel was
separated from his family,
and later on sentenced to I0
years in prison. His crime
was in so called "politically
incorrect speech” This was
the reason for putting him in
prison for 10 years in one of
the numerous concentration
camps near Ekaterinturg.
After that, he was in exile
for another five years.
Meanwhile, Tamara and
her mother. Pesya, were sent
to a dense village Zescovo.
in the Novosibirsk region.
The local authorities de-
manded that they sign an
agreement, stating that they
had come to this collective
farm according to their free
will Both women spent five
years there, and like many
other exiled people, couldn’t
reject the offer because the
only other option was a con-
centration camp.
In winter, they chopped
wood. In the summer, the
administration of the col-
lective farm sent them to
work in the fields.
For the young woman and
her mother, it was hard to
survive: hard work 10-12
hours per day persecution,
lack of food and stress. The
worst was the feeling of con-
stant fear.
In 1946, after being in
exile for five years, Tamara
and her mother can back to
their motherland. While in
exile, Tamara managed tp
graduate from the ninth
grade of high school and
later the I Oth grade in Cher-
nortsy (a city in Western
Ukraine).
In 1947, she entered the
local university to study the
English language. Her
achievements were men-
tioned by her teachers. Tak-
ing into account Tamara’s
difficult economic situation,
the teachers helped her with
private lessons. Some of the
professors of her university,
sent their friends to her as
students.
that the KGB would search
for her. The life story of her
parents was a vivid example
of persecution of rights and
personal freedom. The fear
of finding herself in the
hands of the KGB. made her
go in search of a safer place
to hide. For that reason, she
made up her mind to go to
Kharchov, to her relatives.
After quite a journey, she
came to a small town called
Jambul in Kazaksan In Jam-
bul she became acquainted
with her future husband,
Zalmenon Veksler, who had
a similar destiny His father
too, had spent 10 years in
exile and being the son of
the “enemy of the people",
he was fired from the pilot
school he attended. Only
after the death of Stalin,
where there was a period of
political liberalization,
which was called the
Thaw’, did Tamara and her
husband see an opportunity
(Beltsy).
They settled there and
soon had two children and
good job opportunities.
Tamara’s parents returned
toChemorlsy. However, the
family still lived with
wounds in their hearts
caused by the persecutions.
Anti-Semitism in the Soviet
Union exists on both state
and domestic levels, but
more promi nently on the do-
mestic level.
Many Jews could not see
a future for their children or
themselves. Tamara’s moth-
er died and then her hus-
band died, leaving her more
or less alone with her chil-
dren and father. She put all
her energy into trying to
immigrate to the United
States where they would not
feel ostracized and their hu-
man dignity would not be
damaged by anti semitism.
The first to step on United
States soil was Tamara's
daughter Isabella and her
family in 1991. Soon after.
Tamara and her father, Fav-
cl. followed. They were wel-
comed in Dallas by Jewish
community organizations
who helped them get estab-
provided them with furni-
ture, household items, food
as well as helping Tamara
find a job. Old Favel who
came to the United States at
the age of 87 died two years
later. But God did not leave
Tamara alone. He sent peo-
ple who could help her. The
first person was Leo Laufer
who has lived in the United
States for fifty years. Leo
survived the Holocaust in
German concentrations
camps. Luckily in 1945, he
was released by the Ameri-
can Army. As a survivor, he
understood the needs and
desires of immigrants. He
helped Tamara restore her
birth certificate at the Israeli
consulate in Houston. She
also got an apartment at
"Echad” and Leo helped her
with the funeral arrange-
ments for her father.
Tamara is now an Amer-
ican citizen and she is grate-
ful to this country and to the
American people. She says
“my life was very hard be-
cause of a lot of injustices to
my family and me Bul I am
happy that in the twilight of
my years. I came to Ameri-
ca where my rights and free-
to return to Moldavia lished in an apartment and dom are being defended
But, Tamara was afraid
Holocaust survivor Tamara Veksler
By Marlene Adler Marks
^ ^ Then I arrived home the other evening, my mother
%/V/ had a strange look on her face.
▼ V "I’m afraid you’ll kill me,” she said. I figured,
maybe one of my Indian figurines broke off the fireplace ledge.
“What is it?”
"I cleaned out your linen closet,” she said. “I couldn't stand
it any more."
My folks were visiting for Passover for the first time in three
years, but they quickly tired of their role as honored guests. As
soon as I left the house, they found ways to be useful. Mom
started on the linen closet, and did a great job, too. But with
each frayed washcloth and pillow case she threw into the
Goodwill pile, she became fearful.
“I told your father, ‘There goes our relationship,’” she said.
And she had reason to worry. Not so long ago, I regarded such
mothering as an invasion of my privacy, and saw her good
works as the action of a judge or spy. Claustrophobic parents
were once a big topic of conversation among babyboomers;
“Seinfeld" still gets much mileage from the joke about "Jewish
Parents Who Love Too much and the Children Who Spurn
Them.” But not today. My friends and I are grateful to have
parents at all. It’s comforting, like pudding and a blanket, that
they still take an interest in our lives.
As a result, the lime shared by my parents and me has taken
on an unprecedented intimacy. If my mother wants to judge me,
I’m probably guilty as charged And as for spying, what secrets
have I got anyway?
We stood together before the open closet, and I felt
pampered in 250-thread count love.
“What a gift! I said, hugging her.
“You’re not angry?” •
“Angry? Come on, let’s do more.”
“Look at these!” she said, holding up a sheet filled
with holes.
Didn’t I know better than to live like this? Indeed
"V" was a terrible daughter. My mother and father
I couldn’t teach me anything. I loved them. I
JLrespected them. When they were sick I was at
their bedside. But in my stale of youthful arrogance,
I believed that my wisdom would come only through
experience. All else was opinion. And so they stood
by, fuming in frustration as I did things my way, the
hard way.
One of our biggest arguments was the so-called
Bagel Incident, which none of us have mentioned to
this day. My parents loved being parents; happy to
anticipate their children’s’ needs even when we
were far from home. They were in the habit of
giving me three dozen bagels to lake back from New
York to California. The Sunday morning of my
return flight, my father traditionally would go down
to the bakery; then he come home and slice the
bagels one by one, placing them in a zip lock bag, so
I could store them in the freezer and toast the halves as
needed.
I loved eating the bagels, but taking them from my
parents presented a problem. I saw their gift as an affront
to my new life in California with its mediocre bakeries;
I perceived their effort to give the bagels to me pre-sliced
as an attack on my capability.
“You think I’m a child!” 1 said. “You think I can’t use
a knife!”
I was by then well over 20, but idiocy knows no age
limit. I didn’t want to be a child. I didn't want to be a
daughter. I didn’t want them to remind me that they had
wiped my bottom, that I was still inexperienced, pathetic,
and all at sea, which was exactly the way I felt most of the
time. I would take care of them when they were old, but
I didn't want them appraising me as silly and young. After
the Bagel Incident, my parents and I decided that the best
way to stay close was to slay apart.
n recent years, my parents have weathered their
I inevitable medical traumas with great dignity. Their
.A^phone conversations from their home in Florida are
filled with physical travails and adventures in doctors'
offices.
“We’re not as strong as we used to be,” my mother
warned. And so as Passover approached, I knew it was
blessing enough that they felt
able to make the trip and be
DAUGHTERSp 18
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Wisch, J. A. & Wisch, Rene. Texas Jewish Post (Fort Worth, Tex.), Vol. 52, No. 19, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 7, 1998, newspaper, May 7, 1998; Fort Worth, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth755040/m1/3/?q=architectural+drawings: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .