First Generation Russian American

The late forties, fifties, and early sixties was a time when many Europeans emigrated to America in search of a better life after the atrocities of the Second World War. The massive exodus of humanity arrived by sea and by air, with a valise or two containing their earthly goods and the greatest of hopes that America would embrace them to provide the freedom they so desperately wanted.

Amidst the thousands upon thousands of émigrés were my parents. They arrived in America and passed through the portal of Ellis Island. Papa traveled over stormy seas and proved to be in the classic line, “Did you just get off the boat?” while Mama arrived by plane. They stepped foot upon the holy land of America with their hopes and dreams packed in a sole suitcase -- a bridge from what was to what would be.

The Tolstoy Foundation in Valley Cottage, New York was responsible for my Mama’s emigration while my Papa had a sponsor. The Foundation was created by a generous donation in 1939 by Alexandra Tolstoy, the youngest daughter of the famous Russian writer Leo Tolstoy. It’s located 36 miles north of New York City and sits on a parcel of 70 acres. To this day, the work and philanthropy of the Foundation continues, providing hope for the hopeless and assistance for countless people.

Culture and religion bound the émigrés together, and it was desirable to marry someone of your own nationality and religion. Life would be easier. And so, my parents met at a dance held by Russian émigrés and married shortly thereafter.

They settled in an area close to the Mother Church and it wasn’t long before I arrived, followed by my sister.

My childhood was special because my Mama was a stay at home mother and took good care of me and my sister. I played, I ran, I napped and did all the things kids do: the only difference between me and the rest of the neighborhood was that I grew up speaking Russian instead of English.

Soon, however, the time arrived for me to make my solo foray into America. It took place when I was four and a half, and was enrolled in kindergarten. As I crossed the threshold, I spoke only Russian, but there were other children that did not speak English in my class. We were all in the same boat.

Off I skipped straight into the Tower of Babel on a new and rather frightening adventure. It was shocking in the respect that I really had no idea of what was being said and vaguely reminiscent of the Bible story where everyone was speaking different languages during the ill fated attempt to build a tower to the heavens.

I survived because kids possess the ability to surpass the barriers of language and are able to communicate. As I got older, however, I ran into some difficulties in the respect that I celebrated holidays on different days, for example Christmas in January, and was teased that I was a “red,” and sometimes even “commie.”

Why? It was primarily because of the Cold War that was raging with the Soviet Union. I can assure you, I constantly repeated that my family was not communist and that they fled Russia because they disagreed with the principles of the country after the Russian Revolution.

This too, shall pass, and the stigma that attached itself to me as a result of the geographic area my parents were from faded. I adjusted to the mainstream and what I learned was that despite our religious affiliations, our backgrounds and our physical characteristics, we are still people. Diversity is a way of life, and it truly is a great blessing to meet and interact with those that differ from you.

Who knows, you may even learn something along the way. Remain open to the possibilities!