
Nina Polubelova
Riga
Latvia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: July 2005
I interviewed Nina Polubelova in the premises of the social center Rahamim, which is under the auspice of the Latvian Society of Jewish Culture 1. Nina is a member of Rahamim's choir. I came to the choir premises and had to wait for the rehearsal to end. While I waited, I listened to the choir. It was amazing. Elderly people, even those who could hardly stand, were singing in beautiful, clear, inspired voices. I think that their singing would touch anybody. When the rehearsal was over, Nina with her eyes scintillating came up to me. Later on, after hearing her life story, I understood how important the choir was for her reviving background, being cut away by Soviet life, coming back to friends and like-minded people. Nina is a buxom, bright woman. She looks young for her age. She has nice neatly done fair hair and bright young-looking eyes. She is sociable, affable, and willing to reminisce over the past.
My father's family lived in Riga. There was a Jewish pale of settlement 2 in tsarist Russia, and Jews with the exception of doctors, lawyers and merchants weren't permitted to settle in big Latvian cities. My paternal grandfather, Zalman Levin, dealt with timbering. He evidently got a permit to reside in Riga. Grandmother Hanna was a housewife, which was customary back in that time. Married Jewish women didn't work as they were looked after by their husbands. I don't know where my grandparents were born. All I know is that they were both from Belarus. My father never told me how his parents came to move Latvia. Maybe he didn't know either. My father and his siblings were born in Riga.
My father was the eldest. He was born in 1904 and named Meyer. Samuel was born after my father. The third child was a daughter, who was given the Russian name 3 Rosa, and her Jewish name was Reizl. Then came Vulf. I don't know when my father's siblings were born. The gap between them wasn't big; it was between one and two years.
My grandfather was in charge of timber stock. He purchased logs in wholesale. They were processed at his enterprise and then that timber was sold further. The family did well. I don't know if they had their own house.
My father's family was religious, observing all Jewish traditions. I remember that my grandfather always wore a kippah at home. My grandmother wore high-necked dark dresses: woolen in wintertime and silk in summer. She had dark-colored dresses even in summer. My grandmother didn't wear a wig. Her hair was done in a roll, backcombed over the forehead. Jewish traditions were observed in my father's family; Sabbath and Jewish holidays were marked. On holidays the whole family went to the synagogue. My father and his siblings got Jewish education. Each of them had a bar mitzvah at the age of 13.
My grandfather understood the importance of a good education and assisted his children in that. Of course, everybody in the family knew Yiddish, but Russian was mostly spoken. At that time Latvia belonged to the Russian empire and the national language was Russian. All children were fluent in German. My father went to a Russian lyceum in Riga. Probably the rest of the children also studied there, I can't say for sure. Having graduated from the lyceum my father entered Riga University. I don't know which department. At that time there was an admittance quota for Jews in institutions of higher education, i.e. 5 percent 4 out of the overall number of students. Upon graduation from the university, my father spent some time in Paris, France. I don't know anything about that period of his life.
None of my father's brothers followed in the footsteps of my grandfather. Samuel and Vulf had a joint venture, but they had nothing to do with timbering. I don't know what they did for a living by 1940. Both of them were married. Of course, they married Jews; it couldn't have been otherwise in a traditional Jewish family. I vaguely remember Samuel's first wife. Samuel's son Valentin was born in 1930 in his first marriage. He had a daughter: Noemi, my coeval, in the second marriage. Vulf married a Jewish girl from Riga. I think her Jewish name was Rohl. She was tenderly called Raya in the family. Their only daughter Sarah was born in 1938. Of course, both brothers had traditional Jewish weddings. My father's sister Rosa immigrated to Paris in the late 1920s. I knew that she worked there, but I don't know where exactly. In Paris Rosa married a French Jew. I don't remember his first name, but his last name was Zilberman. Rosa's husband was a boxer and our kin didn't approve of that marriage. Their only son Lucien was born in Paris in 1936.
My mother's family lived in the small Latvian town Krustpils, not far from Riga. My grandparents were born in Latvia. I think my maternal grandfather was born in Krustpils. I don't know anything about my grandmother. My grandfather's name was Leib Levites, I don't know Grandmother's name. She died long before I was born. We didn't even have her picture. My grandfather owned an apothecary in Krustpils. My grandmother took care of the household. They had two daughters: my mother Rosa, born in 1905, was the elder one, and her sister Irina was born in 1910. Of course, my mother and her sister had Jewish names, but I don't know them.
Krustpils was a Jewish town like most small Latvian towns. Most of them were included in the pale of settlement, so sometimes there were more Jews in those towns than Letts, Russians, and Germans. Most of Krustpils Jewish population were craftsmen. All town tailors were Jews. Most tinsmiths, joiners, hairdressers and locksmiths were Jews as well. There were small shops in the houses of the hosts, where one or two people worked. There were large workshops with hired people. The trade was mostly under Jewish control. There were big and small shops, where poor people could buy necessary goods even on credit. There was local Jewish intelligentsia: doctors, pharmacists, teachers, and lawyers. There was a synagogue and a shochet in Krustpils. Apart from cheder there was also a compulsory Jewish school. Jewish families from Krustpils had a traditional Jewish mode of life. Probably in small towns like that, where almost all the people knew each other, nobody would take a risk in being a freethinker. Jewish people married only Jews. Traditional Jewish weddings were mandatory. I know that from my mother. I was in Krustpils only in my childhood. Now the town has changed.
My mother's parents observed Jewish traditions. Sabbath was always observed, and Jewish holidays were marked. On holidays the whole family went to the synagogue. Nobody worked on Saturdays and my grandfather's apothecary was closed. My grandmother observed the kashrut. I don't know where my mother and her sister got Jewish education, but both of them knew how to read in Ivrit and knew the prayers. My mother and her sister went to a Russian lyceum. After the Russian Revolution of 1917 5, Jews in Russia got a permit to live in any cities they chose, and they moved to Riga. My grandmother died in Krustpils and was buried in the Jewish cemetery. My grandfather settled in Riga with his daughters.
My grandfather closed down his business in Riga. My mother began working as a pharmacist in a private apothecary. She was educated, but I don't know the details. My mother had worked for a year in the apothecary and in that time she met my father. Her sister Irina also studied somewhere besides the lyceum. Irina worked as a librarian. She took vocal lessons. Irina left her job after getting married. Her husband was a Jew from Riga: Ieruhim Gurvich. They didn't have children.
I don't know how my parents met. I know for sure that it wasn't a pre- arranged marriage. They must have had a traditional Jewish wedding, as both my paternal and maternal grandparents were religious and wouldn't have agreed to a secular wedding. At that time my grandparents' opinion was of importance.
After the wedding my parents rented an apartment. It was a big four-room apartment in downtown. My mother kept working after getting married. I was born in 1933. I was named Nina. When I was born, my mother didn't want to quit her job and become a housewife. My parents hired a baby-sitter for me. My mother did all the work about the house. The baby-sitter was Lett from a village. She lived with our family. Her bed was in the children's room. When I got older, I had a governess instead of a baby-sitter. She spoke Lettish and German with me, and it was she who taught me those languages. I knew German best of all. I spent my childhood with those two loving women. My parents worked and came back home in the evening, but they always found time to play with me, to read me a book and tuck me in.
Russian was spoken at home. When my parents wanted to conceal something from me, they spoke French. I understood Yiddish since childhood as my paternal grandparents spoke it. My father spoke Yiddish with his brothers in the presence of my grandparents. If they weren't around, Russian was spoken. Apart from Yiddish, my grandparents knew Russian and German.
On Sabbath and Jewish holidays we went to see my grandparents. My father's brothers came there with their families. I was close with my cousins and always was happy to see them. On Sabbath my grandmother lit candles and prayed over them. Then everybody sat at a festive table. I remember my grandfather blessing the bread before starting a meal. On Jewish holidays my father, his brothers and my grandfather went to the synagogue, and my grandmother went there with her daughters-in-law and grandchildren. After the synagogue everybody came to their parents' place. My grandmother was a great cook. I remember how tasty her dishes were. The holidays were marked with all rules being observed. All men wore kippot. My grandfather put his kippah on every day, but my father and his brothers only on Sabbath and holidays.
On Pesach my grandfather led the seder. It was the only night in a year, when children weren't made to go to bed, but stay with the adults at the table. We felt grown-up on that day. My grandfather, clad in white attire, would recline on the pillows. His seat was at the head of the table, which was covered with a white cloth. There were festive dishes and goblets with wine on the table. The largest goblet with wine for Prophet Eliagu was in the center of the table. My elder cousin Valentin asked my grandfather the traditional paschal questions. Grandfather hid the afikoman, read the Haggadah. Everybody sang mirthful paschal songs. In general, things were done the way they were supposed to. On Yom Kippur my parents fasted for 24 hours. I was a kid, so I could get away for not fasting. Other Jewish holidays were marked, but I don't remember them.
There was a large Jewish community in Riga until 1940. Before 1917 Riga Jews mostly lived in Moscowskiy forstadt 6, the district of the poor Jews on the outskirt of the city. Jews made the most population of that part of the city. Jewish houses were in the Old City. Well-off Jews could settle in the downtown area. There were no Jewish streets and houses in downtown. People lived in the parts they could afford. I remember one time, when my mother took me to a Jewish wedding. Her friend who lived in the Jewish house in the Old City was getting married. All the neighbors came to her wedding, and that astounded me. It was the first time in my life when I saw a true Jewish wedding, with a chuppah, rabbi, Jewish dances and musicians playing Jewish music. Maybe my love for Jewish songs stems from that. My parents noticed my musical talent and in 1940 they found a singing tutor for me. He always gave me kisses and I hid under the grand piano from him. My music classes lasted less than a year, since the war was about to be unleashed.
In 1940 Latvia became a part of the Soviet Union [see Annexation of Latvia to the USSR] 7. I remember tanks moving in the downtown Riga. We went out to welcome the Soviet army 8. I remember that everybody was with flowers. The faces of the people were blithe. Tank hatches were open and Soviet soldiers got out of them. People hugged them and gave them flowers. There was no shooting, no resistance. There was normal life. It seemed to me there were barely any changes for our family. Of course, the adults perceived it in a different way. From the scraps of conversation of my parents I remember that the newcomers' behaviors and manners surprised them. At that time that didn't affect me. Before 1940 Russian was spoken at home, so it was easier for us than for those who didn't know Russian.
In 1940 before Latvia was annexed to the USSR, my father's sister Rosa Zilberman, her husband and son Lucien came to see us. Paris had been occupied by the Germans and they fled from Paris miraculously. They moved in with my grandparents, who lived in a large apartment by themselves. I made friends with Lucien.
In May 1941 Grandmother Hanna died. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Riga. She had a traditional Jewish funeral. One month after my grandmother's death, the war was unleashed 9. On Sunday 22nd June 1941 my parents were going to take me for a stroll in the park. We had breakfast. While my mother was doing things about the house, my father listened to the news on the radio. Then I found out that the German army had attacked the Soviet Union and battles were held in Belarus.
Soon after the German aviation started bombing Riga. When the signals of the air raid alarm were heard, we were supposed to go down to the air-raid shelter. Most often they bombed at night for some reason. Probably from Aunt Rosa, my parents knew that the Germans didn't spare Jews. They decided to evacuate. Not everybody in the family was willing to leave. Grandfather Zalman flatly refused to leave his house. He said he was too old to drop everything and run away, besides he said that during World War One he had seen Germans and their good attitude towards Jews. My mother's father also didn't want to evacuate. Of course, we could understand the old people, but my father's younger brother, Uncle Vulf, also decided to stay in Riga with his family. The rest of the people weren't against departure.
The four families went into evacuation: us, my father's brother Samuel and his family, Aunt Rosa, her husband and son, Aunt Irina and her husband. Vulf helped us a lot. He made arrangements for the truck driver to get us to the train station. We packed hastily. We decided not to take many things. The only thing I could talk my mother into was to take my new coat. In spring I had a coat made with rabbit fur collar and fur muff. I loved that coat and couldn't leave it. Then I had been wearing it in the postwar years and it was the only piece of warm garment I had. That coat and muff took most of the room in a small suitcase, carried by my father. My mother was pregnant at that time and couldn't carry heavy things. On the way to the train station Letts were firing at us from the buildings. Those people were definitely Letts, as Germans hadn't come into the city yet.
All of us were able to take one train. It was very hard as there were no tickets, people were squeezing in the cars pushing away the feebler ones, but still we got onto a train and took seats. We didn't know where the train was heading. The only thing we knew was that we were going to Russia. There were frequent air raids on our way. When the Germans started bombing, everybody jumped out of the cars trying to hide. Such bombings were at the Doroshino station. We darted into the forest, where huge mosquitoes were about to eat us alive. We reached Pskov [today Russia, about 300km from Riga]. There we were told to leave the train as it was needed for militaries.
Passengers were supposed to get on locomotives. We were guarded by fate. As soon as all the passengers had left the train, it was blown up. There was a locomotive for us to take. We were on the road for a long time and then were told to get off the locomotive at some station and take the barge. Again we were moving in an unknown direction. Finally we happened to be in Almaty [today Kazakhstan, 3500km from Moscow]. All four families got there safely. We and some other evacuees were housed in barracks. I don't remember the details. After a month my mother gave birth to a girl. She was named Anna after Grandmother Hanna. Anna lived only for a month. I don't remember her funeral, as I didn't attend it. I only remember that my father carried a tiny casket under his armpit. It was a little bigger than a shoebox.
My father was drafted into the army in Almaty. His eyesight was poor and the medical board by the military enlistment office disqualified him from military service. My father was drafted into the labor army 10 in Kazakhstan. There he worked as a truck driver by the end of the war. My mother and I remained on our own. We didn't have a place to live and it was problematic for my mother to find a job. There were crowds of evacuees in Almaty: separate families and entire organizations. My mother thought that it would be easier for us to survive in a small town or a hamlet. We stayed in Almaty for a while and headed for the small town Issyk [today Kazakhstan]. Aunt Rosa, her husband and Lucien went with us. Uncle Samuel and his family stayed in Almaty.
Unfortunately, my mother's expectations were unmet. She couldn't find a job as a pharmacist or as a nurse, so she started working in a kolkhoz 11: in the field. Rosa also worked with my mother. They were given 450 grams of bread for work from dawn till sunset. My mother found lodging for us in a basement. Aunt Rosa lived with her family separately. Apart from us there was another Jewish family in the basement. They were evacuated from Kiev [today Ukraine]. We had a hard life. Rosa's husband died a couple of months after our arrival in Issyk. He was a big agile man and it seemed to me he suffered from malnutrition most of all. Of course, Rosa tried to feed their son in the first place. Her husband was getting feebler. I think he died of hunger. It's miraculous that we survived as all of us could have starved to death. The only thing we had to eat was 450 grams of bread and boiled water. One Kazakh lady had pity on us and gave us some dried corn seeds. Local people fed poultry, chicken and geese, with that. Those seeds were hard like stones and we had to boil them all day long.
It was time for me to go to school, but I couldn't go to the first grade, as I didn't have clothes. My mother and I left with one outfit each, which was on us: each of us had one summer dress and one pair of sandals. The only warm clothes we had were my coat with rabbit fur and my mother's woolen jacket. She put it in the suitcase thinking that there might be cool summer nights. The Soviet mass media stated, even before war reiterated, if somebody dared to attack the Soviet Union, the enemy would be defeated on his territory. My mother must have taken those words seriously. At any rate our clothes and shoes were unsuitable. My mother bought us both wooden shoes from the market, and I was wearing those clogs all winter long.
All of us were emaciated. I hardly left the house being shattered by feebleness. The hardest was to stand winter frosts. My mother had to work in order to feed us. Our neighbors, whose living conditions were much better than ours, gave us potato peelings. My mother washed them and made soup, but it was impossible to get by with that. Our neighbors were constantly doing some commerce. They went to the villages and brought potatoes and salt from there. Once they convinced my mother that I should sell their salt at the market. They promised to give us potatoes for that. I had been standing at the market all day long, but I wasn't able to sell anything. The salt wasn't fine, and besides it was dirty. People came over, took a look and left. I didn't know how to praise my goods like other salespeople did, or talk people into buying. Thus, I came home with nothing. That was the sales experience in my life. My mother was worried that I would get sick. Garlic was the only thing she could buy at the market. Every evening she gave me a clove of garlic. Maybe it really helped me, as I didn't get sick during evacuation. Then there appeared an organization in Issyk, which helped the evacuated. They were supposed to give some food, but instead they gave some beet kvass. I remember my mother brought large bottles of that kvass and we drank it. It tasted good.
The local population sympathized with the evacuees. There was no animosity. Issyk was mostly inhabited by Kazakhs, but there were some Russian people as well. They had never seen Jews, but still soon they started using the word 'kike.' I remember when I went out, local boys were running around and crying, 'Kike, running on the rope.' I don't know if they knew what that word meant, but they teased me constantly.
I don't remember why we had to move out from the basement where we had been living since our arrival in Issyk. It was hard to find lodging. My mother and I roamed from one house to another. There were times when we had to stay in forsaken stables.
My mother was lucky to find a job as a nurse in a local children's hospital in Issyk. There was a barrack by the hospital, where its employees were living. My mother was given a place there, even shabby linen. I was emaciated and the chief doctor suggested that I should be hospitalized to be nourished better. I remember the time spent in the hospital. It was scary. Children were weary, looking dystrophic, like cadavers. I followed my mother in the wards, where she gave injections. She always told me to go away as there were some people with contagious diseases. I was scared to stay without my mother.
We didn't hear from my father. My mother knew where he was and was worried whether he was alive. My mother corresponded with her sister Irina, who lived in Almaty. We found out from her letters that she had a baby, who died shortly after parturition. Uncle Samuel also passed away. His family lived in Almaty.
In 1944 Rosa and Lucien went to Almaty from Issyk. My mother wasn't willing to go with her, but she didn't want to stay in Issyk either. We covered a distance of over 1500 kilometers and went to Novosibirsk [3000km from Moscow]. We were housed in long barracks, where evacuees lived. It was easier to live in Novosibirsk as compared to Issyk. There were coal mines not far from Novosibirsk and evacuees were given coal for heating. My mother and I were given warm clothes. My coat was too small for me. We weren't suffering from cold neither outside nor inside. My mother found a job at a bakery plant. Apart from food cards 12, plant employees were able to buy bread at the plant. There was a canteen where the employees and their children were given food once a day. It was easier with products in a big city, not like in Issyk. My mother got food cards for both of us: one worker's card and one dependent's card. We didn't receive only bread for the cards, but also cereal, fat and a little bit of sugar. I put on weight for some time and didn't look like a skeleton anymore.
Finally, I went to school in Novosibirsk. I was ten and was supposed to go to the third grade for my age, but I didn't know letters, I didn't know how to read and write. In spite of that the teacher talked my mother into letting me go to the third grade in order to give me a try. I remember my first teacher with gratitude. She paid a lot of attention to me and taught me after classes. At first, I merely listened to the teacher in the classes and memorized things, listened in the class, as I didn't know how to read. I remember, once she called me to go to the blackboard and I got 1 [Editor's note: '1' means 'very poor']. I came home feeling really proud and told my mother about my 'success.' Gradually things were getting better. Either the teacher was very good, or I was capable, in about half a year I caught up with the majority of the class. I went to my mother's plant after classes. She fed me at her canteen. If there was time during lunch break, I sang for the employees of the plant. I had been singing since childhood and enjoyed when people liked my singing and applauded me.
We had lived by spring 1945 in Novosibirsk. Aunt Irina persistently invited us to Almaty and in the end my mother decided to move there. I don't remember now how long it took us to get to Almaty. We had to change trains, and sometimes wait for our train for hours. We moved to Almaty in early May and rented a room in the house of a local family. We knew that Latvia had been liberated from the fascists by Soviet troops. On 9th May 1945 we found out about the end of the war and the unconditional surrender of Germany. Of course, all of us understood that the war was about to end, but still we took the news as unexpected joy. Unacquainted people hugged each other in the streets, congratulating each other. In the evening everybody was out singing, dancing, watching festive fireworks. Everybody rejoiced in regained peace.
Irina started packing for home straight after 9th May. We had stayed in Almaty for about a year. Finally, my mother decided to move. Irina found out that the apartment we used to live in before the war, was occupied by other people. She went to Ispolkom 13 to apply for lodging in another house. We moved to the apartment, where I'm currently living. My mother went to our previous apartment hoping that some of our things were still there, but she came back empty-handed. In evacuation we learned how to get by with minimal things. Upon our return we hoped for a better life. When we returned to Riga, my father came. He had been demobilized from the army. He started working as a driver. My mother worked in a pharmacy. I went to the third grade of a Russian school. It used to be a Lettish school before the war and the teachers spoke poor Russian. Half of the children in my class were from Latvia, and half the newcomers from the USSR. It was of no importance for us. Maybe it would be harder for adults to get along, but the children were more flexible. All of us were pioneers 14, and then Komsomol 15 members. In other words, we were Soviet children. Though, people let me feel that I was a Jew. Teachers treated me well, anti- Semitism was displayed among children, but I never felt it coming from Lettish children. Offensive words were spoken by children who came to Latvia from the USSR.
When we came home, we found out about the fate of our relatives, who hadn't left Riga. All of them perished: both my grandfathers, Uncle Vulf, his wife and three-year old daughter Sarah. We don't know the circumstances of their death, whether they died in the Riga ghetto 16 or during the execution of ghetto prisoners in Rumbula Forest 17. We didn't find out about all the fascist atrocities right away. Only in 1947 the Nazi and politsei were tried. None of them remained alive.
After school Aunt Irina gave me music classes. She had taken lessons with a singing tutor and she taught me everything she knew. I always sang during school holidays. When I studied at school, I found out that there was a people's conservatoire in Riga, where gifted young people were admitted. Unlike in ordinary conservatoire here no diplomas were given, but the classes were taught by the professors from real conservatoires. I found out about the entrance exams. When I saw the members of the board, renowned singers and professors from the conservatoire, I lost my voice from fear. I was asked to sing, but I couldn't produce a sound. I turned back and left. Then Irina scolded me, and I didn't make any more attempts.
The events taking place in the USSR in the late 1940s, early 1950s, didn't affect our family. During the Doctors' Plot 18 my mother was working in the pharmacy, but she wasn't fired, not even nagged. In general, it was almost unnoticeable for us. I remembered the day of Stalin's death: 5th March 1953. I was in the tenth grade. Everybody was crying, when there was an announcement on Stalin's death. I don't know why but I also burst into tears. Maybe I was influenced by the fact that everybody was crying around me: teachers and students. The situation was solemn: there were wreaths everywhere; the school orchestra played a funeral march, there was mourning. I remember that I had to answer a question on the blackboard in my chemistry class before the mourning meeting. The teacher gave me an excellent mark saying that even on such a hard day for the country I did well. I was flattered by her praise. I cried and mourned after lessons.
Everybody was at a loss. We got used to the fact that everything in the Soviet Union was done in Stalin's name. He was a decision-maker and we couldn't picture our lives without him. Life went on. In a while people started coming back from the Gulag 19, those who were deported in 1940 20. Then one of our distant relatives was released from the camp. He came to Riga. I knew nothing about him; I didn't even know that he existed. My parents had a long conversation with him, but I didn't take part in it. I remember that I was curious to see the man who had spent many years in Northern camps. After the Twentieth Party Congress 21 and Khrushchev's 22 speech I learnt a lot, but I wasn't interested in politics that much.
I was fond of chemistry in school. I liked that subject from the first class, and it became more interesting when we started organic chemistry. I got excellent marks in chemistry and before finishing school I firmly knew that I would like to become an organic chemist, but my mother wanted me to become a doctor and insisted that I should enter a medical institute. Maybe during my entrance exams for the first time in my life I felt that I was different from anybody else. I can't say that the examiners tried to lower my grade, but I felt that the attention was focused on me and that I was tested by other criteria, not only knowledge. I entered the dentistry department of the Medical Institute in Riga and found out soon that my mother, who had worked in medicine for a long time and knew a lot of doctors, pleaded with her acquaintance doctors for me in the board. Probably my mother could understand things were unperceivable for me at that time, and that there would be no chance for me to enter. I finished two terms at the Medical Institute and understood that it wasn't my cup of tea. I wasn't willing to work as a doctor all my life. I was lucky to transfer to the second course of the Chemistry Department of Riga Polytechnic Institute. I did well. I had excellent marks during the entire period of studies. I didn't feel anti-Semitism. Both teachers and students treated me fairly. I sang at the first course.
I got married during my studies at the institute. I'll tell you a funny story of how I met my husband. During my studies me and some of my group mates left for training in Leningrad [today Russia]. Of course, after work we took a walk along the city, went to the theaters, museums. We went dancing almost every night. I loved dancing as much as singing. I couldn't live without that. One guy from Riga was my dancing partner. He wasn't from our institute. He left earlier than me and asked me out to the dancing club in Riga. I was shortsighted since childhood and was shy to wear glasses. I went on the date and thought that I saw my guy, white dance was announced, and so I asked that guy for a dance. It turned out that it wasn't the guy who had asked me out for a date. We got acquainted and danced all evening long. Then he saw me off. That guy was my future husband Vladimir Polubelov.
Vladimir was born in Leningrad in 1937. He spent his childhood there. During the war he and his mother were in evacuation and his father was in the lines. After the war they settled in Riga. Vladimir was an only child. He also studied at the Polytechnic Institute, the radio department. Neither my parents nor I cared that Vladimir was Russian. I was practically raised during the Soviet regime and went to a Soviet school with internationalist spirit. After the war my parents took it calmly as well. It was important for them that my husband and I got along. They were right. Vladimir wasn't only a good husband, but he became an excellent father to our daughter and loving son-in-law. After getting married, we lived with our parents. Upon graduation I started working in the laboratory of the chemistry plant in Riga. Vladimir worked as a radio engineer in the military unit. Our daughter Elena was born in 1964.
Upon return to Riga from evacuation my parents didn't stick to Jewish traditions and didn't mark Jewish holidays. Soviet holidays were celebrated such as 1st May, 7th November 23, Victory Day 24, Soviet Army Day 25, New Year. Of course, we marked birthdays of all members of the family. At that time Jewish holidays, Jewish religion, seemed obsolete to me and I thought it would be ridiculous for educated people to follow it.
In 1964 my father died shortly after Elena was born. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Riga. There was my grandmother's grave, so my father was buried next to his mother. My father's name was embossed on my grandmother's tombstone. His funeral was secular, not in accordance with the Jewish rites. My mother died twelve years later, i.e. in 1976. There was no space by my grandmother's and father's graves; therefore, my mother was buried in another alley, but in that cemetery. Aunt Irina died in 1957. She was also buried in that cemetery.
In the 1970s, the Soviet regime permitted Jews to immigrate to Israel. I didn't even consider that opportunity. My husband was Russian and it was unlikely for him to immigrate to Israel. There was no sense in leaving. I liked my job. My colleagues treated me loyally. I didn't think our lives to be too bad, so I didn't even consider immigration. I sympathized with those who were immigrating, I even pitied them as they were doomed to live far away from their friends and kin and have a different mode of life. I understood that they would have to get acclimatized and take trouble in finding a place to live and a job. At that time many of my friends left as well as my relatives: my cousin Valentin, Uncle Samuel's son, cousin Lucien. Uncle Samuel's daughter Noemi immigrated to America. I was worried about them. I was happy that they were able to blend in with new life. We keep in touch. They send me nice letters. The most important thing is that they are confident in the future of their children and grandchildren.
My daughter did well at school. I must have plied her with love to chemistry as having finished school Elena decided to enter the chemistry department of the Polytechnic Institute. Though she was more attracted to inorganic chemistry, and it was okay. Upon graduation my daughter found a job in her specialty. Elena got married after graduation. Here she also followed into my footsteps. She didn't marry a Jew, but a Lett. Her husband's name is Morov. They live separately. Their first daughter Yana was born in 1990. When her daughter was born Elena was on maternal leave for a year, and when it was time for her to go to work, it turned out that the firm she worked for, didn't exist any more. It was a hard period when Latvia regained its independence 26. Many enterprises closed down at that time, as they couldn't survive under new conditions. There was huge unemployment that we didn't come across with in Soviet times. Elena couldn't find a job for a long time. When she found a job finally, the company was liquidated after a while and again she remained unemployed. My neighbor was a director of a kindergarten. Once I asked if there was a vacancy for Elena. She hired my daughter. Elena didn't expect to like working with children. Now she is deputy director of the kindergarten. She is happy with her work. Elena's second daughter Dana was born in 2001. Yana goes to a Lettish school. My younger granddaughter goes to a kindergarten.
I retired in 1988 during perestroika 27. Many people admired the early stage of perestroika and were agog to see the changes in life. I took it as another action of the Soviet regime and was skeptical towards it. Even now I can't say what perestroika gave me. I wasn't at the age to rejoice in liberty of words, press, traveling. Of course USSR citizens got an opportunity to go abroad and invite their relatives after perestroika, but I was elderly and sick, so there was no use in going anywhere. Perestroika resulted in runaway unemployment, lower living wage, and empty shelves in the store. Soon there was the breakup of the Soviet Union [1991]. I took it hard. All of us got used to the Soviet Union, and the entire system was ours, our reality. We lost something when it broke up. It was many years ago. Nowadays life is as if the Soviet Union had never existed. Latvia and other former Soviet republics became independent and all of us had to learn how to live with a new reality. I can't say that it was easy for everybody or that the life now is easier.
The current mode of life is for young people who are able to adapt to new life conditions. Even many young people can't find a job, as one of the mandatory requirements is to know Lettish. Many people don't know this language, as it was enough to be fluent in Russian during the Soviet regime. It takes time to learn the language, but it's hard to go by in the period of studies without having any income. In general, common people have a hard living fearing that there would be no certainty in the future. During the Soviets we were guaranteed that we would live comfortably when reaching old age; medicine was free of charge, and now having skimpy pension and wages we have to pay outrageous amounts of money for medicine, and most people don't have it. It's the hardest for the pensioners, as they can't afford even necessary things.
Probably the only thing that perestroika gave me is revival of Jewish life in Latvia. The Latvian Society of Jewish Culture, LSJC, was founded during perestroika. It's an unreligious Jewish community. There is a religious community, which finally became legal during perestroika. The Soviet regime always struggled against religion 28, not only against the Jewish one. Approximately at that time I started coming back to Jewry. We kept friends with one Jewish family, which lived in our house. They invited me for the celebration of the Jewish holidays. At that time my reminiscences from childhood came back. I remembered how Jewish holidays were marked in the house of my paternal grandparents, and the way my grandfather carried out the paschal seder. I wanted it to be in my family as well. I learnt from my neighbor how to cook Jewish dishes. I didn't know what they were called.
I baked hamantashen, strudels, made forshmak, gefilte fish. I don't know why I wanted to learn how to cook those dishes. The first holiday marked in our house was Pesach 1995. That year our neighbors immigrated to Israel, and my husband and I decided to organize a feast at home. My husband approved of my kindled interest in Jewish traditions and history. Of course, there was no one who would be able to make a true seder in our family, but still I made traditional paschal dinner: there was matzah, mandatory dishes like bitter herbs, horseradish, salted water, a goblet for Eliagu, etc. My daughter also celebrated Pesach with us. It was the time when she started taking an interest in our history and traditions. Of course, she knew that I was a Jew, but she didn't pay much attention to that. I explained to her that the Jewish nationality was identified by my mother, thus my daughter is a Jew. Probably it wasn't important for her, but I wanted her to know.
In about that period of time I came to the LSJC. I wanted to learn Yiddish, find out more about Jewry. I also went to the synagogue for the first time. I knew nothing. I didn't understand anything. At that time I felt myself hurt and deprived and I wanted to fill the gap. There's a pretty good library at the LSJC. I tried to find Yiddish and Ivrit textbooks there, but failed. The circle of Yiddish language studies by the LSJC dealt with colloquial language only. I was enrolled there. My spoken Yiddish is pretty good: both listening comprehension and oral speech, but I didn't learn how to read in Yiddish. I don't think my parents knew how to read in Yiddish either. So, I can't read Yiddish, but my pals who know how to read Yiddish retell me the most interesting articles. I often go to the library, read books by Jewish authors in Russian and German. I read a lot about Jewish traditions and history. It's very important and interesting to me. I made many friends in the LSJC and my husband is happy for me.
When the Jewish choir was founded by the LSJC, I joined it. At first, I didn't attend rehearsals regularly, but within the last five years I try not to skip any single rehearsal. Besides, I feel happy when I'm singing. Besides, I have the opportunity to communicate with people. When people retire, they are cooped up most of the time, and it makes them despondent. When I attend rehearsals I feel fully-fledged, which is important for me. I know that people need our choir. We often take tours to different Latvian towns. We have a full house at our concerts, which aren't attended only by Jews, but also by people of other nationalities. We are often thanked after concerts, given flowers and I see tears in the eyes of the audience. It's very important for me to know that even now I can do good to people. Our choir is like a family. We get together to mark birthdays of our members, and celebrate Jewish holidays. The community, the social center Rahamim became our second home where we come with joy or with trouble, where we would be helped in everyday issues and given succor.
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