The story of my father, Dmitry Gorodetsky, starts in a very different world than the one he and his family lives in today. He came from modern day Ukraine, which at the time was under the Soviet Regime, a communist and authoritarian state that the drained the life out of millions of people. Escape from this chaos was utterly necessary, especially for Jews like my father, an extremely unfavorable minority to be in Eastern Europe. Life was tough, living and thinking only about how to feed himself and his family with the most minimal of resources, with a constant Anti-Semitic under tone coming from his fellow Ukrainians. A visa and a green card to the wondrous United States, seemed to truly be a ticket to heaven. The United States, as it has always been, is the land of refuge and opportunity, and my father and grandmother saw only this in their eyes as impoverished refugees of the soviet state. The escape from communism and a wide spread anti-Semitic culture was solved by America’s open arms and economic, social, and opportunity-filled freedoms that my dad, as well as a majority of the soviet refugee population holds very dear to heart, and thanks for, every living day.

As in most places where communism has existed and devastated, life was extremely difficult. My father tells stories of his old grandfather, who endured cancer with no proper medication and treatment for nearly a decade, having to stand in line before dawn for sometimes two hours at a for a mere pint of milk. Grocery stores were empty, their shelves barren of any sustenance. Meat was eaten once a week, and cost roughly a tenth of a monthly

Circa 1981: A line for bread in Ukraine. Similar difficulties were present in getting milk, meat, and other main groceries.

salary for a single kilo, oh but how evil Capitalism is! My father made quite an interesting point during the interview, for a society that tries to void itself of the capitalistic greed and monetary fetish, the people only think about what as they call “kapusta or bumazhke or denzhat”, (cabbage or papers) all slang words for money. They longed for it so much, they didn’t even know what to call it. In a society where everything is supposed to be provided and a quality of living guaranteed by the state and its socialist programs, all people think about is how to put more banknotes in their pockets. When the state salary was 120 rubles and the cost of a pair of blue jeans, not even Levi’s may I add, was close to 100 rubles, life becomes seemingly pointless and depressing. My father recalled going to a friend’s house just see a glass bottle of Coca-Cola, one that was probably bought and sold dozens of times as a supreme collectible. To buy a Lada, the Soviet “star” automobile, grandparents would work dozens of years and wait in line for another thirty so their grandchildren could drive a vehicle. My father still marvels on how utterly awful the regime made lives throughout over a dozen states and tens of millions of people. He also recalls his own desires to not wear pants that ended above his ankles, shoes that weren’t worn out so that through the soles you could see the ground, and so forth. He tells stories of selling foreign cigarettes since the age of 14, making countless round trips to Moscow and Poland buying goods that were otherwise not to be had in Odessa. People lived minimally and in most cases uncomfortably, and my father’s family was no exception. Yet, people endure. Human spirit and happiness thrives even when life is seemingly endlessly difficult and uncomfortable , that is unless all conceivable freedoms are utterly stolen beneath your feet.

A showcase of the power and authority of the regime, through its display of order and unparalleled weaponry. These showings were meant to subdue the citizen just as much as they were meant to show the strength of the union in foreign front.

In an authoritarian state as perpetuated by the Soviet regime and its leaders, does not give freedom, it does not give liberty. Even in the privacy of their own commune, which is an irony within itself, anti-communist comments were not to be made, were not to be even joked of. Even if you didn’t say such things, you can be accused of treason to the state and put away, or even more likely killed or sent off into Siberia. Economic freedom, we already discussed. The inability to have even the freedom of thought made life eerily prison like. My dad decreed that this life is simply put, scary, no matter who you are. If you weren’t  in the mob or part of the regime, any such thoughts about the state should not even exist, for the consequences were far too dangerous. It makes it obvious that no person, who even remotely cares for their human rights, should not be subject to such repression. Nevertheless, even this was not a major reason that made my father, and so many others reach for refuge in America.

An example of widespread Anti-Semitic propaganda of the Soviet State. Jews were he enemy of the state, the enemy of its people.

Economic hardship and the absence of basic freedoms is enough to make life utterly miserable, add in political oppression and you have a life of absolute awfulness. Being called a “zhid” (k**e), no matter where you are and knowing what your ethnicity really means to the “real” people of the land is not enjoyable. Knowing your people and their children, were killed and tortured on those same lands that you live on is awfully straining and uncomforting. Recalling stories of mass pogroms that took place in only as far back as your living grandparent’s lifetimes is conflicting to say the least. The most horrid of which, the stories of Jewish children hung on tree branches, only because they were Jewish. Jews weren’t allowed to hold certain jobs, hold positions in government, have entrance into schools, and even compete at certain levels in sports. The regime, in compliance with the peoples antagonistic outlooks made life very difficult, and very obvious that Jews were are not welcome. My father recalled his great great grandparents being snitched on to the Nazis by their own neighbor, who would go onto see them being hung on their own fence, while all their children were fighting for that same neighbor’s nation’s army (three of four of which were killed in war). My father remembered getting into constant fights and endless dilemmas just because he had “JEW” written on his passport, even though his parents attempted to put him down as Russian in attempt to make his life somewhat easier in the future. Such systematic anti-semitism had inevitably reached my family. When applying for refuge for the first time, my grandmother was not approved. This would result in her being labeled as a traitor to the communist state for attempting to escape. From then-on she was banned from ever holding a position in education forever. My grandmother had been working as a teacher fro over twenty years, with a master’s level education, and was forced to work as a mere secretary at a construction site. My father, who had just served in the torturous Soviet Army for two years, saw what had happened to her and was able to realize that such problems could be very tangible in the future. No matter that his family spoke only Russian, practiced no Jewish religion, and was integrated into the culture like any of their neighbors, they were still considered outlying and alien Jews, which over there was in the most vile association of the word possible. And to say that this anti-Semitism did not exist, is simply an egregious false hood. Even when came the moment of depart from this nation of such hateful presence, they were screamed at “Go k**kes, go”. That is taken straight from my father’s experiences as a young man in Ukraine.

The 90s was a very hectic time for both Soviet and Jewish history. Beginning in 1985, the Perestroika (Reconstruction) began, aiming to adjust after the fall of the soviet regime. This would launch an era marked by economic turmoil and harsh states of living for those in the state in the 90s, especially in Ukraine. Mass inflation had begun,with rubles becoming worthless overnight. The mob became synonymous with the police as the government was crumbling before the people’s eyes. With this the streets became very dangerous, with my father recalling even people he knew personally being robbed and killed on the streets of Odessa. In the same time, Gorbachev opened the borders for Jews to immigrate to Israel, although many would immigrate to the united States. Jewish refugees were accepted under the Law of Return, granting citizenship and the right to live in Israel for these impoverished Jews. The chaos that ensued with the fall of the state and the permission to leave prompted 1.6 million Jews between 1989 to 2006 to emigrate from the Soviet Union. 325,000 settlled in the United States, including my father and grandmother.

A typical Brighton block, a cluttered mosh of Russian groceries and stores. An image that has become the norm in Southern Brooklyn over the past twenty five years.

My father came to America in 1991, settling himself in lower Brooklyn, an area that has since become predominantly full of immigrants from the Soviet Union. All that anger, repression, and willpower would translate into a drive like no other to make something of himself and provide for his family. America is the home of opportunity, but it is definitely not the giver of it. Fortune, comfort, and happiness are there but it is up to the individual to attain it. My father worked for 15 hours a day, 7 days a week for far below minimum wage. He and my grandmother split a single sausage a day for lunch. They could not afford air conditioning so they sat outside in the evenings of the summer until their apartment cooled down. Life was no dream, but the American dream was alive and well. My father began working as service men lugging around chemicals for hours in and hours out. He then became a service technician. Hours in, hours out. He then became a salesman. Hours in, hours out. Now a manager, with a multi-million-dollar portfolio in the Water Treatment business in the New York Metropolitan area. It was not easy, but it was undoubtedly possible, knowing that was all that my father needed. During the interview I felt his true pride in when he said that he really took the family from nothing, which he remembers so clearly into truly something. From a communist totalitarian state, to a tiring hardship in lower Brooklyn, and finally to a healthy middle class state of living in the wealthy community of the South Shore of Staten Island. His own home, his own car, his own kids receiving higher educations that he never had the fortune of ever receiving. He has told me over and over, and once again during our interview, “All that I have ever done was so you could live, how I never could have, and that will forever be the thing that I’m most proud of in this life.” Such virtuous statements were made possible by America, and its unparalleled opportunities set forth by the Capitalist economy, which gives anyone who is willing to drive for it, the opportunity to live comfortably and happily. For that very opportunity my father says without a single doubt in his voice that America is his favorite country in the world, even though his Eastern European accent was not always looked upon so kindly.

A breathtaking view of New York City. A microcosm to the virtue and possibilities of the entire United States. This is the land my father, and millions of immigrants alike will forever be thankful for.

Immigrants almost never have it easy when initially coming here. America has a tendency to reject and ostracize those who are even somewhat different, even as the Irish were first immigrating being labeled as non-white. With Cold War connotations still associated with Russians, as well as the initial group of refugees actually being criminals from the Soviet prison systems, many did not look to fondly upon Russians. With little understanding of how things worked here, and having very little of the language, people would use such attitudes to take advantage of many immigrants, including my father. This occurred at work, in various businesses, and throughout daily life. My father recalled, only a couple months ago even, being told to “learn to speak English first” when addressing someone who cut the line before him in a bakery. Yet with greater understanding of the language and American customs, and progress in career, America would come to accept and integrate my father, and thousands of other Russian immigrants. During our interview he said America is without a doubt more accepting than the USSR, as well as many other nations in the world. The connotations of being a Russian in America is far less serious than being a Jew in the Soviet Union (note that here he is a Russian, there he was a Jew). Despite any indecencies that might have existed, no one in America stood in the way of the attainment of a normal and healthy life for my father and our family.

Merely only two decades ago my family was living under an authoritarian regime with Capitalism as its greatest nemesis. The communist state mad life poor and humble. Jews like my father were discriminated against in education, careers, and in everyday live, like while just walking down the hall at school. Basic freedoms, such as that of freedom of thought and speech were repressed by the regime. Evidently, escape from this totalitarian and Anti-Semitic state was more than necessary, and America would be the one reaching out with open arms. Life in America is not always easy by any means, but when it is not, it is so because it is giving everyone the opportunity to succeed and move forward, and there is a distinct rattle that comes from everyone reaching for such a wondrous, comfortable state of living. My father with no language, alien to many American practices and customs had to work and work and work, to put his family into a surrounding he never got to experience. A home, a car, a proper education and so forth, is something after nearly two decades of coming here, he can say he gave his children. For this accomplishment, he is the most proudest. Even if the road was tough, although he was always the outlier, always the foreigner, the immigrant, the Russian, the Jew, he succeeded, he excelled. To thank for this, we have the United States who opened its arms, and gave just a mere opportunity to succeed. It then gave him everything he has and will ever have, in a truly free, capitalist, and amazing state.

“God bless you, America”, my father exclaimed at the end of our interview, and I repeat, “God bless you, America”.

Our Lady Liberty