One refugee’s story of how Americans greeted her
On Aug. 6, 1991, my family left the Soviet Union to escape anti-Semitism. America welcomed us as refugees.
We condensed our former lives into three suitcases, handmade by my father. For myself, I was allowed to bring along three toys: a stuffed dog, a cloud-pillow and a tiny naked doll I named Poopsyik.
Only 6 years old, I remember how magical America felt to all of us — like a dream, a wonderful fairyland. I remember my first taste of exotic fruit — a banana — as we drove from the airport to our new home. I remember how astonished I was after visiting a Big Lots department store. I’d never seen so many beautiful things available in my whole life!
When my school placed me in kindergarten instead of first grade, I felt so insulted — I thought, just because I couldn’t speak the language, doesn’t mean I’m stupid! But most of all, I remember the kindness and generosity that so many people, so many communities, and so many organizations showed to me and my family.
We resettled in America with the help of the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, which helped facilitate our entire emigration process. The Greensboro Jewish Federation in Greensboro, N.C., helped us rebuild our lives. We were given our very own apartment and car, as well as an allowance for a few weeks as we adapted to our new home, integrated into our new country. Volunteer dentists and doctors provided us with medical and dental care, something that was unaffordable to us in the Soviet Union.
When I think back, the whole process seems incredibly overwhelming, but mostly, I feel so much kindness and gratitude toward the many individuals and families who helped us. The people who smiled at us, who volunteered to teach us English, who invited us for dinner and shared their holiday celebrations with us. The people who gave us their clothing and home goods, who drove us around, who provided our medical care, and who treated us to a dessert or a movie. So much help, so much effort, dedicated to our little family of refugees.
Now, as a citizen and after enjoying the education, the prosperity, the opportunities of the United States for decades, I think of myself as an American. It’s difficult to understand what this all means — to be an American, to be an immigrant, to be a refugee — in a political climate so hostile to this group of people.
What would our lives look like if we were today’s refugees instead of yesterday’s? If Russia was on the list of banned countries and if Jews were seen as terrorist threats? America gave a 6-year-old girl a great gift.
I intend to pay that gift forward.