Folk Wisdom

       My grandfather didn’t escape religious persecution in Soviet times; he lost all that he had because of his faith. But not me! This is a different time! Communist gulags were closed. Perestroika changed everything. We live in a civilized world now.

       Yet, once in a while, I heard my sister’s whisper in my ears, “Lidka, you will end in prison! Think about your children! Women should not be ministers!” Before coming to America, I thought that exile was something ancient and related to the Jews in Egypt, like in the Bible.

       Only when I ended up in America in June 1995, with no opportunity to go back to Russia, I understood what exile was. Exile never happens willingly. It doesn’t depend on your choices; it robs you of your future. My personal exile reminded me of my grandfather’s - labor camp, hiding in the woods from KGB, loss of his house and all belongings, loss of his reputation. 

       At least my grandfather didn’t have to learn to speak a different language as I did; but then, I didn’t have to keep a gun under the tree roots in case someone attacked me. That much I had in my favor: I didn’t have to run for my life. My father thought better of me and laughed at first when he learned that

       I lost everything: my church in Russia, my position in New York. “I am sure my girl prepared everything. I am sure you were offered even

a better job. It’s about time. You earned it!”

       I kept silence on the phone, calling him to Russia to say what happened. His voice changed: “Have you?”

       “No, Papa, I had not.”  

       “But you were doing so well... ” 

       “Remember, Papa, how we say in Russia, if I knew where I would fall, I would put a straw there for a softer landing?” 

       “So you didn’t put any ‘straw’ at all?”  

       “Did you and Mama not tell me, ‘You can’t escape a beggar’s fate’? Maybe this is my turn, after all.”