Episode 6: Members Only
I have spent the majority of my working life in the field of education. I was educated in the Soviet Union for the first four years, from age 7 to age 11, grades 1-4 (there was no kindergarten as we know it here). I loved school as a child, and at least according to my mom, I have been a teacher since I myself was in first grade. I don’t have a lot of memories of this, but apparently I was quite the teacher’s pet, never putting a toe out of line, always doing what was asked of me, getting good grades, etc. I was also very concerned about my classmates’ academic lives, helping others with their work, and even begging my parents to take me to classmates’ houses so I could tutor them (they didn’t, of course).
School and education in general were always important, and in the Soviet Union there was even more of an emphasis on their importance. This wasn’t so much because the State wanted an educated citizenry, though maybe there was some of that too, but mainly because school was where the country worked in a formalized, systematic way to transform regular children into loyal members of the Communist Party.
The first day of school was treated as a holiday. I have very clear memories of walking to school with at least one parent, carrying a large bouquet of gladioli, dressed proudly in my special occasion uniform: brown dress, white lace collar, white apron, white bow in my hair.
I have spent the majority of my working life in the field of education. I was educated in the Soviet Union for the first four years, from age 7 to age 11, grades 1-4 (there was no kindergarten as we know it here). I loved school as a child, and at least according to my mom, I have been a teacher since I myself was in first grade. I don’t have a lot of memories of this, but apparently I was quite the teacher’s pet, never putting a toe out of line, always doing what was asked of me, getting good grades, etc. I was also very concerned about my classmates’ academic lives, helping others with their work, and even begging my parents to take me to classmates’ houses so I could tutor them (they didn’t, of course).
School and education in general were always important, and in the Soviet Union there was even more of an emphasis on their importance. This wasn’t so much because the State wanted an educated citizenry, though maybe there was some of that too, but mainly because school was where the country worked in a formalized, systematic way to transform regular children into loyal members of the Communist Party.
The first day of school was treated as a holiday. I have very clear memories of walking to school with at least one parent, carrying a large bouquet of gladioli, dressed proudly in my special occasion uniform: brown dress, white lace collar, white apron, white bow in my hair.
For the first two years, we students were the “Young Octobrists,” a subset of the “Young Pioneers,” named for the October Revolution. We all wore a small, enameled, five-pointed star, with red points and the golden head of a young Vladimir Lenin in the white center. You received your pin on that first day of school, officially becoming a member of the Communist party. Families with their children would gather at the school, and the principal would give a speech about the shining Soviet vision, love of the Mother Country, glory of the Proletariat, and loyalty to the Party of Lenin. And we, the newest members of the party, had the honor of being welcomed into service, our education preparing us for life as a Soviet citizen. We had responsibilities to our country, the party, and each other. Did I understand what this meant? No! But I took it to heart anyway. I was completely dedicated to the Young Octobrists, and I couldn’t wait until I could join the Young Pioneers.
The transition from the youngest member of the party to the next level took place at the beginning of grade 4. We traded our pins for the red kerchiefs that marked us as Young Pioneers. It was tied around the neck with a special square knot and worn every day as part of the uniform. I wore the red kerchief of the Young Pioneers proudly every weekday until March, 1976.I still know how to tie that square knot.
In November of 1975 my parents informed me and my younger brother that we were going to leave the Soviet Union to go live in America. My brother was only five years old, and I’m pretty sure he thought we were planning a vacation trip. I was ten, and I understood. We were leaving, emigrating from our home country, and going to a land I had only read about in books. I wasn’t excited at the prospect. In my imagination, America was a land of smokestacks, skyscrapers, millionaire bosses who beat poor workers, starving children, and ragged farmers. And I had responsibilities! My classmates needed my help; my school demanded my loyalty, and my country expected my service. I was heartbroken.
I don’t remember whether I cried or not, whether I argued with my parents or not; I only remember that I had to go to school for the next few months, carrying this awful secret. I wasn’t allowed to say anything about our plans to anyone, not to friends, certainly not to teachers, and especially not to any of the people in our apartment building. Because neighbors were spying for the government. If I said anything to anyone, they would report us to the KGB, and the police would come and arrest my parents. And this was true, though I didn’t really understand until years later.
I expected to go to school until we were ready to leave, but my parents pulled me out in March, 1976. Our exit visa had been approved, but our flight wasn’t scheduled until May, so I didn’t understand why I had to leave school.
The answer was revealed to me many years later in a conversation with my parents. One evening in March, a teacher from my school came to our apartment. He was young, and Jewish, and he was risking his freedom and possibly his life by coming to our home with his message, but he did. That evening, he told my parents to keep me at home, to never send me back to school again. There were plans, he said. The school administration had been informed of our intent to emigrate. An assembly was being planned to address the matter. I would be brought before the entire student body and all the teachers. I would be publicly stripped of my Young Pioneer kerchief. I would be denounced as a traitor to my land, to my people, to my party, effectively court marshalled. I was eleven years old.
I wasn’t aware of his visit, and I didn’t hear his warnings. But my parents heard, and they followed his advice. I never went back to my school, and we left the Soviet Union in May of 1976. I will always be grateful to that young teacher, whom I never met and whose name I have never known. Hopefully, he made it safely home that night. Hopefully, his treachery against his land, his people, and his party was never discovered. Hopefully, he too got out of the Soviet Union. But I have never learned what became of him.
One Response
Comment 6