San Diego (special) -- Ella Tsveyer, a former Soviet Refusenik now based in Rishon LeZion, Israel, looks with humor upon some of the problems she encounters as she helps her fellow immigrants build a new life in Israel. 

“You have probably heard the joke that when Russians are coming out of the airplane, if they are not carrying a musical instrument, they must be pianists,” she quipped at a luncheon meeting Tuesday, Jan. 26, for women who contributed at least $1,800 to United Jewish Federation of  San Diego County and thus became part of the “Pomegranate” group of UJF’s Women’s Division.  “In every village now, we have a symphonic orchestra,” she added. “In my little town, we have three and a choir.”  On her list of Russian families to assist, “I had two professors of Pasternak poetry. Can you imagine how important this profession is for Israel now?  I had a dozen specialists in Russian economy, who could probably destroy any economy in the world,” she said facetiously.  “I got a call from a man who said ‘Can you help me find a job?  I am a mining engineer.’ The last mine was closed in Israel during King Solomon’s time.  So I told him so, and he said ‘I have another profession--maybe you will help me. I am an ice hockey coach.”

Ella Tsveyer, a former Soviet Refusenik

That one was not so far-fetched as it may sound, because the Canadian Jewish community had built a large ice skating arena in Metula, located in the northern finger of Israel. So the man actually does coach hockey today. 

Another woman whom Tsveyer helped settle “is a ski coach. Now I have a personal interest not to give up the Golan Heights,” she quipped. 

Tsveyer’s children know their mother’s proclivities. “A few years ago, my son said, ‘mom, I want a dog.’ No dogs in a house. ‘Mom, she is a new immigrant!’ Now we have a Rotweiler!” 
After the laughter died down, Tsveyer told the women gathered in the La Jolla  home of Dianne Feuerstein that she can smile about the problems that she and other Russian immigrants have in Israel because “they are problems of life. In Russia, they were problems of survival.” 

She told of growing up in Leningrad “which is now St. Petersburg, and they can call it Paris--nothing changes.” Although she wanted to study the history of art, she said Jews were routinely turned away from the humanities and steered toward technical studies. Hating every moment of it, she studied electrical engineering, and after receiving a graduate degree in that field, “I worked in a secret military plant. I built those MIGs--military airplanes. That is why they are so bad.” 

After applying for a sixth time, she finally was accepted to the Academy of Fine Arts. Following graduation, she became a tour guide--and later instructor of tour guides--at the famous Hermitage Art Museum. 

Today, her son, Yonatan, is 21 and an Israeli soldier stationed in Israel’s security zone in Lebanon, but when he was 4, he was the subject of a knife attack because he was a Jew, she said. 

“He came home bleeding and crying hysterically: ‘I don’t want to be Jewish! I don’t want you to be Jewish!’ My husband and I then realized that we have to do something about it; we have to raise our kid to be proud of himself. To teach him to be a proud Jew, we had to teach ourselves because we came from very assimilated backgrounds.” 

Not long afterwards, Tsveyer became involved in an underground Jewish library. She hid books on Jewish subjects, as well as materials on making aliyah to Israel, in her two-room apartment which she shared with her husband, son and mother-in-law. 

At one point, she had 2,000 books stuffed everywhere--under the bed, in closets, in cupboards, in bathroom cabinets. She would take the books from her apartment to Jewish families around Leningrad, traveling on public transportation with her suitcases. 

“I lived like a movie,” she said. “I had to speak with my readers with a system of codes. I would ask them ‘would you like to read something about nature or flowers?’ And they would understand ‘would you like some information about aliyah to Israel.’ We were running this library for years, and it remained secret and I am proud of my talent.” 

But, Tsveyer said, after she organized a public Purim celebration, “I was invited to the KGB.  You can’t keep secret those activities. So a very polite young man asked me ‘do you know the name of our organization? Do you know that there is nothing impossible for us in this country? Do you remember that you have a small child?’ It was clearly a life threat.” 

Tsveyer said she and her husband decided to publicize their plight in the West as a way of protecting themselves. And, she added, “we decided not to stop our activities, to continue. ... It was a hard decision to make. Since that day, my son never was able to get out of the apartment without both of us holding his hand.” 

They applied for an exit visa, but year after year they were denied permission. Then at last, in 1989, it came and the Tsveyer family sold what belongings they could, and signed away their government-owned apartment. Three days before they were to leave, they were told it would cost them an additional 500 rubles per person to exit. “All suitcases, and no money, and I am nine months pregnant,” she recalled. 

Suddenly there were American callers--Joanne and Ben Goldberg from Cleveland. People who had heard about her library and wanted to donate. She told them that she had turned over responsibility for the library to someone else. But why was she so unhappy, the family from Cleveland asked. She told them. On the spot, the family decided to invite other members of their mission to assist the Tsveyers by purchasing what little art remained on the walls, and some of the unsold books, furniture and bric-a-brac that remained in the apartment. 

They left on time, and “during the flight, my husband held my hand, looked in my eyes and said, ‘wait--just wait.’ My daughter was born in a week.” 

In Israel, she was received with warmth and compassion. New neighbors gave her enough baby clothing for a kindergarten. She received five cradles.  “And I decided there is a time to take, and there is a time to give back.” 

Over the years, she said, her family has shared their apartment with 23 other families. “Not everybody at a time--but I can hardly remember any months without long lines to a bathroom.”
At a General Assembly of the United Jewish Appeal several years ago, Tsveyer was invited to appear on a program touting “stories of success” with Ruth Handler, the inventor of the Barbie Doll, and Judith Liber, the designer of high fashion purses. Tsveyer said she was moved by Liber’s speech, particularly when in discussing the Holocaust she spoke about the “lost opportunities” and “the young people who are buried in the ground of Europe.” 

When Tsveyer’s own chance came to speak, she said she didn’t understand how she could be included as a success story compared to the others. Speaking of “lost opportunities,” she said, she was feeling very frustrated. She had been trying to find a place where Russian artists could show their work. The mayor of Rishon LeZion had offered a building, but it needed $200,000 for renovation. 

“Judith Liber stood up and said, ‘you got it baby,’ and that was my story of success. Now we have a wonderful arts and crafts center in Rishon LeZion. It is the Judith Liber Arts & Crafts Center, but somehow I see my name there too.”