Part I
Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, lies at the heart of a
savanna at a height of 480 meters. Two and a half million
people live there, among them a few Jews and Russians. In
April 1966, while Uzbekistan was still under Soviet rule, a
terrible earthquake devastated the city. In the blink of an
eye, 100,000 people were left homeless. Tens of thousands of
builders arrived from all over the Soviet Union and began
rebuilding what had become one of the country's most
important cities.
I was born on the 26th of Nissan, 5726 (1966) in Tashkent, a
few days before the earthquake. I was my young parents'
second daughter. They were married in Samarkent and lived in
my father's parents' house, as was the custom then. Their
parents supported them and my paternal grandmother helped to
raise my older sister.
Before the birth, my mother suffered from frequent pains and
a complicated birth was expected. She wanted to be in the
skilled hands of professional doctors. In Uzbekistan forty
years ago, home births with a midwife were still the norm but
my mother decided to go to her parents' house in Tashkent
where there was an excellent hospital, in spite of the fact
that my grandmother, along with my father, offered to hire a
specialist female doctor to come to the house. She wanted to
spare my weak mother the exhausting trip by train to Tashkent
with a two-and-a-half-year-old child. At that time, my father
wasn't able to accompany her because my mother intended to be
hospitalized and he had to remain in Tashkent and help
support his parents.
My young energetic father worked dozens of dunams of
productive cotton fields. Uzbekistan was and is the third
largest producer of cotton in the world and in Samarkent many
people make a living at this profitable branch of farming.
This type of work is difficult and needs to be closely
monitored.
Despite the difficulty, my mother undertook the journey from
Samarkent to Buchara and from there to Tashkent. My whiney
and demanding sister made it very difficult for my mother.
The whole way, my mother promised her, "Soon, we'll get to
Savta and you'll get presents and sweets." And she couldn't
imagine that my sister's future at her grandmother's wouldn't
be so rosy.
Because of the strain of the trip, it seemed, as soon as she
arrived at her parents', she went into labor and was
immediately rushed to the hospital and wasn't able to rest at
her parents' home for a month as planned. This
hospitalization had a very negative effect on my older
sister: In one go, she was separated from the one person she
knew and who protected her, but she hadn't yet bonded with
anyone else.
Grandmother, of course, made supreme efforts to shower her
with affection and win her trust but my sister stubbornly
rejected her efforts. Grandfather and both mother's younger
brothers tried to amuse the toddler and even made her
airplanes from wood but they were disappointed. Nothing
helped. The little one screamed for hours upon hours, refused
to eat and rebelled against everyone.
In spite of her fears, and although by Caesarean birth, my
mother gave birth to a healthy and whole little girl. The
fear for my safety passed. At the beginning, my grandmother
didn't tell my mother how my sister was faring so that she
wouldn't worry. The reality, unfortunately, wasn't joyful at
all. Within two days, my sister had developed a high fever
which they couldn't bring down. The doctor gave her a
thorough examination and couldn't find any symptom of the
strange disease.
My aunt, her older sister who lived in Moscow, came to my
grandmother's rescue. My grandmother had sent her a letter
earlier where she explained about having to host us in the
coming weeks. On a train to Uzbekistan that left Moscow and
passed through Samara, along Kazachstan until Tashkent, a
trip that took 56 hours, my aunt arrived at my grandmother's
home. Famous for her "natural remedies" that she concocted
herself, she immediately prepared compresses of lemon juice
diluted in vinegar, mixed with crushed garlic and with other
spices known to evaporate fever. The compresses were changed
frequently on the burning forehead of the little girl but
nothing helped. My sister lay like a lifeless doll, burning
up, passive and helpless. Worry gnawed at my grandmother and
having no choice, she traveled to the hospital and cried to
my mother, "Please come home immediately and save your
daughter!"
The request seemed impossible to fulfill because her stay in
hospital wasn't complete. With a racing heart, my mother
asked the head nurse to release her.
"No way! Under no circumstances! No!" The nurse was adamant
and reminded my mother of the medical procedures then. After
a regular birth, the mother is released after 10 days; a
woman after an operation is released only after 15. "And
you've only been recovering eight days and are so weak and
sick. There is no way I will release you early," she
stated.
With tears in her eyes, my mother explained about my sister's
critical condition, and bribing her with a significant sum
— a purse bursting with cash, she reached a compromise.
Because it was Sunday, the Sabbath in Uzbekistan which meant
the presence of fewer doctors and staff in the hospital, she
was told to run away with me, the baby, without anyone
knowing, and to return the next Monday in time for doctors'
rounds. That would keep things uncomplicated. My mother
wrapped me in a green blanket and when the nurse gave her a
sign, she escaped from the hospital without documents of any
kind.
When my mother arrived at my grandmother's house, the air was
thick with tension. Everyone was occupied with my two-year-
old sister who had fainted. No one came to greet us in the
manner that one greeted a new arrival in Buchara, with
sweets, and the oven which would on Sunday be baking sesame
bread was still.
My mother left me and immediately went to take care of my
sister. It seemed I was a placid child and allowed her to
leave me. Grandmother put us in the only available space, a
back balcony of the house on mattresses. It was a dark and
narrow place which later proved to be my saving grace.
Uzbekistan, the most populated country in Central Asia with
26 million people, was also the poorest among the republics
of the former Soviet Union. Its population consisted mainly
of farmers and agriculturalists. Tashkent, the capital, in
the older part was built as a maze of narrow, dusty alleyways
with low houses made out of mud blocks. Then it was the
custom to have one big room where the entire family lived.
Living in my Grandmother's house, also, was my 90-year-old
great-grandmother.
On the back balcony of the house, a fireplace of stone called
a Bazaka spread a pleasant warmth without burning anyone who
touched it. So it was a nice niche for us. The weather at the
time I was born was pleasant and suited for sleeping on the
balcony. Springtime (April to June), in Uzbekistan is the
optimal time weather-wise. In April, the desert briefly
blooms. That's the blessed harvest season when the market
stalls groan under the weight of fresh fruits and vegetables.
At other times of the year, the weather is unpredictable and
in the mountains, it's liable to snow.
My mother was happy to sleep on the balcony. The two wide
mattresses that were placed on the floor were enough for the
three of us. Mother slept in the middle, my older sister she
held closely to her right and I was to her left, near the
dormant stove. After an wearing day, my mother fell asleep,
exhausted, on the mattress, with her heart calm as she lay
beside her two small daughters.
At four in the morning, a loud noise shook the walls of the
house. My mother awoke, terrified. A blinding light filled
the room and yellow-red tongues danced in front of her eyes.
She was sure that a bloody war had broken out or that her
heart was exploding from a volcano.
But it was a terrible earthquake. With maternal instinct, she
grabbed my sister in her arms and ran out of the balcony to
the street. My experienced grandmother understood that these
were the first tremors of an earthquake (p waves) which were
relatively weak, prefacing the stronger, destructive waves,
and hysterically tried to clear the house while helping my
ailing great-grandmother. My mother's younger brothers urged
Grandfather to get out of the apartment that would collapse
any minute. And only, I, the baby was forgotten.
[Final part next week]
