In 1978 it was my privilege to participate with Ida Nudel in four exclusively female demonstrations. She was my partner and a constant source of inspiration and strength. Unique in the history of Soviet women, our activities, including all of our names, were mentioned in radio broadcasts from the free world.

Only our faith that the free world knew about and supported us gave us the courage to go on risking our lives. It was critical that the West insist on the release of the refuseniks and the “Prisoners of Conscience.” Pressure on the Soviet government was absolutely necessary for preserving the lives of those who waited and ultimately gaining the freedom of those who wished to emigrate.

My own family’s “release from bondage” came about through an incredible stroke of luck. Senator Edward Kennedy came to Moscow in the summer of 1978 with a long list of refuseniks on whose behalf he planned to intercede with the Soviet authorities. Through his efforts, eighteen families on that list received permission to emigrate. Ours was among them.

The tears I shed then were born of joy, relief, and wonder – why were we chosen? I tell my story for all the others, that the knowledge I pass on may serve the spirit of freedom, the ideal which links us all.

En route to America, our oldest son, Alexander, then sixteen, was asked why he left the USSR. He replied, without prompting

“I want to be a Jew. In Russia they preach only Marxist-Leninist theory.”

Actually, Moscow lost our family in 1975 when we first applied to emigrate. The status of refusenik cost my husband, Edward, his job, as was standard procedure. (Many were also denied their academic credentials and all professional contacts.) Our son, Michael, was four years old then, and for the next four years, he lived in a state of terror. He still cannot erase from his memory the horror of being followed constantly by the KGB. Whenever I left the house, my children became fearful that they would never see me again. There was no assurance of my safe return. I had become an activist.

Mine was, as I said, not a lone struggle. My family had many stories of their own to tell. My oldest son Alex has one of particular importance to my decision to fight with every thing I had.

“In 1974 my parents decided to leave Russia, and applied for exit visas. They were refused, and spent the following four years fighting for their right to emigrate. During that time, I became involved in the underground Jewish cultural movement. I met many fascinating individuals and learned much about the history of the Jewish race. What I learned enthralled me, and I wanted to become a part of it. Shortly I began practicing Judaism, only to realize that it was not an easy thing to do in the USSR.

There was practically no kosher food available in Russia, and schools had classes on Saturdays. In order to keep kosher, I became a vegetarian, which was very difficult because of the lack of vegetables and their poor quality.

I was called several times to the principal’s office for skipping school on Saturdays, and had to give up Physics Club because it met on the Sabbath.

There were bigger problems to confront. Russia was an atheistic country. The idea of religion was rejected and ridiculed, all religious people were subjected to social pressures. Various committees were formed in schools and factories with the purpose of ‘re-educating’ (i.e., brainwashing) religious individuals. There were a number of ‘volunteers’ in my class who formed such a committee to re-educate me. Nevertheless, I continued on the path I had chosen. I studied Hebrew in underground classes, participated in the Jewish cultural events in Moscow and took an active part in conducting an underground festival of Jewish songs in the fall of 1978.

The festival was held deep in the woods and the seclusion and secrecy of this gathering held their own enchantment for us. It was clear that the authorities were disturbed. Several weeks before the festival, the KGB had attempted to stage several fights with me in order to stop my activity. The question was how far they would go this time. In the evening after the festival, I went to the synagogue. It was the beginning of Sukkoth, one of the major Jewish holidays. A large crowd of people was already standing near the synagogue by the time I got there.

Moscow Jews had come to celebrate our holy day. The whole area was surrounded by the police and KGB agents. Entrance into the synagogue was blocked by police; nobody was allowed to enter. I was standing outside of the main crowd, waiting for a friend, when a policeman approached. He looked closely at me and asked me to move aside, still further away from the main crowd. In his hand he held a photograph to which I did not give any thought at the time. I refused to move, and, at that point, he started to push aside all who stood near me. I was pleased that a circle of space had formed around me. It seemed this would make it easier for my friend to find me. I was leaning to my left and switched my weight to the other foot. In that instant, I felt a cutting pain on the inner part of my left thigh. I looked down. A large pipe was on the ground near me. By shifting my weight in that very moment, I had inadvertently saved my own life. My attacker’s target was my head.

Later, I was able to break through the police blockade and enter the synagogue. Inside were others who had come earlier, before the blockade, and some who had broken through it as I had. The words of an ancient prayer were sounding. It felt as if the world outside, full of hate and anger, had dissolved, and peace was all over the earth. I realized then, that nobody has the power to kill the spirit of freedom and human dignity in Russia or anywhere.”

This incident with Alex clarified how the KGB directed the police actions, and confirmed my ‘all-or nothing’ stance against the Soviet government. We absolutely had to get out of the country before Alex turned eighteen. There was universal male conscription, and following discharge a veteran was considered the possessor of military secrets, and would not be allowed to leave the country for at least five years. Draft dodging in the USSR carried an automatic three-year prison sentence, and teenagers who avoided the draft were literally hunted down like wild animals. Naturally, their refusenik parents were prepared to go to any lengths to hide their children’s whereabouts.

Time was critical.

Three and one half years had passed since we had submitted our first application to emigrate to Israel, the only country deemed ‘acceptable’ to Soviet authorities. (Applications for emigration were an insult to the state, and were continually rejected. Common criminals were informed about how long a sentence they must serve, but we occupied status lower than criminal. Denials were repeatedly issued without explanation, even though we painstakingly followed all proper legal procedures).

During our years of waiting, it became customary for refusenik families to gather in front of the Moscow Synagogue each Saturday morning. We tried to keep together by exchanging information and experiences and supporting each other. Also it gave us an ample opportunity to meet with other refuseniks in the same situation. Any new people we met near the Synagogue could be KGB agents rather than allies. Even the synagogue was not safe from KGB surveillance. It was very important to learn to know each other well.