On June 2, when Natasha Rosenstein looked out her window, she saw “JEWS TO THEIR GRAVES” spray-painted in capital letters on the asphalt directly across the street. While her son gathered his neighboring friends, her husband put on his talith. “It’s been a long time since Moscow has seen a Jew in a talith,” he said as he went outside, where he stood over the cursed inscription, and prayed. It was a bold move and such an unusual sight that even the KGB kept its distance.

Presently, a KGB van arrived and parked directly over the words. Slowly and deliberately, agents painted over the letters one by one as the vehicle moved to expose them. Typical of the way in which the Soviet system works, there was not enough paint, so work was halted until more arrived. The second batch was another color, giving the street a ridiculous kaleidoscopic effect. Furthermore, by evening, this hasty cover-up proved inadequate, as the letters were already showing through. So, first thing the next morning, Natasha sent a telegram to the same police chief who had come the night of the demonstration. Since the writing in the street confirmed that the populace was approaching a ‘pogrom mentality,’ as he had warned, Natasha informed him that she was therefore preparing measures for her own defense. Very shortly, a team of workmen appeared, broke up, and then re-surfaced the blacktop.

June 2 turned out to be as busy as the day before, and Natasha’s apartment was used again. A press conference was unexpectedly arranged. I received word of it by telephone, and since I was near Ida’s, I immediately told her about it, and together we rode to Natasha’s.

As we all knew, Ida was constantly followed by tails whom she tried to ignore. But I knew that you really could not get used to them,- to the unrelenting psychological stress they caused. Only once was I ever able to elude my own tails, and what a relief that was - to have a few blessed hours of freedom. But my tails stuck around only a month or so, while Ida had had to put up with them for several years. At times when Ida and I traveled together, we were happy and more carefree. Yet even when we were in the street she would not talk about serious matters. “KGB ears are all around us,” she would say. She knew this very well, as microphones had been installed in her ceiling. Her thoughts could only be written down.

At 4:00 p.m. we were all meeting with correspondents from England, Denmark, and France. They listened intently as Irina Liner presented a detailed account of recent events, and they viewed photos of our children as well as the physical evidence – shreds of signs, KGB weapons, and our own cuts and bruises. (The next day I went to the hospital to document the bruises I received. I told the doctor some hooligans had broken into my friend’s apartment on Butler Street and beaten me. The files, however, were later taken by the KGB.) Ida was given the opportunity to explain all that had happened to her, but then at 6:00 p.m., she left alone.

Later on, when the press conference ended and we prepared to leave for our homes, we found our exit blocked. The journalists were detained and put through a document check. Finally they were allowed to leave. The rest of us were held until 9:00 p.m. Later we learned that this was to prevent our participation in a demonstration at Pushkin Square, protesting the arrest of Masha and Volodya Slepak. This was why Ida had left early from Natasha’s. Alas, she, along with Victor Yelistratov, Natasha Khasina, and Arik Rokhlenko were intercepted and arrested by the authorities, who twisted their arms and kicked them into the van. “So you enjoy this stuff?” they hissed, “We will teach you a lesson”.

By the time I approached my in-laws’ building it was nearly 11:00 p.m., and very quiet. For the first time in my life I witnessed how the Soviet authorities began a raid. Ida’s apartment was now their focus. A police van pulled up to her building. Several agents went inside, others hid in the bushes. My in-laws and I kept watch until the van left just before sunrise the following morning.

As soon as the van pulled out, we rushed over to Ida’s. As it turned out, they had conducted a search and seizure. Her books and diary were taken along with her second typewriter (her first had been confiscated in an earlier raid). Furthermore, the prosecutor subsequently falsified the report of the search, claiming that Ida’s friends had thrown rocks at her windows in order to interfere with the agents. Anyone who was objective about what happened clearly understood that this vandalism was the work of the ‘brave’ KGB, for only reason one would have acted this way in the presence of the police.