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There were families of many nationalities in our yard. For some time, we were the only Jews in our block or maybe even on entire Sovskaya Street. Our house was always open; we lived on the first floor and kept the windows open at all times. On Pesach, Sabbath and other Jewish holidays that were celebrated with strict observance of all Orthodox traditions, we always sang Jewish songs. I still remember our neighbors standing by our windows and enjoying our singing; I don't recall a single hint of any offence from them.
My father was highly respected by the people who lived on our street; when he was walking the street, men would lift their hats. My mother was always called Madam Averbukh, and all young girls tried to dress just like Madam Averbukh. Here is how she dressed: she sewed a jacket for my brother from an old overcoat, then made from it rags for polishing the floor. But later, mother washed it, excuse me, in urine, bought some faille de Chine and sewed a dress for herself - and everyone admired it! My mother was a wonderful needlewoman despite the fact that her forefinger on the right hand was defected due to sepsis right after my birth. The disease started with her right hand and doctors wanted to amputate it, but my mother refused to have her hand amputated. She said she could never survive with two children without a hand. She would rather die and have her husband marry another woman who would take good care of her children. Such was my mother's character.
We often invited my brother's Christian friends or my mother's Christian colleagues to our Pesach seder - and they enjoyed watching it. My father had a broad outlook, so when his friends would gather around the Jewish holiday table, he could, for instance, start a dispute on some philosophical questions with my brother's closest friend, the oldest son of academician Paton. My mother and brother read a lot; they got all kinds of different interesting books. I liked reading them when I was eight years old, too.
My father was highly respected by the people who lived on our street; when he was walking the street, men would lift their hats. My mother was always called Madam Averbukh, and all young girls tried to dress just like Madam Averbukh. Here is how she dressed: she sewed a jacket for my brother from an old overcoat, then made from it rags for polishing the floor. But later, mother washed it, excuse me, in urine, bought some faille de Chine and sewed a dress for herself - and everyone admired it! My mother was a wonderful needlewoman despite the fact that her forefinger on the right hand was defected due to sepsis right after my birth. The disease started with her right hand and doctors wanted to amputate it, but my mother refused to have her hand amputated. She said she could never survive with two children without a hand. She would rather die and have her husband marry another woman who would take good care of her children. Such was my mother's character.
We often invited my brother's Christian friends or my mother's Christian colleagues to our Pesach seder - and they enjoyed watching it. My father had a broad outlook, so when his friends would gather around the Jewish holiday table, he could, for instance, start a dispute on some philosophical questions with my brother's closest friend, the oldest son of academician Paton. My mother and brother read a lot; they got all kinds of different interesting books. I liked reading them when I was eight years old, too.
Location
Ukraine
Interview
Deborah Averbukh