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I bequest the memories and the departure
To the then-popular joke:
“Could the last person to leave please turn off the light.”
This growing desire to emigrate among Soviet Jews coincided with the beginning of the
dissident movement in the USSR. These developments were not entirely independent: for some
Jewish intellectuals Jewish ethnic consciousness in the USSR was a new vector of intellectual
development, a new form of heterodoxy, and they regarded their own impatient escape from the
country as also a desperately important political cause.
In essence, the dilemma facing the Zionists at the start of the 20th century was repeated:
if it is your aim to leave Russia, should you at the same time maintain a political struggle within
it? Back then, most had answered “yes” to the struggle; now, most answered “no.” But an
increasingly daredevil attitude to emigration could not but feed a similarly daredevil attitude to
politics, and sometimes the daredevils were one and the same.
So for example (in 1976) several activists in the Jewish movement — V. Rubin, A.
Sharansky, V. Slepak — together made an independent decision to support
the Helsinki Group of
dissidents, but this was regarded in Jewish circles as an unjustifiable and unreasonable risk, as it
would lead to the immediate and total escalation of the government’s repression of Jewish
activism, and would moreover turn the Jewish movement into the property of dissidents.
On the other side, many dissidents took advantage of the synchronicity of the two
movements, and used emigration as a means of escape from their political battlefield for their
own safety. They found theoretical justifications for this: “Any honest man in the USSR is an
eternal debtor to Israel, and here is why…. The emigration breech was made in the Iron Curtain
thanks to Israel. It protects the rear of those few people willing to oppose the tyranny of the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union [CPSU] and to fight for human rights in the USSR. The
absence of this “emergency exit” would be deadly to the current democratic movement.”
It has to be admitted that this is a very cynical justification, and that it says little good of
the dissident movement as a whole. A hostile critic then noted: “These opponents [of the CPSU]
are playing an odd game: they become involved in the democratic movement, already sure of an
emergency exit for themselves. But by this they demonstrate the temporary and inconsequential
character of their activity. Do potential emigrants have the right to speak of changing Russia, or
especially on behalf of Russia?”
One dissident science fiction author (and later, after emigration, a Russian Orthodox
priest) suggested this formulation, that Jewish emigration creates a revolution in the mind of
Soviet man; the Jews, in fighting for the right to leave, become transformed into fighters for
freedom in general. The Jewish movement serves as a social gland that begins to secrete the
hormones of rights awareness; it has become a sort of ferment perpetuating dissidence. Russia is
becoming deserted. That “abroad,” so mythical before, is becoming populated by our own
people. The Jewish Exodus is gradually leading totalitarian Soviet Moscow to the plains of
freedom.”
This view was readily accepted, and in the coming years came to be loudly trumpeted:
“The right to emigrate is the primary human right.” It was repeated often and in unison that this
was an enforced escape, and talk about the privileged position Jews occupy with regards to
emigration is slander.
Yes, taking a lifeboat from a sinking ship is indeed an act of necessity. But to own a
lifeboat is a great privilege, and after the gruelling ordeals of half a century in the USSR Jews
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owned one, while the rest did not. Those more perceptive expressed a more conscientious
feeling: “It is fine to fight for the repatriation of Jews, it is understandable, and it is fine to fight
for the right to emigrate for everyone – that too is understandable; but you cannot fight for the
right to emigrate but,
for some reason, only for Jews.”
Contrary to the self-satisfied theoreticians of emigration, and their belief that it brought
all Soviet people closer to emigrating abroad and so partly freed them, in reality those unable to
emigrate came to feel more hopeless, to an even greater extent fooled and enslaved. There were
emigrants who understood this: “What is cruellest about this situation is that it is Jews who are
leaving. It has bizarrely become a question of something akin to a certificate of authenticity.”
Precisely. But they chose to blind themselves to this.
What could the remaining residents of totalitarian Moscow think? There was a great
variety of responses, from grievance (“You, Jews, are allowed to leave and we aren’t…”) to the
despair of intellectuals. L.K Chukovksaya expressed it in conversation to me: “Dozens of
valuable people are leaving, and as a result human bonds vital for the country are ripped apart.
The knots that hold together the fabric of culture are being undone.”
To repeat the lesson: “Russia is becoming deserted.”
We can read the thoughtful comments of an emigrant Jewish author about this Departure:
“Russian Jewry were pathfinders in their experiment to merge with the Russian people and
Russian culture, they became involved in Russia’s fate and history, and, repulsed away as if by a
similarly charged body, left.” (What an accurate and penetrating comparison!) “What is most
stunning about this Departure is how voluntary it was, at the moment of greatest assimilation.
The pathetic character of the Russian Aliyah of the 1970s was that we were not exiled from the
country on a king’s order or by the decision of party and parliament, and we were not fleeing to
save ourselves from the whips of an enraged popular pogrom. This fact is not immediately
obvious to the participants in this historical event.”
No doubt the Jewish emigration from the USSR ushered in a great historical shift. The
beginning of the Exodus drew a line under an epoch lasting two centuries of coerced co-
existence between Jews and Russians. From that point every Soviet Jew was free to choose for
himself — to live in Russia or outside it. By the second half of the 1980s each was entirely free
to leave for Israel without struggle.
The events that took place over two centuries of Jewish life in Russia – the Pale of
Settlement,the escape from its stultifying confines, the flowering, the ascension to the ruling
circles of Russia, then the new constraints, and finally the Exodus – none of these are random
streams on the outskirts of history. Jewry had completed its spread from its origin on the
Mediterranean Sea to as far away as Eastern Europe, and it was now returning back to its point
of origin.
We can see in both this spread and in its reversal a supra-human design. Perhaps those
that come after us will have the opportunity to see it more clearly and to solve its mystery.