Camel from Kyzylkum

Austria

I GOT OFF OF THE TRAIN and was not sure what to do next. Suddenly I saw a stumpy man with glasses speedily walking on the platform and shouting out: “Who is from the Soviet Union? Come with me!” The man was a representative of the HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society.

HIAS rescues people whose lives are in danger for being who they are; the organization protects the most vulnerable refugees, helping them build new lives and reuniting them with their families in safety and freedom. HIAS advocates for the protection of refugees and ensures that displaced people are treated with the dignity they deserve. It was established in 1881 to aid Jewish refugees from Eastern Europe. In 1975, the State Department asked HIAS to aid in resettling 3,600 Vietnamese refugees. Years later, in 2002, HIAS officially expanded its mission to help non-Jewish refugees.

From that moment on, starting in Vienna, my legal status in this world was as a refugee, and I was led by HIAS on my way to the United States of America.

When I stepped outside of the big railroad station in Vienna for the first time, I was shocked—in front of me I saw the dazzling, magnificent world with classy, shining cars coming and going, beautiful ladies in stylish fur coats and high heels getting out of cars, and tastefully dressed gentlemen helping them out. Station Square was busy but spotlessly clean. Tired, in my Soviet-style coat and knitted-by-myself hat, with my having-seen-better-days boots, dragging two heavy suitcases behind me, I felt like Cinderella at the ball of unknown life. It was unreal, like a shot in a movie. Today, thirty years later, I still remember this feeling like it happened just yesterday.

All of us who arrived from the Soviet Union gathered in one place and then climbed aboard the buses waiting near the railroad station. There were three buses, and they all took off in different directions.

Unfortunately, I saved no names of the places in Austria in my memory and I have no paper or picture trails left about my travels there. However, what is saved in my memory are my emotions and my reactions to everything I discovered while there.

Our bus brought our group of people to a gorgeous place high in the Alps mountains. There were about four houses in the tiny village, as well as a hotel and an RV park. It was a place where people were coming for skiing or for hiking in the mountains. Some of us were put in the hotel and others were assigned to the private houses—I was among the latter group.

The house I was placed in was quite big, with simple but comfortable furniture and decor, and it was exceptionally clean. The owners, husband and wife, were in their late sixties and retired. They were very kind people, and the husband liked to make jokes—we knew that because he tried to explain his jokes to us. They spoke only German and we spoke only Russian, so our communication was by gestures and guesses. I and another woman who was traveling solo—Lilya—were placed in the same room and shared one king-size bed. What has stayed in my memory from that home was a down blanket/comforter—it was so cozy and warm to sleep under this blanket on cold winter nights, and it was fluffy and weightless as a cloud. We shared the bathroom with another family that had a room on the second level of the house, next to us. On the first level, I think, two more families had rooms. The food was provided for us in the restaurant at the hotel, and we did not have to pay for it—it was paid for by HIAS. A special time for breakfast and dinner was allocated in this restaurant just for the refugee group.