On Saturday night I had a new friend to dinner, a Russian Jew who lives in the city who I
met a few months ago thru this blog. He grew up in
Siberia, spent a year or two in St. Petersburg, then moved to Israel during the great migration of Soviet
Jewry, served in the IDF, went to an elite university, then came to the U.S.
He works on Wall Street. In his 30s, devilishly charming, with a
Russian-emigre wife who's as smart as he is.
They were bringing their little girl, and his parents, in town from
Israel. My wife was alright with it. She'd never met my friends but
she said, Fine. And though my friend was hesitant to bring his parents,
and said there was a language barrier, that was out of the question for us. My
wife doesn't care about language barriers. Nor does my mom, who
was also visiting. She made an apple pie. I made spaghetti.
You could have small
conversations with the parents. Mom seemed more serious. A librarian.
Dad was like my friend, charming and artistic, with a wry smile. He had
a ponytail. I got out my world atlas and they showed me the place
they'd lived in Siberia. Norilsk. 70 degrees north. Most northerly city in the
world. They went there under an agreement with the Soviet government to
do 15 years. They liked it. Experienced a little antisemitism. But
mostly they told a story about their dog, Charlie, a giant Newfoundland. They had to give the dog to a pilot. Why? He wasn't really ever part of
our pack, my friend explained–his sex drive made him roam.
And soon after that the family left
the Soviet Union, even though they'd put in their 15 years. Why'd you
leave? "Everyone was leaving. You just went with the herd. The intelligentsia was leaving, in huge numbers," my friend said. "Of course there was the uncertainty about where the country was going, and the desire for a
better life in a better place."
We talked about
the troubles on Wall Street, and my friend held the table
for a half hour. He spoke of the $1 million bonuses some have gotten,
he explained mortgage-derived securities to us, and the reign of the
"quants." He said that many people have been told they will keep their
jobs, but who knows! he cried with a laugh. He told us how all the bonuses at Goldman dwarf
the entire value of some banks.
His parents spoke a little of
the economics of Putin's rise, about the computer industry in Israel, and about how good the health care is. I wanted to know about their
house. I said, "Is our house like an average house in Israel?" This is my belief. My wife and I have 1800 square feet: a modern
house in the woods, just one bathroom, which sometimes feels like a privation. But the parents looked around
and shook their heads. They named a fancy neighborhood in Jerusalem
where you might see houses like ours. That was quite a shock to my
values/vanity.
They left and there were hugs all around. My
wife went to bed. I leaned in the door to thank her. I was sheepish about having dumped an entire Russian family on her. I didn't know how she felt about it all till the next afternoon. Then she told me she'd found it an incredibly powerful evening. These people know the world in a way that we don't, she said. They've lived in
Siberia, they've moved through three countries. They understand how life works in a way that we don't: they are not sentimental, they are
philosophical. Did you notice how they were about the dog? Did you
notice how he was about Wall Street? If he loses his job, he's not
going into a vale of self-pity, he's going to find something else to
do. They're realistic. They made me feel very limited and
American, in my precious expectations, my upper-middle-class schemes. They
seem to understand life, its ups and downs, and to see it all as interesting. Every bit of
it.
