Aron Levin Interviewer: Simon Rekhson Date of Interview: December 20, 2013 Location of Interview: 1221 Drury Court, Apt

Soviet Jewish Oral History Project Western Reserve Historical Society Interviewee: Aron Levin Interviewer: Simon Rekhson Date of interview: December 20, 2013 Location of interview: 1221 Drury Court, Apt. 442, Mayfield Heights

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Simon Rekhson: Okay, today is December 20th, 2013. We are in Aron Levin’s apartment to conduct an interview for the Western Reserve Historical Society. About your life, Aron. Welcome! It’s a big honor and joy for me to interview you, but first we need to go over a few standard questions just for the record. So, could you please introduce yourself: what’s your name?

Aron Levin: Aron Levin. I was born on January 1st in 1917. What else?

SR: Where?

AL: I was born in the village of Bervenovka, in the Gomel Region. This used to be Russia, and in about 1924, it became Belarus. We had to flee there from the thugs that ran this part of Gomel. And according to my passport, I was born in [the city of] Gomel. There was an external investigation there, because all of the documents had been lost along the way, and in my passport, it says that I was born January 1st, 1917, in the city of Gomel.

SR: January 1st, 1917. The year of the revolution.

AL: Yes. Well, at that time, our family was made up of nine people. Earlier, it used to be eleven, but two of them had already died—before the revolution, I think. So, in our family, we had five girls and two boys, including me. That is, five sisters and me. My father was a village Jewish schoolteacher; my mother, a housewife.

SR: Aron, I want to come back to this a little bit later. All of this is very important and interesting. But first, just some quick information about you. So, now we know what your name is and when and where you were born. Now you live here, in Cleveland. Right?

AL: Yes.

SR: Just very briefly for now: tell us a bit about yourself! What jobs have you worked throughout your life? As I understand it, you’ve had a few professions.

AL: So, what, tell you about my job?

SR: Of course. For now, we’ll just briefly go over some information, and later, we’ll get into more detail.

AL: So I’ll start where? With moving to Moscow?

SR: Your profession. These are just quick questions about your profession. You had several professions. Right?

AL: Well, I’ll say this. You’re recording this. Yes?

SR: We’re recording all the time.

AL: Well, alright. Since our family was large and it lived poorly, I decided at thirteen years old to enroll in construction school. I graduated within two years, but I had to move to Moscow to earn a living. I came there at fifteen years old, and decided to go to work. My older sister, Rosa, lived there. Since nobody would hire me at fifteen years old, I went to the city of Moscow’s chief labor inspector on Neglinnaya Street, who gave me a work assignment at factory №67— Mastyazhart, as it used to be called.

SR: Aron, you’re saying, “I went…I decided to go to work…” Did that really happen? A fifteen- year-old boy went by himself to Moscow?

AL: Yes.

SR: You stayed with relatives and went alone to find yourself a job?

AL: Well, of course.

SR: Sorry, what year was this?

AL: 1932.

SR: The year 1932. Okay, so…

AL: In 1932, I came to Moscow. I didn’t work long at the factory, only half a year. All because, though this factory had a workforce of 40,000, that year there was a mass layoff of workers. They wanted to put me in a different department. At first, I worked as a statistician. They wanted to help me out, but I noticed that, across from the factory, there was a textile mill. I went there, added a year [to my age] (I didn’t have a passport yet). I added a year so they would hire me, and they admitted me into a work specialization of product sorting. I worked at that mill for three years. During that time, at first, I enrolled in a geodetic technical institute, in the evening program, to work and study at the same time. But this evening program closed only half a year later, and became just a daytime program. They transferred me to this daytime program, but I decided not to study in the daytime program, because I didn’t want to live dependent on my sister. I decided to work and enrolled in the “Rabfak,” (Workers’ Faculty, university for workers in the Soviet Union) in the evening program.

SR: And how old were you when you made this decision?

AL: Well, I was 16, probably, or 17. It was a four-year school, but I finished these four years in two—because I enrolled in the second [term], but within a year transferred to the third term, and the fourth I already finished after leaving work. For the fourth term, I was already a student. I finished the Rabfak with honors, and immediately went with a group of friends to find a place to enroll and keep studying.

SR: Now, Aron, the “Rabfak:” is that what the workers’ faculty was called?

AL: Yes.

SR: And after that, by and large, you were already ready to go to college. So this was a serious education—the “Rabfak?”

AL: Secondary education.

SR: That’s to say this was a full secondary education, and you completed it over two years.

AL: Yes. I graduated with honors and I went to look for an institute. We went to a number of institutes, and settled on the HPI (the Historical-Philological Institute in Moscow), but then we found another institute. We took back our papers, went the law institute. It was called the Stuchko Institute of Government and Law then. There were thirteen applicants per spot there. I passed my exams with excellent scores. I’m saying it like it was. And so, I started studying in this institute. Studying was very interesting.

SR: Let’s stop for a second. I want…

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SR: Let’s continue.

AL: My classes at the institute were very interesting. There were world-renowned professors there. I listened to them carefully. But, unfortunately, after half a year of my studies at this institute, I was, as an active Komsomolets (youth branch of the Communist Party), drafted into the Moscow school for the NKVD (law enforcement agency of the Soviet Union). They explained, “Don’t you worry. You’ll be able to continue your law education there.” I studied at this school for one year. They sent me to work for the NKVD, in the department of state security.

SR: And how can we spell out the NKVD? People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs?

AL: Yes. After finishing this school, they sent me to Oryol. The Oryol Oblast, which contained 67 regions, had just been formed. That’s where they organized the regional state security administration. And so they sent me to work in this administration. I worked there doing—well, how can I put it—operative work. And during the war, I worked in the counterintelligence department. Once the war started, I was 24 years old. For the entire war, I worked in counterintelligence, where I combatted foreign intelligence services: Abwehr, the Gestapo, Karyuk (translator’s note: uncertain rendering of original), the Feldgendarmerie Polizei

(translator’s note: uncertain rendering of original), and other organizations. We waged a battle against all of these organizations. By the way, in one of the cities of Belarus, I think, there was a school organized by the Germans, a [military] intelligence school. We played a game with this school. A so-called “radio game.” At the very start of the war.

SR: And what was the idea behind this game?

AL: The thing is, they left their agents during the war. We flipped some of them, and with their help, we gave the information we needed to this military intelligence school. That is, we gave misinformation. And, at the same time, we also planted our own agents in this school. And so, later, along with the help of one of those who was thrown out [of a plane] with a parachute, we called for a [paratrooper] drop of Germans and took all of the parachuters captive (laughs). That was how things were. So, now, in the start of June 1941, I evacuated my family from Oryol to Siberia. First to Stalingrad, and then they moved to Siberia.

SR: This was already after June 22, after the war started?

AL: No, I moved them before that.

SR: You moved them before?

AL: No, it was during the war, after all, at the beginning. But I went on orders to the front lines of the war, where I had an assignment to help in an organization of partisan troops. I got in touch with the Party’s raikom (district committee) in Dyatkovo, with the headquarters of the 50th army, and started working. There in Dyatkovo, we blew up two factories. One was for crystal, the second was a machine works. Then, I helped send an echelon with bread behind our front lines. But at the time, the Germans had already occupied the village of Bytosh, where I was carrying out this work. The Germans took Bytosh. There was an enormous lake in Bytosh and it turned out that, on one side of the lake, there were already Germans who had broken through Desna, and we were on the other side of the lake. But, when the Germans had already crossed over, I, along with some of our raikom colleagues, had to return through the woods to Dyatkovo—but there was already nobody there. The entire army had already evacuated. I didn’t find anybody at the headquarters, and we had to leave the area. Because we were already surrounded by three armies as I remember it: the 13th, 3rd and 50th, I think. I got out of the area. This was in September 1941.

SR: This was during the time when the Germans surrounded [the area] and took hundreds of thousands of troops captive?

AL: Yes. And I got out of the area under siege. In one of the villages, a local teacher—there were five of us, in this group that was getting out of the region. In this group was me, the chief of police Dyadkovskiy, one more police officer, and two girls. Five people were leaving the besieged region, and this teacher spotted us, called us over, made us tea, gave us a map and showed us the way to best leave the area. Unfortunately, the Germans later hung this woman, because local traitors told the Germans that she had helped people get out of the besiegement.

Well, we had to fight our way out of the region first. We came out of the besieged area to a city called Belyov. There was a barrier troop standing there. This barrier troop immediately detained us and started harassing the police chief, because he was the oldest one.

SR: The barrier troop was Soviet?

AL: Yes. Soviet troops. This police chief had an intelligent look, but was all unshaven, unkempt and in rags, because we had changed along the way. So, therefore, they were immediately suspicious of him. They asked for his papers, but he didn’t have anything. He’d torn them all up on the way out of the occupied area. He was taken away to be shot. I saved him. How? Because I hadn’t burned my documents. I had everything, even my KGB identification. I had a pistol on me and still had two grenades left. And so, I saved him. I said I’m so-and-so. They said, “Well, okay. You come with us to the commandant.” I came to the commandant. There’s a mountain of weapons lying in the corner of the room. He also saw my pistol and my grenades and said, “Come on, remove your weapons.” I said, “The grenades, here, by all means. But I won’t give you my pistol, because I’m still on duty, and I need to get to Yelets.” Because Oryol was already occupied by the Germans. He heard me out and, in the end, they didn’t take my pistol. They even helped me get on a cutter, on a train, so that I could go to Yelets from Bilieva [Belarus]. In Yelets, I came to my department of state security, which had transferred from Oryol along with the Bryansk Front headquarters and the headquarters for directing partisan movements. Everybody was in Yelets at this time. They gave me a new uniform, new clothes, and said, “Get to work.” Well, I got to work. I already told you about the work we did against German intelligence and counterintelligence. I had another assignment in 1942.

SR: I had the sense that you were in occupied territory twice. At least, more than once. Is that so?

AL: No. I was in occupied territory one time. I already told you about that. The second time, they sent me behind enemy lines, in a plane now.

SR: Yes. That’s what I meant—that you were behind enemy lines a few times. This is very dangerous business.

AL: Should I tell you about it?

SR: Of course!

AL: In 1942, from the partisan brigade commanded by Duca Mikhail Ilyich, hero of the Soviet Union, two brothers named Semenov—Seraphim and Oleg—were summoned to Moscow. Seraphim was the deputy commander of the brigade, and Oleg was just a partisan scout. They were summoned to Moscow, ostensibly, for a conference, but in reality, they’d set up a “naruzhka” of them.

SR: Set up a what?

AL: Surveillance. And then they sent them by order of the narkom (People’s Commissariat) for State Security to Yelets for further investigation—because they had talked about how, during their undercover work in the German-occupied city of Bryansk, they’d managed to escape, to flee from prison. This was so legendary that they didn’t believe them, and decided that they were German scouts. They were arrested and sent to Moscow, and assigned me to lead this investigation.

SR: They decided that they’d been flipped and freed?

AL: Yes. And I was assigned to lead all of this. From that time on, I became an investigator. The entire war, I was in the investigative field of counterintelligence. And so, while I was leading this matter, I started to understand that it seemed they were telling the truth. But there was no evidence in either direction. I came to my bosses and said, “Without going into the partisan troops and maybe elsewhere, we won’t figure this business out.” I said, “If you’d like me to, I’ll go.” Well, they gave the go-ahead and gave me a special certification, which I have even now, so that the partisan troops and citizens of the Soviet Union would assist me in my work. I sewed this up and went to the village of Troyekurovo. I went first to Moscow, where at that time, as a matter of fact, the brigade commander, Duca; his aide-de-camp; a famous man named [Sydir] Kovpak and a few other people were there. And I met up with them.

SR: Was he a general?

AL: Yes. I met up with them all first, so that Duca would help me fly over the front lines. They helped me. I went to the village of Troyekurovo…

SR: You flew over the front lines and landed where?

AL: Well, I haven't finished yet. I went from Moscow to Troyekurovo, where a special squadron was stationed whose task was to transport people over the front line. I went to this village of Troyekurovo and during this time, became friends with some pilots, with a pilot named Alexander Sushkov in particular—he was a special polar pilot who flew regularly over enemy lines. I became friends with him. While we waited to fly out (we waited because the weather wouldn’t let us fly and I had to spend an entire month there, in a small house near the squadron), he was given an assignment to go to Moscow for weapons and for rations. I asked to go to Moscow with him, and he said, “Pyatov”—the commander of the squadron—“strictly forbade me from bringing anybody on board.” Well, I persuaded him, and he took me. We flew. There was a stop between Moscow and Lebedyan, in Warsaw.

SR: And you flew from Troyekurovo?

AL: Yes, from Troyekurovo. In the Ryazanskaya Oblast.

SR: Ryazanskaya?

AL: Either Tambovskaya or Ryazanskaya.

SR: So the distance to Moscow was considerable? How far, approximately?

AL: Well, it was decent. The stop was in Warsaw. They wouldn’t let him take off there because of a snowstorm, because of terrible wind and weather, but because of me (laughs) he had to break that rule. He got up in the air, but didn’t make it to Moscow, because he got a telegram to return to base immediately due to the threat of ice, and he was forced to turn back.

SR: This was the winter of 1941-1942 or 1942-1943? What years?

AL: This was in December 1942.

SR: The winter of 1942-1943.

AL: Yes. And so, when we were flying up to the airfield, he saw a large crowd and, with them, Pyatov, the squadron commander [who had forbidden him to take anybody]. He says, “Here’s what we’ll do. When I circle around, there’s going to be a big snow bank. I’ll open the door, and you don’t be afraid and jump.” And that’s what we did. When he was flying low over this snow bank, I jumped. Fell into the snow up to my neck (laughs). The guys who were there [in Troyekurovo] with me were expecting me, and saw me from the house. They ran to meet me and helped me get out of this snowdrift. Anyways, we waited for a little while after this. When the weather improved, this same Sushkov and I flew behind enemy lines. Closer to the front, we hit air pockets, because we were flying on an American plane—the Douglas—but it was a small plane back then, only took thirteen tons. We flew on this plane, landed. There was some house there, hard to make out at night. We spent the night in this little house. Then, I went from this house to the united headquarters for all partisan brigades, which was nearby. The commander there was Evlyutin. He knew me well. He was a former Chekist (the Cheka was a Soviet state security organization), too. He knew me well, and said, “We’ll give you a plane, (the plane was called “U-2,” it seems), and with this plane, we’ll send you to Duca.” I said, “No. Look, I see you’re sending a group to scout the best way to this brigade; I’ll go with them.” And I went with them.

SR: Aron, I’m going to interrupt you for a second. I was interested in where all of this happened and when, because December 1942 and January 1943 are the time when the battle of Stalingrad was happening.

AL: Yes, that’s absolutely right.

SR: And this was the turning point of the war. So, as I understand it, you were not located very far from such a historic time, when the fate of the war was being decided, if not the fate of the world.

AL: That’s right.

SR: Go on, Aron.

AL: Where did I stop?

SR: You declined to fly and went on foot…

AL: Yes, so I went. We were looking for a route. First, we almost stumbled into an ambush, but made it through. We heard German voices and everything came out alright. And then, we stopped in some little village to rest, but in the house where we stopped, the food was still hot—it was clear that people had just left. We came out of this little house and, suddenly, from over some large bank, appeared a large group of people. Moreover, they were in the same camouflage as us. There were five of us coming out of the house. We thought that these were Russians, that they were partisans. We had an undercover scout with us, Valya Safronova, who had just returned from Moscow. She’d been wounded in the head in combat with the Germans, and that was why she’d been sent to Moscow. And there, the Komsomol had used her to travel to factories, to plants, where she talked about everything. And so, when she had already returned (she flew with me to the troop), she and I went together. And it happened such that we were standing together—her with a rifle, and me with a pistol—one of us was still in the house, and the others had somehow immediately noticed all of them, including, to that end, Duca’s aide-de-camp and his intelligence chief. They see them and immediately took off, but were waving at us first, gesturing that we should also take off, because they understood…but we didn’t understand, we thought these were partisans. Valya even shouted at them, “Why are you standing there? Come over to us!” [Because] two old ladies had shown up first. And they’d been shouting, “Come over to us! What are you afraid of? We’re your own people, after all.” But I was looking and saw, suddenly, a German among them, a German uniform with the iron cross. I realized right away that this was their punitive squad. I shouted to Valya, “Let’s go— these are Germans! Let’s run!” There were over a hundred people there. Well, as soon as I shouted, they started shooting. And it’s a good thing that this was the Bryansk forest, where there are dense trees you can hide behind. We started running, but Valya got caught in the gunfire right away, and the Germans immediately grabbed her. All of this happened in front of my eyes. Meanwhile, I didn’t even have a map, a compass. I had nothing. I didn’t know anything without them, but suddenly, I saw that the scout who had been left [inside] was running from the house, since he’d heard the bursts of machine-gun fire, and I joined up with him. We ran together. At first, they took chase, but later, it stopped. But there was firing all around us. Who would have known that, at that time, the Germans were organizing a raid on the partisans, and there was a serious battle going on. We waited out the night…

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SR: Please, continue!

AL: Anyways, when I arrived to Duca, Hero of the Soviet Union’s, partisan brigade, I began to investigate. I visited a great deal of partisan troops. I carried out interviews on this subject. To that end, I infiltrated occupied Bryansk, in Bezhitsa—this is a small city near Bryansk. I got into a safe house, with the help of one scout who accompanied me that night, in secret, so that nobody would see. I explained to the owner of the safe house who I was, what I was. He believed me, especially since I showed him my documents. And he told me everything about the work of these brothers. How they fled, how they came to him to hide. He told me all of this.

Anyways, I developed the impression that they were innocent, that they had really carried out a great deal of undercover work, and that it was literally through legendary means that they managed to escape from prison from the Germans. However, during my investigation there amongst the partisans, I discovered a real German intelligence agent. This was one of the undercover partisans that the Germans had arrested, but he’d shown his weakness and been recruited by the Germans, who planted him as a stool pigeon in the prison with these two brothers. He listened to what they said and passed everything along to the Germans.

SR: Ahh…this is very interesting.

AL: We reported this informant over the radio to the headquarters of the partisan movement, and they ordered me to bring him to Yelets when I flew back.

SR: Now this, of course, is a very big achievement. Not only did you believe the owner that these brothers were in no way guilty, and were true soldiers, but you also found the reason the information against these brothers arose. Really this information was very suspicious. You explained very clearly where it came from. This, of course, was very important. And what happened with this informant?

AL: He was convicted.

SR: You brought him in?

AL: I brought him in.

SR: You arrested him and brought him in?

AL: No, I didn’t arrest him.

SR: How then? You persuaded him?

AL: Well, the Germans had already put him into the troop, and he was already in the partisan troop, and again working as a scout. Duca was under the impression that he also needed to go to a meeting in Moscow…So he didn’t know that he was going to be arrested. He went with me and one scout back from the troop. We went to the plane.

SR: And because he was with you, he invited you all to fly together? Duca invited you?

AL: Yes. And so, we came to the place where the plane usually lands. I was supposed to get in, and also these two other guys. But Evlyutin was already sitting there, the commander of all the troops in the Bryansk forest. He saw me coming with two other people and said, “And who’s this?” And I said, “He’s with me.” And all three of us sat in the plane. So, we flew into Yelets. That guy was interrogated further and sent on to a special council, I think. He was given twenty years, and I continued my work with the brothers. Also interrogations and so on. And, finally, I came to the conclusion that I needed to write my findings for their release. For literally three days, I locked myself in my office.

SR: Aron, and for this entire time, were they under arrest?

AL: Well, how else? They were under arrest in Yelets. I carried out an investigation with the partisans, and they remained under arrest.

SR: I understand. I was under the impression that this was a time when getting arrested wasn’t that hard, but proving that one was innocent was nearly impossible. But you took this up.

AL: I’ll tell you. So, I literally locked myself in my office and started writing my findings on their release. I write my findings. I come to the department chief. I say, “I came to the conclusion that they are innocent—and not only innocent, but genuine heroes, because they carried out a great deal of work undercover, and actually fled from the Germans! Here, I brought evidence of it.” And the department chief says, “Well, you know what, then…” And in front of me, he took up the phone and called the First Secretary of the obkom (oblast, regional committee) of the Party. Matveev (translator unable to identify) was his name. He calls him and says, “Here’s the deal—the narkom itself is keeping track of this matter’s investigation, and Levin has decided that they’re innocent. What do I do with them? What’s the ruling?” (He didn’t venture to underwrite it himself.) And he’s told, “Bring him to me! Come with him and bring this investigative business. We’ll take a look.” And so I came to the obkom…

SR: You say “the narkom itself.” The narkom is what?

AL: The People’s Commissariat.

SR: And this is equivalent to what position?

AL: The Minister of Internal Affairs or State Security. And I, along with the First Secretary of the oblast committee, came to the obkom of the Party; meanwhile, Matveev had already summoned the Second Secretary [of the oblast committee], Nikolai Ignatov, I believe—who later became chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR under Khrushchev, I think—but at that time, he was the Second Secretary of the obkom of the Party. And so, these two started interrogating me (laughs). This went on for four hours, I think. And they were asking me questions the entire time, but Ignatov, the Second Secretary, asked the most questions. And while I was demonstrating that [the brothers] needed to be released, he was saying, the entire time, “What are you yammering about?! They need to be arrested immediately. And you’re a Chekist. You’re a People’s [Commissariat] investigator, aren’t you? Crap is what this is…” Meanwhile, Matveev was at this time not only the First Secretary of the Party’s obkom, but also a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, and a member at the front headquarters and the director of partisan movements. This was a big figure. He could decide this matter. He looked around, reviewed everything, and then looked straight at me and said, “Give me your findings!” And I give him my findings, and he takes a red pencil and writes, “Approved.” That's how I achieved their release.

SR: That’s a big deal. This is a unique case.

AL: Yes, this was very rare. Though, during the length of the war, I freed seven more people from arrest. The thing was, when SMERSH came through, they arrested people along the way.

SR: And SMERSH is counterintelligence?

AL: “Death to spies.” This is a counterintelligence department, military intelligence. I was in territorial intelligence, and this was military. And so, for example, SMERSH arrested one girl who was also getting ready to fly to the enemy, but the commander, the investigator who lead this matter, tried to rape her, and she didn’t submit. He handed the matter over to us, and SMERSH went ahead. I immediately understood that this girl wasn’t guilty of anything and freed her. Then they arrested five people—girls who had passed through the entire occupied territory and managed to pass over the front lines. SMERSH handed them over to us, also. I freed them all, too. Later, on an assignment in the Voronezhskaya oblast, in some village, I came across this girl. When [the people] saw me, the entire village poured out—she had told them that I’d freed her, and the entire village came out to thank me. Such are the things that happened. What else?

SR: Aron, I think that now, maybe we need to fast-forward into the future and come closer to our present time. You know how I love your stories of the war years, because this is so significant, and we all owe so much to the fact that you helped defeat fascism. But now you and I need to move on into the future, after 1945, when the victory was accomplished, to your immigration and talk about…

AL: Then I need to tell you what happened right after the war. Maybe a year after. I was promoted to another position—they made me head of the secretariat of the oblast’s Directorate of State Security. But at the end of 1949, around December 1949, three people were sent from the narkom—an inspection to check my work, the secretariat’s work. They inspected for a very long time, and then they called for me and said, “The decision we’ve come to for your command is that you need to be transferred from the position of head of secretariat to the administrative work of a chief of AHO (operational-administrative department of management [uncertain rendering of original]).”

SR: So they were trying to move you off to the side?

AL: Yes—to move me away from their secrets. I told them right away, “I’m not going under any circumstances. If I can’t be head of the secretariat anymore, then transfer me back to investigative work.” They said, “Well, okay. We’ll take it into account,” and they went to Moscow. After some time, I receive, as the head of the secretariat, a piece of mail, which I was first required to read, then pass along to the head of the administration. I open the mail, including the section on orders regarding personnel, and at that time, I was already a major and was supposed to soon be given the title of lieutenant colonel. I look, and all of the former students of the school I graduated from have been raised to the title of lieutenant colonel, but my name isn’t there. Then I look further, and I see, “Levin Aron Yaakovlevich—dismiss due to unviability of further use!” That’s the order I read. I walked around with this order for three days, not showing it to the boss (laughs). I kept thinking about what to do next, and then I came

11 to him and said, nice and calm, “Here, I received this order to dismiss me due to unviability of further use.” He says, “How?! We decided to transfer you to administrative work and they decided to dismiss you?” I say, “I have a request for you. You hold off on this order to dismiss me. I didn’t go on vacation for the entire war. Give me a month’s vacation, and I’ll go to Moscow to prove my alibi.” He agreed, and I—in my uniform, with my weapon, everything as it should be—went to Moscow. I came to the narkom and went to [Viktor] Abakumov’s deputy.

SR: Abakumov was a minister?

AL: He was made Minister of State Security. I came to his deputy of personnel and asked why I had been dismissed. He says, “Now, you just wait.” He gets my case. In this Ministry’s register, I was head of the secretariat. He gets this case and says, “You are dismissed because there are serious compromising materials on relatives in your wife’s family. You know we can’t trust people like that. Whether you talk to them or not.” I say, “Okay. And against me, personally, what are the complaints?” He says, “Hold on, we’ll see.” He leafs through the case and, at the very end, past what is printed, is an envelope, which he opens and looks at: “Aha. Here you had said that you were ready to return to any job, even a guard, just to return to Moscow. You see here, you didn’t even want to work in the agency.” I realized that I had a snitch in the agency, and I even realized who had done it. This was the head of inspections, our oblast inspections, who I was friends with and shared everything with. And he had snitched on me.

SR: This was 1949. Right?

AL: Yes, 1949. That’s right. This was December 1949. He denied me. Then I decided to go to the Central Committee, but on my way out, I came across the head of inspections for the narkom, a girl who I’d been friends with at the institute. I was taken into the school after the institute, but she had graduated from this law institute in 1941. She was immediately taken into the Ministry of State Security, and when I ran into her, she was in the rank of major, like me. She says, “What are you doing here?” I told her everything, as a friend, and she, as a friend, advised me not to go to the Central Committee. These are the times we’re in…She didn’t tell me directly that all Jews were being dismissed, but I had already met them myself in the access bureau from other oblasts, all of whom had come for the truth.

SR: You decided to fight for the truth?

AL: Yes (laughs). She said, “Don’t go to the Central Committee! Be grateful that they didn’t expel you from the Party!” Generally speaking, here was the procedure: when the Chekists were being dismissed, they were expelled from the Party, but I hadn’t been expelled. She says, “Be grateful. At least you’ll be able to find a job somewhere.” I listened to her. I called my wife, Lyuba. Literally a few months before, we had been given a large three-room apartment, in a special building for Chekists in Oryol.

SR: Aron, it seems to me that, really, she saved you—because this was this was the years 1949 and 1950…these were the years of increasing anti-Semitic terror, and if you had continued…

AL: Agreed. Stalin had already given the command for all Jews to be quickly dismissed from the Cheka, and I was part of that.

SR: Yes. And, at that time, he only had the idea to dismiss people, but after some three-four years, he already had another idea—to ship us all to Siberia. So if you had stayed in this work, they could have arrested you on some made-up matter. So that was the time to hide and run…

AL: Should I go on?

SR: Of course.

AL: I called my wife from Moscow and said, “I’ve decided to leave Oryol. Why would I stay there, since they dismissed me? Let’s go!” I had the opportunity to stay in Moscow to live. My older sister’s husband offered me his stone dacha near Moscow (he was a member of the Moscow Council, the director). He told me, “You give me even just a couple thousand to help me with the money for the repairs, and you take half the dacha for yourself, and live in Moscow.” And I called my wife Lyuba, and she responds, “Better yet, let’s go to Leningrad.” And in Leningrad lived my mother and all of my sisters. Well, not really my entire family—everybody except my older sister and my brother, who already lived in Moscow, while one sister, married, lived in Ramensky. Left in Leningrad were my mother and two sisters. One sister was born in 1911, and the second in 1915. I was the youngest in the family. I went home then. We took all of our things. The manager at the terminal helped me “evacuate,” as they say, to Leningrad. We arrived. For three months and ten days, I went around all of the agencies, trying to find a job. Everywhere, they talked to me, everywhere, they told me “You fit our criteria, take a form, sign it and come for work.” But as soon as I signed…the fifth line (translator’s note: Referring to the fifth line of information in a Soviet passport—ethnicity—which identified a person as Jewish) was clearly visible: ethnicity. As soon as I signed, they immediately said, “Come back tomorrow!” (laughs) and that was it. In short, nobody hired me for work. The business in Leningrad was famous…this was already January 1950. The first deputy chief of the Leningrad department of State Security happened to be my good friend, who had been transferred there from Oryol for work, while in Oryol, all of the commanding officers had been arrested. I thought, “Why don’t I go to him?” I went to him. There was a man named Gorbunov, a deputy. I come to him and say, “Such and such and so on…I can’t find work.” He says, “Alright. Actually, in the highest-classified, primary division, the KB (design bureau) needs a chief. You fit.” I say, “Well, fantastic! I’ll go.” And he says, “But I have to send a request to Moscow, because this is a Moscow position…” I say, “Send it!” After a while, he gives me a call: “Come down! The response came.” Well, I think—okay, everything’s in order! I come, and he says, “Here, read it.” And there, it’s written, “We cannot allow so-and-so, insofar as he has been dismissed for the unviability of further use, and he cannot be permitted to do further secret service.” Later, it turned out they transferred another of the district department heads from Oryol. He was head of the district department of Security in Kuybyshev, also my good buddy. He also wanted to help me. He called the chairman of the ispolkom (Executive Committee) and the Leningrad Council: “So-and-so is going to come to you…Help him find a job.” That man, chairman of the ispolkom of the Leningrad Council, received me immediately and said, “You know what…Here, at Petrodvorets (Peterhof). Do you

13 know this place? They need somebody to head the commercial department. If you want, we can send you there. Do you have an apartment?” I say, “No.” He says, “Well, look, there you’ll have both an apartment and a job. You’ll be the chief of the commercial department, you’ll be provided for.” I say, “Why, I’m not interested under any circumstances. This commercial [business], work in commerce…has always made me sick. My brother left commerce because of the hustlers there. I won’t go into commerce.” He answers, “Well, then we can’t do anything for you then.” That’s it, I left. I searched for work for a long three months and ten days, then I thought, “What am I thinking—I’m a member of the Party…I’ll go register my name to the list. I’ll go to the First Secretary of the raikom.” I came to him, told him that I had been dismissed from the agency, and I needed to work. He talked to me for a long time. He says, “You know what? There’s an interdistrict office here, “Lengaz” (an office that provides three Leningrad districts with gas), and the chief of the office is very good. He’s such an expedient man! He dismissed five Jews recently…You go to him! They need a secretary of Party organization.” That he had dismissed Jews went in one ear and out the other (laughs). I say, “Alright! I’ll go to him.” And so I go to him, and he sits me down in a chair in the same office where I would later be the boss. He talked to me for a long time, told me everything—everything down to the minutia of his administration, of who works as what, how people work. He says, “This girl who works in Party organization now…I need to transfer her. She doesn’t suit me,” he says. “Now, you—you’ll be a good secretary. I’ll make you a supervisor, while in reality, you will be the secretary of Party organization.” I say, “Wonderful.” He says, “Well, good. Go to the personnel department!”

SR: So, Aron, this is while they haven’t seen your documents and are looking at your blue eyes…

AL: Yes. He says, “Go, get a form there, and I’ll sign it.” And I ask, “And when do I start?” He answers, “Come tomorrow! I’ll provide you with everything you need.” I take a form, fill it out, come back in, give it him, I’m sitting here, he’s sitting there, and he’s reading all of this and his face is changing, he’s getting redder and redder, then he raises his eyes to me and says, “Fine! Since the raikom sent you, come for work tomorrow. I’ll put you down as a supervisor.” But he already had something in mind. He put me down as a supervisor with a two-week probationary period, and affixed the chief of one of the bureaus to me (the bureau was for underground gas lines, and the supervisor ‘house-elf’ served household gas systems), so that he would teach me at work, but he told him, “You keep a close eye on him!” And I really did start delving into the work, studying the blueprints, even went to the gas equipment plant, learned some things there—I prepared myself well. I come and see, on the wall, an order hanging about my dismissal, the probationary period notwithstanding. He hadn’t even had a conversation with me about it. I come to him and ask, “Why?” And he answers, “Well the guys who we attached to you say that you aren’t suitable.” I then went to my bosses at the Leningrad Council, in the Leningrad department of gas administration. There was a man there named Solovyev. I forget his patronymic name…I say, “I was fired for such-and-such.” He sends me to his deputy, the head engineer of the department. “Go see him. Talk to him.” he says. That man hears me out. He says, “What in the world is he doing?! A supervisor is due a one-month probationary period.” He goes and calls him: “What did you fire him for?! He has a one-month [trial period]…and you gave him two weeks, and then dismissed him right away. You take him back and change your order.” And the other one starts to argue: “Why, he doesn’t know a damn thing! He’s a pansy,

14 he hasn’t even held a wrench in his hands. What kind of supervisor can he be?” And he answers him, “You listen to what you’re told! Go and change your order! Reinstate him to work!” He answers, “No, I won’t reinstate him. Why, you know he’s a Jew!!!” (I hear this over the phone.) The deputy answers, “You listen to what you’re told! You don’t want to change your order, we’ll change it ourselves.” And they gave an order regarding the cancellation of this chief’s order and reinstating me at work. I started working. But they told me, “Just keep in mind that we’re only giving you a month. You get yourself prepared! We still have an annual certification for all technical-engineering workers. We’ll summon you for the exam, and if you make it through that, you’ll work, and if you don’t, then that’s another matter…”

SR: Why did this second person so want to hire and keep you at the job? Didn’t he risk his own career, if then…

AL: He was a big worker in the Party’s obkom, and he had been transferred to work as the chief engineer in the Leningrad gas administration department. He heard me out, understood me perfectly, and decided to stand up for me.

SR: So, he sympathized because he had also suffered?

AL: Well, maybe because of that, or maybe because he decided that I would throw a fit over the matter.

SR: But, to sympathize is one thing, but to go against the Party line—that’s something else entirely. Did he happen to be a third-generation Jew—have a Jewish great-grandfather, great- grandmother?

AL: No. He was a pure Rusak (ethnic Russian).

SR: Aron, if you think of that time as a whole—of the fates of other people, of what was written in the newspapers, or of what Lyuba told you about her relatives—what can you remember? It was a very dangerous time for Jews then, two years before the death of Stalin. We’re talking about 1951 or 1950, 1952 now? One of these, right?

AL: When they dismissed me?

SR: No, when you already got the [new] job. This was what year?

AL: This was January 1950.

SR: That was a very bad time for Jews.

AL: Yes. I already knew about [Solomon] Mikhoels, that he had already been killed, that there was already a campaign against Zionists; I already understood that Jews were being chased out of everywhere. Besides that, when I frequently went to Moscow, I would stop in at my sister’s, and there was always a conversation going on about this. I listened to all of this, knew about all of this business…

SR: And the campaign against the Zionists was what? Was that in Leningrad or Moscow?

AL: No. This was in 1948. When Mikhoels was killed—in reality, by order of the narkom, but they said that it was members of the OUN [Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists] that did it. The entire JAC [Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee], as it was called—this was the committee directed by Mikhoels, who went abroad and collected money to aid the war effort…

(conversation trails off)

…Where did I leave off?

SR: You started working at the “gazprom…” (gazovaya promishlenost, gas industry)

AL: No, not at the gazprom. There was an interdistrict office: Lengaz, which later became a company, and I later became the director of this company. In short, I made it through the exam a month later. Not to mention, they specially set up the exam to be with those two—the supervisor and the bureau chief—and they put down ‘good’ for all three of us. I asked the commission, “Why [just] ‘good?’ I answered all of your questions!” And they answer, “We can’t. It’s uncomfortable. They’ve worked here for a long time, so we mark down ‘excellent.’” That bureau chief, though, was fired anyways—there was an event that he ended up being fired for. But the Leningrad department of gas facilities sent another man in his place, Bondarenko. Bondarenko treated me wonderfully. But that was also because he knew me from before. We had worked together, under his command. Sometime later, I was a supervisor and he made me the head of the production sector—that’s an engineering position. There were five of those sectors, I think. He made me head of the household gas sector. Here’s something that happened during this time…I was working at home one Sunday. This was on the Fontanka [River]. And there was a bridge that crossed over the Fontanka. Suddenly, I hear an enormous explosion. I immediately run there, to this place. I look, and the police is already there, the firefighters, Gorbunov, the chief of the State Security department.

SR: A gas line had exploded there?

AL: Yes. It turned out that a gas line across the Fontanka had exploded. It was in the spaces under the bridge. Later, this was banned. Now a gas line is either external or underwater. After this, the Moscow Commission arrested a lot of people over the affair. The explosion was big; people were thrown from the bridge. They had actually been watching the excavator, which was at work on the Fontanka. A few were thrown into the water by the explosion. It turns out that a spark had hit the gas line, resulting in an air/fuel mixture, and the explosion happened. Concrete supports came up from under the bridge. It was terrible. Everybody was summoned to the Party obkom to investigate the matter. They also summoned the new head of our office, and there was some question that this chief wasn’t able to answer. So some member of the obkom tells my department head, Solovyev, “What, you can’t pick people who have a decent knowledge of the gas industry?” When I’d gotten my shoes on, he (the obkom member) calls me over to him and says, “We want to appoint you as the head.” I say, “How? There’s still a

16 planning department there, there are sectors, there are chief engineers, and I go straight to chief…I haven't even seen gas with my own eyes.”

SR: Aron, what did they want to make you the chief of?

AL: The head of the third interdistrict office of Lengaz, which later became a gas industry company. I tell him then, “Give me three days to think about it.” I go back and tell me sister’s husband that they’d offered me this job. He tells me, “Don’t agree to it under any circumstances. It’s a powder keg, and if anything should happen, it falls right on you.” I say, “Then what do I do? Nobody hires me.” I thought about it and agreed. He appointed me. I started working in the position of chief. They appointed me in April 1950.

SR: And you worked as the head of the gas department for forty years. Is that right?

AL: I worked in the gas industry for thirty years straight. Other directors of these companies were all deputies in the raisovets (district council), but, as a Jew, I wasn’t accepted into them. Even after I was appointed, I’d worked for some time, and then I noticed that I had been removed from the raikom’s register. I thought, “Why aren’t they calling me out for my [post- probationary] confirmation hearing?” I called the Secretary of the raikom of Leningrad’s Pervooktyabrskaya district and say, “Why aren’t you confirming me?” He answers, “What?! They still haven’t done your confirmation? Come to the raikom tomorrow.” I came and they confirmed me.

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Larisa Levin: …and so the next moment, a Russian man sits down next to me. He was young. He was no more than 27 years old, and I was already a mother of two. I was already exactly 50 years old. And he says to me, “Larisa Aronovna, what are you sitting here for? Why aren’t you leaving for America or Israel? Go somewhere!” I became very uncomfortable, because I decided that this was an expression of anti-Semitism. I didn’t realize that there are people who are very knowledgeable on this subject and understand something of it. I literally got offended by him. I say to him, “Sasha, why are you saying that? Aren’t you ashamed? Why are you rushing me off somewhere? Why do I need to go somewhere else?” So, I didn’t want to agree with him, not even because I didn’t agree, but because he was a Russian person and, suddenly, he announces that Jews need to leave.

AL: And he also has Russian roots, probably.

LL: Yes. He’s a Rusak, and even his last name was Rusakov. He sensed that I’d gotten offended and says, “Larisa Aronovna, what are you getting offended for? Don’t you understand that I wish you well? I know that all reasonable people who’ve had any opportunity to leave this country are already leaving in droves, and some are even gone already. I guarantee you that not two years will pass before your husband will be left without his armored KB, and our ‘Svetlana’ will disintegrate into many different small companies that are going to produce consumer goods, and you’ll both be left without work, and your pensions will not be enough for

17 you to live on.” How did he know all of this? It seems he took an interest in these things, and he had friends who had already left and, maybe, he had even gone somewhere else, I wasn’t sure. This conversation really forced me to start thinking. When the children already said that they would absolutely be leaving. Vadik said, “Mama, after I’ve gone through this army, I’m not going to live in this country. I have to go where I can, but I don’t want to live here.” Suddenly, it turned out that Kostya was also set on this idea, but he didn’t want to distress and upset us and didn’t start these conversations, because our children thought that we would never be able to leave due to secrecy. Suddenly, Kostya also tells me, “Mama, you know that we don’t have any scientific work left. All the developments are only in sales. Our phys-tech [Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology] now is just working to survive and somehow keep its staff. Many people are already traveling outside Russia to give lectures, working abroad in different institutes, and it’s become uninteresting here. As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t work. I need to work how I need to work.” When he said this, Yuri and I talked it over and decided that we needed to leave, too, because even if they don’t let us right away, then we must still follow after our children. Because we also have our wounds, because we also feel who we are here, and because our Judaism interferes with our life in this country. So my husband came to the head of the first department of his armored KB and that man said to him, “I’ll help you.” The times had changed.

SR: What year was this?

LL: This was 1992. The developments that, earlier, had been secret, even a year earlier, began to be sold to Saudi Arabia and other countries. That is, everything went on the market.

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SR: We’re continuing our interview with Aron Levin. Today is December 25th, 2013. If I’m not mistaken, in one week, Aron, is your birthday, and you were born right on January 1st.

AL: Yes, I was born in 1917.

SR: So, in one week, you’ll be 97 years old. Aron, please tell us where you were born, about your early childhood, about your family and about what happened in 1920.

AL: Yes. I was born in 1917 in the village of Bervenovka, in the Varolzhskaya district (name of district uncertain), in the Gomel oblast. At the time, this village was part of Russia, and only became considered part of Belarus in 1924. After I was born, when I was about 3 years old, we fled from the thugs to Gomel, from the uprising that happened in Gomel.

SR: Aron, tell us, who is “we?” Who did your family consist of?

AL: My family consisted of nine people: me, my father, mother, and seven children, of which I was the youngest.

SR: So, in 1920 you were three years old?

AL: Yes.

SR: You told me that there were five girls and two boys.

AL: That’s exactly right.

SR: And who was the oldest?

AL: The oldest was my brother, born in 1905.

SR: So, he was 15 years old, and you, as the youngest, were three?

AL: Yes. In 1920, he was 15 years old.

SR: Alright. He was 15, you were three, there were seven children, and you ended up in Gomel. How far was Bervenovka from Gomel?

AL: I don’t remember.

SR: And you came to relatives in Gomel? Who did you come to?

AL: No, we didn’t have any relatives in Gomel. We just turned to the local authorities and they provided us with a basement space in a large four-story building where old Bolsheviks lived, but after some time, we were provided with a place in this same courtyard, across from this same building—a small house with a one-room apartment and a basement space.

SR: Aron, had you run at that time because the thugs and pogromists held power? My family’s history perfectly follows your family’s, except my mother was five years old; they went through Dobryanka. That is, this was even farther, but they also came to Gomel. Do you remember what the thugs were doing, and what made the entire Jewish population go north and east on foot?

AL: No.

SR: Alright. You lived in Gomel a few years and four years later, I believe, your father passed on, right?

AL: Yes. He passed on in 1924.

SR: Was he a young man?

AL: He was a young man. He was 42 when he died.

SR: And what happened next?

AL: At seven years old, after the death of my father, I started going to a Russian school in Gomel named Sverdelova. But, after having studied there for only five years, to help support my family,

I had to start going to construction school. I studied there for two years, got a specialty of iron- cement, but after I graduated this school, I decided to go to Moscow to earn a living.

SR: Aron, if I can count, then you started this school when you were 12 years old.

AL: I was 13.

SR: In general, everything is happening at such a young age. At 15 years old, you already left on your own for Moscow. Did you have someone from your family there?

AL: Yes. I had an older sister and brother there. They lived in Moscow at the time. I stopped first at my older sister’s home and started looking for work, but at that age, nobody would hire me. I went to the senior work inspector of Moscow, told him all about myself, and he gave me a work assignment at plant №67, or, as it used to be called, Mostyazhart (Moscow Heavy Artillery).

SR: Aron, but you were 15 years old! How did you go to such a high official to ask to be given a job? Did somebody suggest it to you? (laughs)

AL: Nobody suggested it; I decided to do that on my own. After exactly two years at the plant, a massive layoff of the workers happened, and there were only 40,000 workers there. They wanted to transfer me to a different job at the same place, to keep me, but I decided that I wouldn’t work at the plant, and had spotted, across from the plant on the same street, a textile mill. I decided that, since there were no passports yet, I would add a year to my age. I said that I was 18 years old, and worked at this mill for three years. At the same time, I started to study. At first, I enrolled in a geodetic technical institute. I studied at this institute also for only half a year, because this was the evening department, and when it became the day department, I declined to study, since I couldn’t live on any kind of stipend and wanted to continue working.

SR: You still lived with your sister at the time?

AL: While already working at the textile mill, I simultaneously studied at the Rabfak. Over two years, I finished three terms in the evening department, and then I transferred to the final, fourth, daytime term of the Rabfak, left my job and graduated from the Rabfak with honors in 1936, and went in search of more schooling. Finally, I took the exam for the law institute, which at that time was called the Stuchko Institute of Government and Law. I made it through the exam. Out of thirteen people, I alone made it through, but, after studying for only half a year at this institute, I was, as an active Komsomolets, as a successfully studying one, called to serve in the NKVD. First, I went to the Moscow school of the NKVD. They told me that, there, I would further my law education and I didn’t have to worry.

SR: Aron, as you’ve had such an active and independent life, it’s very interesting for me to keep track of your age when you made all of these decisions. When you enrolled in the institute, you were only 19 years old, and, as soon as you turned 20…

AL: I was already accepted into the NKVD school.

SR: Yes. So, so much happened in your life over exactly six years. It’s very important to note that this was in 1937.

AL: This was January 1st, 1937.

SR: But this was a terrible year—with Stalin’s repressions.

AL: A very terrible year.

SR: Did you know about what was happening at the time?

AL: I wasn’t aware of any mass shootings or repression. On the contrary, I believe that getting a job with the NKVD was an adventure and was interesting. Besides that, compared to civilian work, there were very large stipends. Right away, they gave me 500 rubles. At the time, you didn’t get 500 rubles while you were studying, so I enrolled in this school. I studied at the school for one year, during which time they drew us towards work that, in part, dealt with protecting Stalin and the leaders in general. And after finishing this school, I was sent to work in Oryol, at a newly organized oblast department of state security.

SR: Aron, I’d like to stop you for a second, because we’re now talking about your early life, but here it turns out that we’re rushing ahead a little. You have children, and they’re with you here. Is that right? How many children did you have?

AL: I have a daughter and son.

SR: And they’re with you here in Cleveland, right?

AL: Not all in Cleveland. All in America.

SR: But, to much sorrow and misfortune, your wife passed?

AL: Yes.

SR: Let’s continue. I just needed to reflect that. What year did we stop on? You started the NKVD school in 1937, and what happened after?

AL: After, I said that I was transferred to regular employment at the Oryol oblast department.

SR: And when did you get married?

AL: I got married on December 31st, 1939 (laughs).

SR: So, just a couple years later.

AL: Yes.

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SR: Okay, so we’ve covered the war years already, and today we’ll skip over those. Let’s continue our conversation. You’ve told us about your war years, how after the war ended, you were demobilized and continued to work in counterintelligence. Now we’re approaching the year 1950. In 1950, 1951, 1952—in general, Stalin’s last years—life was very scary for Jews in Russia. That is, it was scary for everybody, but at the end of his life, Stalin became particularly fixated on the Jews, and for the Jews, life was very difficult; I remember this myself, from childhood. If you could start from this moment…You already told us how your career in the NKVD ended, in January of 1950. Let’s continue our conversation from that point. You moved to Leningrad and started looking for work.

AL: In early January, 1950, I was dismissed from the state security agency. Right after this, my family and I moved to the city of Leningrad. In Leningrad, I again experienced quite strong anti- Semitism, as there generally was then, because, at the time, Leningrad was going through a process called the Leningrad Affair, organized by Malenkov. Newspapers were pasted up all around the city, and everybody would stop and read them, and everything in them was about the Jews. They didn’t use the word “Jew,” but just said that these were utter swindlers and…

SR: But everybody had a last name and a patronymic name. It was clear anyway that a person was Jewish. Did they already call the Jews ‘cosmopolitans’?

AL: The cosmopolitans was back in ’46, and in 1948, Mikhoels was killed on Stalin’s orders, all of the members of his committee were arrested and shot, all of the luminaries of Jewish culture were arrested and shot. In short, anti-Semitism was in full swing in the country. When I came to Leningrad during the period of the Leningrad affair, I couldn’t find work for a long time just because the fifth line of my passport (ethnicity) didn’t give me the opportunity to get a job. Later, when I had already gotten a job, I still felt that there was nowhere for Jews to go, and everywhere, the newspapers stigmatized the Jews, but without calling them Jewish—just giving names and patronymics, which spoke of the fact that this was a Jew, and accusing them in all ways of all sins. They said that they were thieves, that they were swindlers and they were louses on the body of society, and so on. Of course, it was very difficult to take all this in, but still, when I started working, I also felt myself a Jew, someone who was somehow not considered a fully valued member of society. When I moved on to the position of the company’s director, one day the head of the city department of Lengaz said to me, “What’d you open a synagogue in your office for—you have five Jews working there! They all talk, discuss something or another. You better fire them under any pretext!” I started protesting, telling him that these people worked here before me, that they fulfilled their responsibilities excellently. How could I fire them?! Then he answers me, “Don’t overthink it! Dismiss them under any pretext. If you don't do it, we’ll be forced to fire you instead!” I, of course, managed to avoid that. I didn’t fire them and continued to work. At the time, another state campaign of anti- Semitism was beginning. Mikhoels had already been killed on Stalin’s orders and so on.

SR: And after Stalin died, did anti-Semitism diminish or no? Did this conversation about “Fire five Jews…” happen during Stalin’s time or after 1953?

AL: That was before Stalin’s death.

SR: From 1953 until the 60s or 70s, you were already able to work in peace, and anti-Semitism diminished?

AL: Anti-Semitism still presented itself, but, of course, not in such a blatant form. The thing was, Jews were not particularly accepted, either…It was hard to get into the educational institutions that you would want to. They always found a reason not to accept Jews, even in spite of an excellent exam score. In short, they limited us in everything.

SR: And you knew this, not only as a boss who employed Jews, but also through your family. How did the fates of your daughter and grandchildren take shape? Did they experience any anti-Semitism or limitations in their careers?

AL: Before leaving for Leningrad?

SR: Before leaving for America.

AL: Yes. Of course, there were limitations. One grandson, for example, who really wanted to get into the biology track at some university, did not get in. He did a good job expressing his capabilities, got a good score on his exams, and so on—but, regardless, they didn’t take him. He had to enroll not in a university, but a polytechnic institute. The older son did the same thing.

SR: One of your grandsons served in the army. Is that right?

AL: Aahh…now that was the youngest one. The thing was, the youngest grandson left before us for Israel, and served in the army there. A few years later, this grandson also moved to Cleveland.

SR: But this was already closer to the 80s. Right? Since you worked until your 70s, and later, when you retired, it was already the 80s. Is that correct?

AL: Yes. I retired in 1987, when I was 70 years old.

SR: And what sparked your familiarity with America? How did you come to this decision [to move here]?

AL: The thing is, my wife went to America, to the city of Cleveland, to visit her sister. There, she became convinced of the great gulf between America and the USSR. She became convinced that this was no “decaying capitalism,” but a prosperous nation in which everybody, without exception, regardless of ethnicity, could freely express their opinions and be well-off at the same time. There, she learned that, if we moved to America, we would be provided with all the necessities. And that even people who don’t work will get the housing and food they need. That was why she developed an irrepressible urge to persuade the entire family to move there. Likewise, we were convinced that continuing our life in the Soviet Union was impossible, because, in all matters, we were still constrained. The fact that we were Jewish restricted all of our possibilities. That was why we planned, through a summons from my wife’s sister, to try to get a visa and permission to leave for America.

SR: What year was this?

AL: This was already 1992, the 90s.

SR: Your wife’s sister also came from Russia, but earlier—right?

AL: She came back in 1979.

SR: How did they let you out? How did you get the documents to leave Russia and come to America?

AL: The thing was, this was a decision of the US Congress, according to which the Soviet Union was obligated to release Jews. That’s why they didn’t particularly hold us back. If, in the past, they had limited people and not allowed them to leave, then, at this time, you could leave. But, we had to go through all sorts of hoops. We had to make a lot of fuss; we had to wait for a summons from America, and only after all of this were we able to leave.

SR: You said that you came to Cleveland in 1992. How did Cleveland welcome you?

AL: In Cleveland, we were very well and warmly welcomed both by our relatives and by representatives from the Jewish organization. We were taken around to all the organizations to formalize all of the corresponding documents. First, we were given a green card to live in America, and later, after some time, we took an English language exam. This was already after we’d spent five years here, during which time we’d actively involved ourselves in the life of American society, of the Jewish community. My wife and I became members of the JCC, became members of a Jewish organization named Jacob Alter. I participated in this organization’s chorus, learning English at the same time. We had free English classes. For half a year, my wife and I even went to a college to learn English. In short, our life in America was such that it felt like we’d arrived on another planet. Everything was completely different. If, in the Soviet Union, we were limited in everything—couldn’t freely express our opinions, couldn’t speak openly with people—then here, it was a completely different matter. Right away, we saw that people smiled, said hello when they meet strangers, that we were freely provided with an apartment (when we arrived, there was already an apartment ready). We were able to get Medicare. Our life became completely different. New acquaintances appeared. After a while, I became part of a Jewish club called Shalom. I’m still part of Shalom; now it’s been renamed “Our House,” but it’s still the same organization, and I go there to this day.

SR: Aron, you had said that your father was a very religious person, and you remember this well.

AL: That’s right.

SR: During the Soviet years, your life was, by and large, professional, and the aspect of your Jewish ethnicity was very minimized. Is that so?

AL: In that regard, I can say that my father was an exception “tzaddik:” a very religious person. He couldn’t apply for the jobs he wanted because every place required working on Saturdays,

24 and he couldn’t for religious reasons. But my older brother, under the influence already of Soviet ideology, didn’t believe in God. He kept me from going to synagogue with my father. Regardless, at six years old, my father set me up at the “cheder,” (traditional Jewish school) where I studied very temporarily, until I was seven. At seven years old, I enrolled in the Jewish school and didn’t go to the cheder anymore, and didn’t go to the synagogue anymore— particularly because, when I turned seven, in 1924, my father died. After that, I spent all of my time among Russians.

SR: You spent all of your time among Russians and, suddenly, you came here, and found yourself surrounded by Jews…

AL: I started talking to other Jews right away. Before, I didn’t even have the opportunity to talk to other Jews. I was always among Russians: at work, in Moscow, all of my acquaintances were Russian. I had a single good friend in Moscow who, as I learned later, was half Jewish and half Russian. He studied with me at the institute. He later became the senior investigator for some particularly important matters in the prosecutor’s office of the USSR, and worked there for a very long time. I stayed in touch with him until his death.

SR: Was the fact that you suddenly ended up being surrounded by Jewish people good or bad?

AL: Well, the only bad thing was that I didn’t know English and couldn’t communicate with Americans. It’s like that to this day—I know a few things in English, but in reality, I can’t communicate. That is why my community consists of Jews, and my circle of friends is formed only from Jews.

SR: I seem to remember that you had some incidences with your health here.

AL: Oh, as soon as I came, I immediately landed in the hospital, where they performed a catalization (translator’s name: exact name of procedure uncertain). They performed a catalization on me three times.

SR: That’s on the heart?

Woman in background: Cleaning the arteries.

AL: I had large operations here, actually. In fact, I got sick back in Leningrad, and that’s why I retired at 70 years old, though nobody was pushing me out, but, on the contrary, they were persuading me to stay and work longer. In the five years before I left for America, I stayed in retirement, but I was also sick that entire time. I came to America and here, in reality, they healed me, extended my life. They gave me many operations, and created appropriate conditions for my life—in doing so, extending my existence.

SR: Do you feel better now than you did 25 years ago, when you were 70 years old?

AL: Well, better, of course! (laughs). I get all sorts of aches, but, still, better.

SR: I can’t not ask you about your poetic activities.

AL: As a teenager, I was fond of poetry, wrote poems, but as soon as I started working in the agency, I realized what a difference there was between what was written in the papers and magazines, and the chaos that was actually happening in the agency. I knew it right away. So I stopped writing poems when I started working at the agency, and I didn’t write again until I moved to America. In America, this reawakened in me again, and I started writing regularly. I released three books.

SR: Three books of poetry?

AL: Yes. Three books: “Carousel,” then “That’s Not All,” then “In a Blink.” Now I’ve accumulated so much that I’m planning to publish a fourth.

SR: And you write every day?

AL: Yes. I wrote a couple of poems yesterday.

SR: I had a few opportunities to attend some events at the Shalom club.

AL: You were at my presentation, I think.

SR: Yes. They asked you to read your poems, and there’s fifty people sitting in the room. People listened to you and held their breath. In general, people so love what you write that it’s considered an important part of the entire local community, which enjoys your poems. To wrap up our interview, maybe you’ll read a few lines of your choosing?

AL: There is nothing brighter, happier and finer than the menorah lights, which will remind us a miracle has passed— in the Beit Hamikdash, the Hasmonean time, the Jewish temple. Let them not dream of it— the Ahmadinejads, the new gaspers/sighers, or others like them— that they’ll take Israel like bleeding Masada. For the Jews, eternal is Jerusalem.

I write lyrical poems on national themes, and sonnets, and acrostics—a little bit of everything.

SR: Good. We can end here. An enormous thanks to you for such a unique, invaluable and important interview. An enormous thank you, dear Aron!

AL: And thank you for showing me such attention!