The Puzzle of Elijah - Olga Anischenko

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child, they were considered a large family, so the government gave Mom a two-year maternity leave. She stayed home, and Dad continued working. One day, while doing a repair at his job, Dad injured his right wrist. It was cracked, became very sore, swollen and infected, and eventually turned into cancer. The doctor told my Father, in order to live, his arm needed to be amputated.

      Everyone prayed for our Father. No one thought he deserved it. He was a good Christian and a youth leader in their church. My Father’s parents believed God was powerful to heal their son and tried to talk him out of the surgery. They also worried how he would be able to support his family.

      I remember one evening, when our Father sat on a bed and hugged us all, there was a big lump on his right arm. That was the last time I saw him with both arms. He agreed to amputate his right arm above the elbow, so that the infection would not spread to his whole body. His surgery was done on his 30th birthday. My Grandfather could not visit my Father for a whole month. It was too painful for him to see his now disabled son. In addition to pain, the newly acquired disability cost my Father his career.

      Both of my Grandmothers had big families and could not help much. So, Great-Aunt Hanna, who never married and loved our Dad since he was a little boy, helped our Mom. She watched the children, while Mom visited Dad at a regional hospital, riding the train two hours each way, three times a week. Hanna stayed with us, cooked meals and washed our laundry. She sent us to school and gave us lots of love.

      Great-Aunt Hanna       My Mother and I

      Even though we were little, I remember seeing my Mom praying many times and asking God to heal our Father. We prayed with her. Our Father stayed at the hospital for a few months and then came home to complete his recovery. When people came to visit him, some of them encouraged my Mom,

      “Stay strong, believe, God will heal him.”

      But others didn’t see any hope for the recovery.

      “Prepare for the funeral,” they whispered in Mom’s ear.

      When Mom’s maternity leave ended, she could not return to her previous job because of ill husband, four small children and cattle to feed. She requested a transfer to a closer location. Mom was offered her a job at the office, but she chose to work as an operator, three shifts: morning, evening, or night. It was a walking distance from our home. She was able to come home during her lunch hour to feed us and the livestock.

      Our Mom’s love helped our Father to recover, get up each day and continue living. Great-Aunt Hanna and all the relatives helped us as much as they could. Sometimes we had no money for food. In those times, it seemed people were always willing to help us. We even received a parcel from Germany, from people whom we didn’t know. We accepted it as from the hand of God.

      Our Father could no longer be a machinist. With tears in his eyes, he would watch the passing trains near our home. As he became stronger, he started a bee farm and sold honey. Our family grew tulips in a hot house and sold them on March 8th, the International Women’s Day. We also grew produce for our family and lots of radishes, which we sold every season. My Father was creative and did more work than many men with two arms did. Both my parents worked very hard and never complained.

      Attending church for the first time after the illness, a very religious member of the church told my Father he had a message for him from God. “What happened to you was My will. Don’t ask why. A long way lies before you. Your feet will step where you have never been before. Your family will always have food and clothes, and I will take care of you.” At that time our parents had no idea what this prophecy meant. It came true eleven years later, when we emigrated from Ukraine to America.

      My parents, brothers & sisters. I am the second one on the right.

      While Mom worked, we spent time with Dad. We raised produce for food, helped in the garden, picked berries and cared for animals. Dad made work fun. Often, we played with our cousins, swam at the lake or river and played games.

      In school we were polite Christian children. We always earned good grades and excelled in art. The Principal often praised us at school assemblies. At the end of her speech, she always added a conclusion, “There is no God. Whoever believes in God will lose a lot in this life.” The school children made fun of us, as Christians. Acts like these were accepted as normal social rules of conduct, never spoken, but always understood.

      In the 1980’s only a few people in our village had cars. You had to have cash and be on a waiting list, in order to buy a new car. Because our parents had many children and our Dad was disabled, the government let our family buy a car without being on a waiting list! Amazingly, with one arm Dad was able to drive his car. He frequently helped friends and neighbors with rides. Later, he drove his Father to churches in surrounding villages and supported Christians there. Our Father was a respected man in our community. He was always kind, quiet, helpful, happy and had a heart full of love.

      My parents’ religion taught them to have all the children that God would give them. Even though they worried how they would financially support a larger family, they had four more healthy children in Ukraine and were able to provide for our needs. We were a large and happy family, never viewing our Father as disabled. Mom loved him so much! At that time, many individuals having amputations did not survive. Our Dad was among the lucky ones.

      2

      You never know the importance of freedom

      until you don’t have it.

      In 1979, because of religious persecution, many Jews and Christians were seeking permission from the Russian government to leave the country. By the late 1980’s, the government began issuing Visas. Our family applied for a Visa to immigrate to America. We traveled to Moscow and stayed there for two weeks, waiting to be interviewed by the American Embassy. After approval by the Russian government, in 1990, we received a Visa that would permit our family, our Uncle Peter, and other relatives to immigrate to America.

      We were required to have a sponsor to immigrate. Our sponsor was Jacob Lapin, a person we did not know, even though he had the same last name. Because we did not understand the immigration process, we were afraid to go. Uncle Peter chose to immigrate to America first. A year later, he became our sponsor and sent us a new Visa. This was a difficult decision for our parents. Being in America would allow us to freely practice our religion. If we remained, we would continue to be persecuted. Language would be a barrier and the future unknown.

      Our ties to family in Ukraine were difficult to let go. Since Mom’s parents had immigrated to America after Uncle Peter, she really wanted to go. But Father’s parents and Great-Aunt Hanna were still in Ukraine. “I am old and want to spend the rest of my life in my homeland,” Great-Aunt Hanna said. Father’s parents also had no plans to leave their country.

      My parents, brothers & sisters. I am the second one on the right.

      I was fourteen years old and excited about going to America, but I didn’t know that being in a foreign country, unable to speak the native language, would be so challenging. The freedoms that we would enjoy in America, would allow our family religious, educational and economic opportunities. People who have always had those freedoms, cannot understand what it is like not to have them. We chose freedom.

      We sold our house and car and used the money for our immigration. On January 22, 1992, we said good-bye to our family and friends. Our Father kissed the corner of our house, which he had built, knowing he would likely never see it again. We loaded our luggage on a private bus that we rented and drove 600 miles to Moscow International Airport. After thirteen hours of flight, we landed in New York. Six hour later, we boarded another airplane and flew to Portland, Oregon. Because some of our friends and relatives immigrated before us, they were there to greet us. We were excited to see each other.

      The

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