The 21^st Century Magazine, at South Florida's www.miami-dade-online.com.

This was during the time of the first World War when Russia was in an upheaval. The Czar and his family were massacred. The Communists were taking over. There was no law and order. Again, as in time immemorial, the Jews were the scape goats and the Bolsheviks and Cossacks were running rampant. Their sport was to roam small towns and villages on their massive horses, swords waving, and hunt and kill Jews, now mostly women and children.

I did not know my father. He left Russia for America when I was six months old. We lived with my maternal grandparents on a small farm, along with a goat, our supply of milk. We had adequate food and were fairly comfortable under the circumstances. It was about that time that my father sent funds and arranged for us to attempt to emigrate to America. The funds were for visas and bribes. Every time we would cross a border into another country, guards had to be bribed to guarantee a safe crossing, which would occur during the middle of the night. We had to steal across the borders. Thus began our two years- plus, trek to America.

It was during one of these crossings, when the soldiers on both sides of the border shot at the boats carrying us, that we lost one of my brothers. For months we had no idea if he was alive. It was a miracle that an uncle of ours, who was with another group making his escape from Russia, accidentally found him. We had been through Germany, France and now were in Hungary. We were refugees and being cared for and given food and shelter by caring Jewish families. Our money was almost completely gone. My mother took ill with pneumonia and was dying, but by some miracle she survived. I don't remember, but I was told that I would walk miles to the market with a few pennies to buy food, not knowing the language, but somehow I managed. We eventually had to resort to mixing our corn meal with water and that was our source of food. Finally, the agency that was supposed to be taking care of us contacted us with additional funds and we reached the port to sail to America. It was never the United States, but "America" the land of gold and golden opportunities.

We traveled steerage, the worst part of the ship. We later learned that enough money had been given for us to travel tourist class, which was far superior to steerage, but so much money was skimmed off. Our heads had to be shaved and all kinds of tests to make sure we did not carry any kind of disease, particularly tuberculosis. Some kind person gave my mother an orange, which she divided among the three of us. It was the first orange I had ever tasted and I have never been able to duplicate the taste of that orange.

After ten days of sea sickness and misery we landed in Castle Garden on Ellis Island in New York City. Somehow there had been a mix-up in the date of our arrival and my father was not there to meet us. We were tagged with our name and destination and put on a train for Homestead, Pennsylvania near Pittsburg. We were met at the station by a man - a total stranger to me - who was my father. My darling, wonderful mother, who had nearly died, had brought her brood safely to America, the "Golden Medina" as it was known to all immigrants.

At the age of five and a half, my life in America began, and my love affair with school and education. I was young and immature in the experience of life. I'm told that, after my first day in school, I ran home shouting, "I have a book!" In Russia I had long envied my brothers because they got to go to Hebrew School. I was a girl and would not be allowed that opportunity. Even at my young age, I used to sit outside the school and watch and envy my brothers.

In America, however, I would be allowed to go to school. I was placed in the first grade. Two months later, I was in the second grade and, by the time I was six, I had been skipped to the third grade and so it went. I graduated High School at fifteen with all A's and the winner of a fully paid four year scholastic scholarship to Carnegie Mellon Institute. I was the editor of our school year book and valedictorian of my class. I was the first of my family to go to college, which was typical of so many immigrant families of my generation.

I cannot sing praises for my mother loudly enough. She was so courageous, so caring, so loving, so capable. I loved and admired her so much and I still do. Everything I have been and am, I owe to her. I do not remember many details of that long struggle to come to America, but I remember that one man, way back in Hungry when Mother was dying. I remember him yelling at my mother, "You cannot die. You are a mother, with children who need you. You cannot die. Mother came back from death, which would probably have been a blessing to her, as I look back now. Mother came back for my brothers and myself and continued the journey to the "Golden Medina". Her courage and strength are what brought me to America.

Rose Smith ser100@webtv.net

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