Tamara Mavasheva

Tamara Mavashev was the fourth child in the family of Abram Chaim and Rivka Mavashev. She was born in 1919 in the city of Bukhara. She was a long-awaited child in the Mavashev family, capable of uniting and inspiring the entire Mavashev clan. During the challenging war years, following her sister’s passing, she unhesitatingly took in her sister’s children, as well as her younger sister and brother. Despite her education as a teacher (specializing in mathematics), she had to find work in a shop during the war and continued working in the retail business before immigrating to the United States of America. She was an extraordinarily enterprising, efficient, well-organized, and demanding individual who always respected others’ perspectives. She consistently made time to listen, understand, and assist others, infusing them with her boundless energy, optimism, and enthusiasm, and spreading her good spirits. She was an extraordinarily wise woman.

Tamara was married to Ruben Gulkarov. They had three children, eight grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren. Tamara was married to Ruben Gulkarov. They had three children, eight grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren.

Contacting friends and relatives

I take immense pride in my family, in our heritage, and in our roots. (May God bless the memory of my parents, relatives, and friends who are no longer with us – may their memory shine brightly.) I have always held my brothers and sisters – Frecho, David, Abo, Sara, Shmuel, Rafael, Maria – and their families, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren in the highest esteem. Each of you, in your own way, carries the Mavashev genes. May you all be worthy heirs of our lineage, upholding the memory and honor of our parents and grandparents. I am eternally grateful to each one of you for being a part of my life.

My wish for you is a life filled with happiness. I hope we can avoid the tragic fate of our parents, who were separated by different countries and met their end on foreign soil. Let us remember the past while moving forward with faith, hope, and respect for ourselves and others.

May you all enjoy long lives filled with health and sanity. May God bless you.

With warm regards, Tamara Mavasheva Avgust 2009

From the life of Tamara Mavasheva

In 1919, in the city of Bukhara, on the holiday of ‘Shavuot,’ God lit the candle of life and happiness, giving Abram Chaim and Rivka Mavashev the gift of a child – a girl. They named her Tomor (Tamara). She was the fourth child after her sister Frekho and brothers David and Abo.

Tamara Abramovna Mavasheva-Gulkarova is an epochal figure that spanned almost a century. Her life turned in a way that from a young age, she became the support for her mother, sharing all the family responsibilities. A heightened sense of responsibility for herself and her close ones – relatives, friends, and mere acquaintances – was inherent in her from early childhood. Tamara was always at the center of family life, making decisions on all matters and problems, overseeing their execution – whether to marry someone off, vouch for someone, and so forth. Her ability to understand, listen, calm, and advise was characteristic of her. Despite not being a psychologist, she had a good understanding of human psychology. Even after creating her own family, Tamara continued to be the pillar of the lives of those around her. She was a loyal friend and wife to her husband, a mother to three devoted and loving children, a grandmother to eight grandchildren, and a great-grandmother to twelve great-grandchildren.

Here, in San Diego, she became a symbol of the Russian-speaking community, uniting around two hundred people. Tamara found time for everyone – to talk, give advice, suggest how to organize various events, and managed to congratulate everyone on holidays and birthdays, not only in San Diego but also in other cities in America, Israel, Austria, and Australia. This warmth and heartfelt attention will long be remembered by those who knew her.

From the memories of Tamara Mavasheva.

In the family, all the children had their duties to maintain order in the house. The house was big – for two families. There were many children too. Mother Rivka, along with daughter-in-law Zulaykho and daughter-in-law Yoel, constantly worked in the kitchen. When father came home from work, silence fell in the house. The children awaited this moment, knowing that father always brought a treat for each one. It could be a candy, raisins, or sweets from the Eastern bazaar. Mother waited for father to have dinner with him. After prayers, father and mother talked for a long time about something. Neither mother nor father ever raised their voices to the children, but we, the children, held them in great respect. Usually, the children spread out mattresses on the floor, where we would lie down to sleep – we didn’t have beds at that time. The children of father’s brother and sister also lived in our courtyard, so sometimes there were 7 to 10 of us. These were the children of Isaac Chaim and Zulaykho – Zevo, Blor, Yakov, Mishoel, Ilyovu, as well as the children of Aunt Yoel – Zalmon, Baruch.

When I turned 7, my mother increasingly sent me to live with my older sister Frekho, to help her with household chores and look after her children. By that time, Frekho already had a son, Mordukhai, and she was expecting another child. My sister’s husband, David Niyazov, was demanding and strict, insisting on order and quiet in the house. Because of this, I started first grade a year late, but I was immediately placed into the second grade of a Jewish school, where I studied for about two years. After its closure, we were transferred to a school with Uzbek as the language of instruction.

The knowledge of my ancestors’ language – Hebrew, which we were taught in the Jewish school – remained in my memory for life. I can read it, but I don’t always understand the meaning of what’s written, and I can’t write it. I loved studying and dreamed of becoming a doctor. However, the uncertain times of the 1930s did not allow me to leave to study in another city. After finishing school, I entered the Mathematics Faculty of the Bukhara Pedagogical Institute (in 1930, the Bukhara Higher Pedagogical Institute was established, and four years later, it was reorganized into the Bukhara Pedagogical Institute) with a specialization in teaching mathematics.

In recognition of my good studies, I was rewarded with a trip to cities around the Caspian Sea. For the first time, I saw the sea and ships, as well as modern cities. The vast expanse of water, its power, and the speck of our ship against the backdrop of the sea struck and amazed me. Since then, a fear of large bodies of water has haunted me throughout my life. The water horizon also amazed me, truly the line connecting water and sky. The horizon line during sunrise and sunset was particularly impressive.

In 1933, when I was 14 years old, my father was forced to leave the country—or rather, to flee—because he was being pursued by the NKVD authorities. They suspected that his brother Isaac Chaim’s family had illegally crossed the border, something that could have led to execution in those distant times. My father left alone. An attempt to take any of the children with him once almost ended in tragedy. When he left, he was confident he would be able to call his family to join him. None of us saw our father again. Information about him came rarely through letters addressed to others or from people who visited Eretz Israel. We learned that after crossing the border, he didn’t immediately reach Eretz Israel. He spent over a year in Iran, waiting for a visa to enter Eretz Israel. During that time, his mother, Ona, and brother Isaac Chaim and his family were there.

In 1935, our entire family, except for the family of my elder sister Frekho, had to leave Bukhara for Tashkent due to persecution by security agencies interested in the whereabouts of our father. To all my inquiries, my brothers replied that he had disappeared without a trace.

I didn’t stay long in Tashkent. A friend of my brothers from Bukhara, Ruben Gulkarov, proposed to me. We knew each other; he often visited our house. Left fatherless at a young age (his father, Yuno Gulkarov, passed away in 1924 when Ruben was 7), Ruben worked as an accountant in one of the collective farms in the Bukhara region. Ruben’s family lived near our house, with his mother Husni. It was a large and friendly family, raising 4 boys (Semen, Ruben, Aron, Mordukhai) and 2 girls (Shifra and Meryem).

Ruben came to propose in Tashkent. He came bearing gifts – a small can of oil and some spices. This allowed me to joke that I was sold for a can of oil. When my elder brothers and mother consented to the marriage, I moved back to Bukhara, where we lived in the house of my husband.

The first years of our life together were very difficult. The country was in ruins, people were starving, and supplies were scarce. Despite his young age, Ruben worked hard to support the family. He provided me with the opportunity to continue my education. After completing my institute studies, I became a mathematics teacher at a secondary school.

In 1936, our first child was born – our son Boris, and two years later, our second son Alik. My husband and I decided to move to Tashkent, closer to my brothers. Upon arrival in Tashkent, we temporarily lived with my mother Rivka, then rented an apartment. Once, Ruben’s elder stepbrother, Isaac Gulkarov (may he rest in peace!), who lived in Bukhara, came to visit us. Seeing our family’s difficult situation, he said, ‘Ruben, here is some money (gold coins), buy a small house, it will be easier for you to stand on your feet, and when you earn, you can repay the debt.’

It was a great help. We bought a small two-family house with our relatives Ilyovu Domlo. Ruben and I, along with the children, lived in one room, and we had a small veranda. There was a stream in the yard, fruit trees were growing. We tried to save on everything – we bought coal and firewood for heating in the summer when it was cheaper. During winter, we sealed the windows to keep warmth in the house, and so on. We set up a chicken coop in the yard and bought chicks – soon, we had fresh eggs. Ruben engaged in trade, and I continued teaching.

After some time, we bought a new house in a good area, close to the collective farm market. This neighborhood turned out to be very beneficial. During the war, we baked pastries and various goods for sale. Market traders often stored their goods in our yard, which also brought profit.

Until 1963, we always had lodgers. One of the families that lived with us in an apartment since 1944 was the family of Abram and Esther Nemirovsky with their daughter Frida. They were very honest and decent people, who became like family to us. A wonderful Jewish family evacuated from Moldova during World War II. They lost everything and miraculously survived. They were evacuated to Tashkent. Abram worked as a supplier in the power company, and Esther sewed dresses at home. All joyful and festive days were spent together around a large table…

One day, at 6 o’clock in the morning, Abram knocks on the bedroom window and shouts: “Tamara, Tamara, I found it.” When mom came out to see him, it all became clear. The previous evening, Mom had told Abram that her very expensive diamond earrings may have fallen out in his apartment. An evening search for the earrings until late at night yielded nothing. Abram and Esther felt very uneasy that it had happened in their home and they had not been found. It was assumed that they had fallen through the cracks in the floorboards (the floors used to be like this). Abram stayed up all night and, from the first minutes of dawn, continued his search for those ill-fated earrings. He found them under the porch of the house. In the evening everyone sat at the festive table with pilaf. In 1975, the Nemirovsky family emigrated abroad.

                …In 1941, when the war broke out, brothers David and Abo were drafted into the army. In the same year my son Alik died of meningitis. He attended a kindergarten-yasli. When I came for him, he was already dead. I wrapped the two-year-old child in a blanket and carried him home in my arms on the streetcar. I cried all the way home. Kind people asked me what happened, why I was crying, what I could do to help. Nobody guessed that I was holding my dead son in my arms.

               In 1941, in the fall, Ruben enters to study at the Aircraft Institute, which was evacuated from Ukraine. A little later, gets a job at a high school as a math teacher. Teachers at the school were covered by a reservation from military service.

       I had to leave my teaching job because of my difficult financial situation. I got a job as a sales clerk at Goznak. When I started working, the store director, an elderly, very noble Armenian, asked me: “Do you know how to weigh goods? Do you know how the big floor scales work? Do you know how to count on a counter? Do you know how to balance at the end of the day and how to turn in the cash register?”. I answered “yes” to all the questions, even though I had never done it. The ability to analyze and grasp everything on the fly helped a lot. Ruben explained the work on the scales and how to work on the counters.

            The first days were very hard, I was put on bread distribution by coupons. At 4 o’clock in the morning I had to take the cash register, then take the bread car, weigh the goods, sign the bill of lading about its receipt, and then open the store for sale. The people occupied the queue from late afternoon. People were noisy, demanded to work faster, complained about the quality of the bread, someone lost their cards, someone had them stolen. One had to get used to it.

                Depending on the coupons presented, different amounts of bread were issued. It was impossible to cut off the right amount of bread from a loaf at once, and customers got angry when bread was added in pieces.

  But that wasn’t the worst part. At the end of the working day, when the balance sheet was summarized, a shortage was discovered. In wartime, this was punishable as an enemy of the people and could lead to a long prison sentence. I was shocked, but the store manager said: “Be attentive at the distribution, watch the scales, don’t rush. We have a surplus – I will cover the shortfall.” This went on for a week. The director said he couldn’t cover for me anymore, I had to quit.

                That day my partner didn’t come to work, and she was arrested at night. At the end of the day, at the end of the balance sheet, I find a surplus. The director said: “It’s all clear now, she’s been stealing your bread.” I couldn’t believe it, because she smiled so sweetly and tried to help me. The following days showed that the director was right. From that day my family had no hunger, I worked. Employees of Goznak were equal to servicemen and had Moscow security.

…1945. The war was over. A new life began, in new post-war conditions and gradually came into its own. In 1944 I gave birth to a daughter, who was named Rivka in honor of my mother. In 1947 we gave birth to a son – Nikolai. This Russian name sounds strange in a Jewish family. In the post-war years, anti-Semitism in the country intensified, more and more often Jews were accused of all sins. The experience of the war years showed that many Jewish children were saved in Russian families, which was the reason for the Russian name. We gave him the second name Nisan, as he was born in March – on the tenth day of the month of Nisan 5707 according to the Jewish calendar, on the Saturday before the holiday Pesach, which has a special status and is called Shabat a-Gadol.

…1945. The war was over. A new life began, in new post-war conditions and gradually came into its own. In 1944 I gave birth to a daughter, who was named Rivka in honor of my mother. In 1947 we gave birth to a son – Nikolai. This Russian name sounds strange in a Jewish family. In the post-war years, anti-Semitism in the country intensified, more and more often Jews were accused of all sins. The experience of the war years showed that many Jewish children were saved in Russian families, which was the reason for the Russian name. We gave him the second name Nisan, as he was born in March – on the tenth day of the month of Nisan 5707 according to the Jewish calendar, on the Saturday before the holiday Pesach, which has a special status and is called Shabat a-Gadol.

…1945. The war was over. A new life began, in new post-war conditions and gradually came into its own. In 1944 I gave birth to a daughter, who was named Rivka in honor of my mother. In 1947 we gave birth to a son – Nikolai. This Russian name sounds strange in a Jewish family. In the post-war years, anti-Semitism in the country intensified, more and more often Jews were accused of all sins. The experience of the war years showed that many Jewish children were saved in Russian families, which was the reason for the Russian name. We gave him the second name Nisan, as he was born in March – on the tenth day of the month of Nisan 5707 according to the Jewish calendar, on the Saturday before the holiday Pesach, which has a special status and is called Shabat a-Gadol.

                Husband Ruben took a job in commerce. He was assigned to open a jewelry store. The job proved to be difficult and unsafe. He dealt with jewelry made of precious metals, and especially with diamonds. It required special knowledge and skills. The characteristics of a stone – its weight and color – were not enough. It required knowledge of human psychology, everyday life and traditions, gullibility, imagination and caution.

Ruben organized and opened a jewelry store in Tashkent, which successfully existed for almost two decades. Ruben was constantly in the labyrinth of universal, specialized and professional knowledge, all kinds of human passions and vices, “traps” and “traps” set by the then system and authorities. He was able to provide invaluable help to many people in difficult situations, especially to his friends and relatives. An example of the highest nobility, immense responsibility can be the fact that during the war he did not prevent me from taking in orphaned children left after the death of my mother and sister. Ruben took the most active part in the life arrangement of each of them. My husband was characterized by cordiality and attention to people. And our hospitality was an inviolable custom. Guests were always welcome in the house, and they were always welcome. There was something to say, something to hear, something to be surprised, something to be happy about – we discussed, thought, borrowed life experience from each other.

                I am thankful and grateful to my husband for his foresight, which guarded and cherished us, not only in our life together, but also after his death, to the present day. Praise him for his activity, intelligence, frugality, and concern for the future! I will always honor the memory of him and his deeds. Thank you that he was and is in our hearts and souls.

The house we bought during the war was a happy and successful one: six large rooms, a large veranda, a small cellar, a yard, a room with a hallway. Everywhere there were stoves for heating. Coal or wood was used for heating. There was a Russian stove for cooking, and the same one in the temporary room. In the yard there was a big hazel tree, which gave a lot of nuts every year. Roses and bulldenegas grew. At the end of the yard there were three pantries, in one of which stood a tandyr – a universal oven at the height of a man’s height made of scorched clay, in which you can bake bread and roast meat, as well as ground two hearths for cooking in special cauldrons on coals and wood. We used the tandyr for baking Passover matzah and the hearth for cooking on Shabbat. The cooked food was covered with a special thick blanket to keep it hot for the Sabbath meal.

In the center of the yard there was a water pipe, the water from which was collected in a small depression. There was a small river not far from the house, a commercial market opposite our street, and to the right of it, across the street, a park with a lake called Komsomolskoye Lake.

                We rented out two rooms and a temporary house. We always had good neighbors. One of them, Aunt Lisa from Moscow, settled with us during the war. An old woman, alone, her son was in the army. She liked to spend time with my daughter Rosa, who was problematic to feed. Aunt Lisa would take Rosa to the water and there, telling her something, try to feed her.

                During the war the Nemirovsky family, Abram and Esther, who had a daughter Frida in 1948, moved in with us. We were like siblings. We lived together for a long time, and even when we moved to another house, they stayed with us.          

                In this house we played the weddings of sister Maria, little brother Rafael and niece Luba, the first day of Victory when all three brothers returned from the front. Our house was a staging post. People from Bukhara, Samarkand, Andijan, Khiva, Kata-Kurgan and many other cities stayed with us.

In 1955 we sold the home we all grew up in, a home of bread, fun, and hospitality. How many weddings and holidays we spent in that house! But it had to go under demolition, which was the reason for selling it. We moved to a house with only a small 4 rooms, so we decided to build a new house, there was enough space. The construction lasted about four years and took a lot of effort, nerves, and health. And although the house was built, it did not bring satisfaction and joy

…In 1959 my mother-in-law Husni, Ruben’s mother, who had always lived with us after moving from Bukhara, died. Husni’s mother lost her husband, Yuno Gulkarov, in 1924, she was only 30 years old. She was the second wife to Ruben’s father. Yuno’s first wife died in childbirth in 1908 and he married Husni. From his first marriage, Yuno had two sons, Moshe and Ishak. Husni and Yuno had 6 children – Shimon, Reuben, Shifro, Miryom, Aron and Morduhai. Their father – Yuno had trading outlets in different districts of Bukhara region. They sold textile products – silk, calico, velvet, etc. Husni’s mother said that her husband had several houses in Bukhara, his own weaving loom, and several stores. With the arrival of Soviet power, confiscation of property and savings from the population began. Hard times came. Yuno and Husni had their houses and shops confiscated. But he bought one of his houses at an auction for his elder sons. Yuno and his family moved to Tashkent, where he died in 1924. Husni’s mother said that persecution and constant fear for his family had finished him. After pneumonia, he died at the age of 47 in December 1924. Yuno is buried in Tashkent in the Chagatai cemetery.

Husni’s mother returned to Bukhara with her children. She said: “I was arrested several times by the NKVD and forced to give away my savings. Sometimes they locked me in a pit – a zindon – and kept me there for several days. At the first invasion of the NKVD, I gave them our savings on the condition that they would not touch the children. But that was not enough for them and they arrested me again and kept me in prison. Most likely there was an informer, and I know who it was, but I don’t say it out loud for fear of making a mistake and slandering this family. After much threats and torture, I did not confess the last bar of gold we had. In time, seeing our way of life, the NKVD fell behind us.

                My mother-in-law told me that thanks to the hidden gold bar we all stayed alive and managed to survive the war. By breaking off a piece of gold and selling it, she was able to keep her children alive and put them back on their feet.

                Yuno’s children from her first and second marriages were friendly and helped each other. The elders, Moshe and Ishak, treated Husni’s foster mother with respect and reverence. They sympathized and helped her.

                With Husni’s mother we lived under the same roof. She was a cheerful, hospitable, quiet, intelligent and judicious woman, with a strong character. Whenever possible she helped in the kitchen and was an excellent cook.

She treated my brothers and sisters with love and respect. She felt the affection of her sons Semyon and Ruben for our Mavashev family. She liked our gatherings, where besides a well set table, there was a lot of jokes, fun, goodwill. Boris, Rosa and Nikolai grew up before her eyes, trying to please her and fulfill all her wishes.

                Her mother-in-law, like all of us, took the news of the death of her younger sons Aron and Mordukhai during the war very hard. Until the last days of her life she waited for them. Husni’s mother had 23 grandchildren. Mama Husni was buried in the Chagatai cemetery in the city of Tashkent.             Two years after Mama Husni’s death, on August 1, 1961, at the age of 44, my husband Ruben, the father of a large family, died suddenly, within three days of a stroke. We had plane tickets for July 31 for a vacation trip to a resort. As always, on Shabbat (July 28) we had guests over. After dinner, Reuben and his guests went to the park to the lake. In the evening before going to bed, somewhere around 11 o’clock at night, Reuben felt sick, he lost consciousness. The doctors diagnosed him with a stroke. The doctors refused to hospitalize him with such a diagnosis. They had to privately invite doctors and get medicines.

On the first day of his illness, I went out into the yard and, turning to G-d, promised to give the whole house and everything we had to the synagogue if Ruben overcame the disease. For three days there was a struggle for life, professors were invited, a consilium was convened, but all to no avail. Reuben died at home.

  Ruben’s death was a tragedy for the Gulkarov and Mavashev families, for everyone who knew him. Those were the most terrible days of our lives. In memory of my husband, I organized a synagogue in the house. We held memorials the first seven days, then every week for a month, and every month for a year, then every year. It was not safe, as the authorities were persecuting religious practices, much less opening a synagogue. We should give credit to our neighbors, Uzbeks and Russians, who did not complain but sympathized with our grief. Out of respect for our family, they tolerated and empathized with us, while the prayers started at 6 a.m. and sometimes lasted all night, with loud chants.

  My brothers, sisters, their wives and husbands helped and tried to support us. Thank you to them for their help and support.

  Ruben and his mother Husni are buried in the Chagatai cemetery in Tashkent.

77 years since the death of our father Ruben Gulkarov

…With the death of her husband came another misfortune. Ruben’s main savings were lost. A few days before his death, he took out of the house jewelry, some of it he gave for sale, some of it he decided to hide with relatives and friends, because we had to go to the resort. Unfortunately, he did not have time to say to whom and where he took these things. After all, during the years of socialism, people were afraid to keep their savings in savings banks or at home, so they invested their money in jewelry. It was very dangerous to keep expensive jewelry at home, especially in the house of a trade worker. A year of mourning, a year of memorials, the purchase and installation of a monument, a year out of work all took a toll on our budget. If someone had told us that we were left without a livelihood, no one would have believed it. But no one felt it, and no one knew. It was considered that the worker of the jeweler’s trade had provided for life for himself and his children.

Everything went on as before. I cried all year and could not understand why it happened to us. After all, life was just getting better, the construction of the house was finished, the eldest son graduated from the Moscow Engineering and Construction Institute and began his independent work as an engineer. The daughter had finished high school and was to enter the institute this year, the youngest Nisan was 14 years old, he was studying in a secondary school.

Ruben, tired of working in the trade, promised to go to another job after his vacation. I wanted to return to teaching, because I was only 42 years old. We talked more and more about my son’s marriage and my daughter’s marriage. At home, as always, there were a lot of people and fun. But fate decided to change everything – the death of my husband devastated us. Disappointment in life, that’s what came to my mind more and more often. The very notion of “life” lost its meaning. I didn’t want to live. But there were unsettled children who needed care and a guide to realize our dreams with Ruben. We had to start from scratch.

      I’ve always been strong-willed and strong-willed. And this time I found the strength not to break down, but to take the fate of the family in my own hands, so that the children did not feel fatherlessness and lived in prosperity. They all got higher education, got prestigious jobs, created their own families. As much as possible, I helped them after their weddings.

It was not easy to maintain a big house and a whole family. But I had Ruben’s spirit to help me. Fate was not kind to me. There were “people” who thought they could scare, insult and deceive a defenseless woman. I am not offended by them, let G-d judge them. Time would pass and they would come and apologize for their meanness. My patience, willpower and life experience told me how to find a common language with everyone around me, how to please everyone and, if necessary, to help. I was not ashamed of any work: if I needed help in holding a wake or any other event, even for strangers, I helped. To prepare a memorial pilaf for 100 or more people or any unusual dish was not a problem. I considered it a mitzvah. A year after Ruben’s death, the director of the Uz jeweler of the trade where my husband worked called me and said: “Tamara, I knew Ruben as an intelligent and responsible worker and I know that during his work as director of the jewelry auction, you helped him, and moreover, even replaced him. Knowing your family, honesty and responsibility in your work, I want to help you and your family, as well as repay Ruben for his hard work and dedication. I want to offer you the position of a salesman in a jewelry store, and there we will see…”. I accepted Director Agzamov’s noble offer. I went out to work and served from a simple salesperson to a store director. At one time I worked as a salesperson in a jewelry store where Oizimhon was the director. A beautiful, intelligent woman. I felt at ease around her. She helped me in many ways – to learn the subtleties of a trade worker, she insured my actions and deeds. Then I worked in souvenir stores. And so until I left for the USA   

                I had great authority both among workers and buyers. Since I was considered a professional in various types of gems and gold jewelry, people came to me for advice at any time of the day or night, listened to me and thanked me for my help. Especially during the days of emigration in the 1970s and 1990s.

                My children and I honored the traditions we had under Reuben. The doors of our home were always open to everyone. I continued to give help and attention to anyone who approached me, as my husband Reuben did. All holidays and various events were celebrated in our home. Boris’ wedding in 1964, then Rosa’s wedding in 1966 and Nikolai’s wedding in 1977 were also held in this house. In 1979 the eldest son Boris submitted documents to go abroad. I did not prevent Boris’s family from leaving, even though I was told: “What are you doing? How can you let your eldest son go, how will you be without him, why don’t you think about old age?” I foresaw that the time would come and we too would have to leave this country. My husband Ruben also dreamed about it. In August 1979, we saw Boris and his family off to the United States. His diligence and hard work allowed him to find himself in a new country – America. He defended his thesis for the title of Doctor of Technical Sciences. He worked as an architect, he had many interesting developments and built objects. After 9 years, he came to visit Tashkent for the first time.

                In 1987, when the times of “perestroika” came, I was able to go to Israel to visit the grave of my father Abram Chaim and to meet my brother Shmuel and his family. It is very difficult to convey these exciting moments of life. It has been 54 years since we last saw Dad and 36 years since he was killed in Jerusalem. Brother Shmuel and his family are to be commended for the Herculean effort to search for our family members’ graves and put them in order.

I arrived in the summer, in the heat, the transfer with a connection in Greece was tiring and hard. Lack of language skills and lack of companions made the trip worse. I am grateful to everyone who gave me attention and support during this flight.

My son Boris flew to Israel from the United States to meet me. We visited many of our acquaintances and friends. Almost sixty years later, I met my cousins and brothers. In 1987, Boris sent a visitor’s visa to America to Rosa and Nikolai. I was, as always, concerned about how to pay for the children’s expensive trip, a long journey to the United States. I was told by “experienced” people that I should buy mumiyo. At the pharmacy where I bought mumiyo, I fell and came home with a dislocated arm. It happened the day before the children left, and they were going for almost forty days. I did not allow the trip to be postponed, saying that nothing terrible had happened, and I was not alone – Nikolai’s wife Faina and my son-in-law Leva were staying at home with me.

From the memoirs of Faina, Nikolai’s wife:

There were always many holidays, receptions, wakes, various meetings in the house. I strived to learn everything my mother-in-law did and to keep up with her. The two of us could get a lot of things done. We had no problem meeting, setting beautiful tables, serving. The house was such that there were constantly people coming and going, guests coming and going.         

There was always a festive atmosphere in our house: meetings, wakes, various events. I strived to comprehend everything my mother-in-law did, to learn from her and keep up with her.

Together we coped with a huge number of things. We had no problems with receiving guests, setting beautiful tables, serving food. Our house was always open to people: they came and went; guests came and went.

The last time after moving to a new house was especially busy. I worked at the computer center, where I was busy working day and night, trying to give time to the house, where there was always something going on. People came to us all the time with lots of questions and problems. Aunt Tamara, my older sister, was approached by her loving nephews Danil, Lyuba, Petya and their spouses, who could not do without her help and advice. Sometimes, when we were already asleep, someone would knock on the bedroom window where mom was resting: “Aunt Tamara, I need to say something urgently.” Mom was always ready to listen to someone’s grievance even at night, possessing extraordinary patience to comfort, give advice, or just calm down.

After 9 years, in 1986, Borja and Olya arrive from America, which was pleasant news. The borders with the West were open. In 1987 my mother went to visit my father’s grave and to see my brother Shmuel and his family and other relatives in Israel. June and July were marked by a hot stay in Israel. Son Boris flew there from America to spend time with his mother. Mom stayed there for a month, despite the unbearable heat. She returned in September, and in October Rosa and Kolya traveled to America on visitor visas sent by Boris. There was unrest in Uzbekistan, and everyone wanted to know where they would have to go. Someone advised my mother to take moomiyo to justify the trip. The next day mom went to the pharmacy to get this remedy, but falling on the threshold, fell under the care of an ambulance.

We are sitting at home, packing our suitcases and. suddenly mom comes in with a cast on her arm and forearm. We were frightened, and she says it’s nothing – it happens. Gives us mumie. Seeing mom in such a state, Kolya began to refuse to go, but mom insisted, saying: “You are so much going, dreamed to go and because of my cast to postpone the trip is not necessary. I am not alone, Leva is with me, Faina, go, don’t worry, and don’t worry. What a cast!” With pain in their hearts, they left. We saw them off to Moscow.

Just three days after the cast incident, my mom had a stroke. She was screaming in pain in bed and couldn’t get up in the morning. I was at a loss. The arm under the cast began to swell and her soft white skin became red and hot.

We called the doctors, removed the cast, and discovered burns on her arm. The doctors lubricated the wounds and bandaged them. At the time, we didn’t realize it was a stroke. We invited Dr. Pilosov. He said that my mother was tired after the trip to Israel and had taken the heat there badly. She didn’t come back from that trip.

Her condition did not improve – she could not walk, sit, or stand up. When she sat on the bed, she would get dizzy and fall. Granddaughter Sveta moved in with us, son-in-law Lyova helped as much as he could. Fortunately, the hospital was nearby.

She started having problems with her blood pressure. She suddenly felt bad, dizzy. We called an ambulance, but we had to wait almost an hour. When they arrived, they started giving injections, but they couldn’t find a vein because of the thick needles. My mom was patient and told them to keep looking. They couldn’t find a vein on one arm so they moved on to the other. It was a real mockery.

When Kolya and Rosa came to America and called us, Kolya asked why mom wasn’t picking up the phone. Mom was lying in her room and the phone was on the terrace. She couldn’t get up to reach the wire. I told them that mom wasn’t home so they wouldn’t worry. Kolya said he would call the next day at a certain time and asked me to warn mom. Mom’s condition was terrible. I told Lyova that we should warn them so that in case of anything they wouldn’t blame us. Three children and no one around. We were all alone. Lyova said: “Fayuha, don’t worry, we’ll manage.”

That day I ran to the exchange, found a technician, paid him to extend the telephone cable to the bed where mom was lying. The next day I got a call – my mom picked up the phone and said: “Kolya, I’m fine, I feel fine, rest, don’t worry”. We were shocked that she had hidden the truth. We asked, “Mom, why didn’t you tell the truth?”. She replied that the children had gone far away and spent money, let them rest.

We had to learn how to give injections ourselves. If her blood pressure rises, we don’t call an ambulance, we give the injections ourselves, do the laundry, clean, take care of her. While she was ill, we had a passable house: all brothers, sisters, nephews and nieces, her friends and neighbors came to visit her. And every time she asked me to cook something to eat, to set the table. And so all day long – setting and cleaning.

                The time of her illness coincided with the mass departure of Jews abroad. My mother comes on the phone and says: “Kolya-chon, everything is fine with me, I feel fine, have a rest, don’t worry”. We stand shocked that she didn’t tell them the truth. We ask, “Mom, why didn’t you tell them?”. She says the kids went far away, spent the money, let them rest.

We had to learn how to give injections ourselves. If her blood pressure rose, we did not call an ambulance, but did the procedure ourselves, did the laundry, cleaned, took care of her. At that time, we had a passing house: all brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, acquaintances and neighbors came to visit her. And every time she asked me to prepare something to eat, to set the table. And so all day long – setting and cleaning.

Her illness coincided with the mass departure of Jews abroad. Familiar and unfamiliar people came to visit, sending greetings from other acquaintances and asking for advice. She, sick, on her bed, asked me to take something there, to take something from someone else and bring it here, did business even in this state.

I don’t know how we managed, especially since both mine and Rosina’s children were in the house. I still can’t believe we survived it all! At this time, Aunt Sarah came back from Israel. Tamara was in bed and Aunt Sarah was in shock and started to panic. I had to calm her down.

The day of the children’s arrival from America comes. Leva is on his way to the airport. Mom calls me over and asks me to dress her and take her out on the porch, so the kids won’t see her in bed and get scared. The plane arrived at 6am and she went out on the porch and waited for them to arrive. And just like that, the waiting time passed.

The kids arrived; everything was falling into place. Mom was treated for almost a year.

It was decided to go to America. Mom went out to work to ensure a decent departure. A new era had begun. Preparing for departure: sales, shopping….

And here we are in Moscow. We were the first to see Rosa’s family off. Until the last day, my mother didn’t sell her jewelry, it was a pity. And it turned out for the best.

A few days before we left, they allowed us to take out gold jewelry in unlimited quantities, as we were told, “even a bucket”, except for historical treasures. We declared, indicated all the exported valuables.

It was our turn to be inspected. The checker examines the presence of things on the list of the declaration and asks where another bracelet. We look at mom and ask – where is the bracelet? She says – I hid it. Kolya says to her: “Mom, take it out, don’t be afraid, we have permission.” She again says: “Be quiet, be quiet.” Finally, we convince her, and she takes the bracelet out of her hair. There are people around, there is a line behind us, and we are waiting for her to take the bracelet out of her hair. Kolya asks: “Did you hide something else?”.

With her light hand, we were lucky. We were allowed to take out everything we had. Back in Tashkent we were able to pack all the household crystal, dishes, sets, carpets – almost everything that was dear to my mother. The luggage was delayed in transit. By a happy coincidence, we received it 3 months after arriving in America. We had no hope of keeping our things safe. But fate favored us. Not a single thing in our luggage was broken or lost.

We arrive in Vienna. The climate is terrible. Mom is taking it badly. Her blood pressure skyrockets, she feels ill, we often call an ambulance, and the doctors sit until her condition normalizes. For eight months we lived in tension for mom’s health and waited for permission to enter the United States. During this time, everyone in transit was met, welcomed and escorted to Italy. We were told it was hard and everything was expensive in Italy. My mom asks us to cook, to buy food for those who are leaving. We saw people off to Italy with food. Even in a foreign country she tried to help our compatriots.

Twice we were told to get ready to leave. We packed all night, waited, and in the morning we get a call to cancel our departure. After 6-7 tedious months of waiting, we were ready to go to Israel. The waiting was unbearable. We called Boris in America, and he said, “You are crazy. Wait, not today, tomorrow you will get permission, rest easy, you have Vienna vacations. This opportunity will never happen again.”

We didn’t tell him what a vacation it was, how hard it was for us. We were afraid of losing our mom in Vienna. In the eighth month, we are called to the US Embassy, asked questions, and something is written down. Mom holds something in her hands and keeps putting it to her heart. The consul leading the conversation asks: “What do you have in your hand?” She unclenches her palm and there is a small book with a portrait of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. He smiled and said, “You have been authorized to enter the United States.” We rejoiced and waited for the day of the flight.

My mother has another attack, she is not feeling well, it is hailing outside, the strong heating allows us to keep the windows open. Suddenly the hail stops, the sun comes out, and two white doves land on the windowsill, cooing. Mom says, “We’ll get permission to leave tomorrow, pigeons are the way to go.”

When we arrived in the United States, we looked for a doctor for my mom from the first day. Lucky for us, she got a smart, experienced neurologist, Dr. Shafor. After examining Mom, the doctor said that she had suffered a stroke on her legs, most likely back in Tashkent. In a year of intensive treatment, Dr. Shafor got Mom back on her feet.

Kolya and I worked, leaving early, and coming in late. Mom took full responsibility for our children. Feed them, make them drunk, walk them to and from school. We, friends, relatives lived nearby, and their children would come to us, and mom would sit with them. All events, holidays, memorials were celebrated at home. Mom considered it her duty to receive all newcomers, to invite newcomers’ home. We led the same way of life as in Tashkent.

Rubenchik, my grandson, came often, but did not stay long. But the last time he called and said: “Grandma, I’ll be right there.” Mom asked if he was doing well. He replied, “Yes, I want to sit with you, I missed you.” He came, we set the table, had dinner. He sits and talks to my grandmother, talks about the international situation. Mom was always interested in what was going on in the world. She read a lot and, in the evenings, told us interesting articles from magazines and newspapers. She advised us to read this or that article. Rubenchik sat up late that evening talking with his grandmother. It was a week before she died.

My mom had lots of logic games, books, crossword puzzles and Sudoku. She spent a lot of time solving these problems. Sometimes even the young ones couldn’t find the answer, and she always found it. Her perseverance in solving the problems was impressive. Once she sat all day over one logical game and concluded that the solution was impossible. Kolya put the game together and said there was a solution. Within the next hour she had found the answer. Mom knew all the phone numbers by heart. If we forgot, she remembered them from memory. She had a phenomenal memory.

It’s hard to lose someone like that. She was like a mom to me. We lived together longer than I did with my parents. I am grateful to her for the wonderful upbringing of my children, and I am sure they will remember their grandmother with pride.

And one more thing: I do not know the genealogy of my parents as well as the genealogy of the Gulkarov and Mavashev families. My mother talked about her relatives with interest and love not only to us, children, but also to her grandchildren. They could listen to her for hours without interrupting her.

From the memories of Tamara’s children:

After our tourist trip to the USA we came back and found mom in a very serious condition. We must admit that Faina and relatives did a great job to help her get better. The situation in Uzbekistan forced us to apply to go abroad, for permanent residence.

Mom agreed to emigrate to the United States to reunite with her son. After a serious illness, she gathered the strength to return to work and provide everything necessary for our departure. We received permission to leave in 1989 on Israeli visas, which meant flying to Vienna, and from there to either Israel or America. We had to pack the essentials and ship them to the US in containers. At Sheremetyevo, we went through a hand luggage inspection and declared gold and silverware.

Vienna was our first foreign city. It amazed us with its beauty, abundance of culture and friendliness. We waited to be summoned in a small alley of the airport after the plane from Moscow landed. SOHNUT representatives called the newly arrived emigrants to a table, took notes, and indicated buses for travel to dormitories or boarding houses outside the city. We hoped we could stay in the city.

We noticed a tall, handsome man who came in from the street and at the reception desk gave us the name of the family he was taking with him. As he passed us, he turned to my mom: “Isn’t Mavashev Rafael a relative of yours?”. Mom said he was her brother. The man explained that he had studied with Rafael in Leningrad on the same course and in the same group. Then he asked how he could help us. We said we would like to stay in the city. Returning to the registration desk, he said something and after saying goodbye, he left. We never got to find out who the man was who helped us stay in the city.

In Vienna, we had to wait eight months for permission to enter the United States. Those were the hardest days of our emigration. We were afraid of losing our mom in this unfamiliar city, especially considering her illness. Two or three times a week we had to call an ambulance. But, as it turned out, the world is full of good people.

One week we went as a family to the central synagogue to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. After the service, a middle-aged man with expressive eyes approached us and asked my mom, “Who will be Gulkarov Ruben to you?” Mom replied that it was her husband. “Bright memory to him,” he said and turning to the young man (later it turned out that it was his son), asked to bring the car to the entrance. “You are my guests today,” he said confidently. Despite our objections, he insisted that we accept the invitation. So, we went to the strangers empty-handed.

The young man quickly drove us to the house, where we were warmly welcomed by the hostess Raya. We sat down at the festive table and, while we were spending time merrily and joyfully, the owner of the house, David Pinkhasov, told us an amazing story.

“I recognized you. You worked in a jewelry store where your husband was the director. It was a long time ago; we were all young. I worked as a hatmaker across the street from this store. Once on my break, I went into the store and stared at the display cases of gold jewelry. A man asked me what kind of watch I liked and offered me one I liked. He even opened the display case, took the watch, and as if loaning it to me. I was shocked, but he insisted I take it without committing to anything. Without thinking long, I agreed, but I couldn’t understand why he did that. That watch brought me happiness, but that’s another story.”

Years later, Ruben’s good deed returned to Tamara and her family with an equally good deed. The owner of the house, Raya, was a nurse and for several months in a row, every time Mom had a seizure, she would give her medical care until late at night and then go to work in the morning. This did not happen once or twice, but throughout our entire stay in Vienna. To our deepest regret, after we left for the United States, we learned that David Pinkhasov had passed away. Blessed memory to him! And we wish Raya, his children, grandchildren and in-laws health, happiness, and good luck.

    Another family in Vienna was our support and protection – the Samandarovs: Avik (the eldest son of the famous singer Rena Galibova) and his wife Zina. A lovely, sweet family with three sons. Nikolai knew Avik from his work in Tashkent, where he was an associate professor of higher mathematics at the highway institute. They emigrated in 1979, passing through America, Israel and Greece to Austria, where they settled in Vienna. Avik became an assistant professor in one of the universities in Vienna, and he and Zina helped us, gave us advice on emigration, often invited us to holiday and Shabbat.

After the middle of the eighth month of our stay in Vienna, we contemplated moving to Israel, worried about my mother’s health. One evening Avik came to us and said: “Do not hurry to leave for Israel or the United States, stay in Austria, there is no better place for you. “Nikolai asked who would allow them to stay. He explained that according to a UN decision, if you are in a country for more than a month and do not have citizenship, you can apply for asylum. You have to open a bank account to show you have a living wage, then go to the police station with visas, and they know what to do. He offered us a check for 5,000 euros to open an account.

This unexpected news stunned us. We thanked Avik, but refused the money, saying that we needed to think about it. But the next day my mother changed her mind: “We were going to the reunion, and it turns out that Boris is in the United States, Rosa and her family are in Italy, and we are here. It’s not right. We will wait for permission. At the end of the 8th month of our stay, we finally received a long-awaited invitation for an interview at the U.S. Embassy. After the interview, the day of departure to the US was scheduled.

We flew to San Diego with a layover in New York. In New York we were met by my father’s aunt, Mira, together with her daughter Hanna Mullaeva and nephew Arkady Mavashev. We were exhausted but happy, for after months of waiting, our journey to our destination was finally coming to a close.

            We arrived in San Diego late in the evening. We were met by: brother Boris with Olga, sister Rosa with her family, as well as Ariel Mavashev and Mark Segal. They had arrived in the United States a month before us. We left our luggage at Ariel’s house and went to Rosa’s house for the night. We were welcomed with a set table, and we raised the first glass to our safe and long-awaited arrival in the USA.

Mom received age-appropriate health insurance, which allowed us to get a checkup. With two years of treatment, her condition improved, and we were able to prolong her life.

Her mother received an inheritance from the sale of her father’s house in Israel. She decided to use this money to buy her own house, if she could make it happen. From the first days of our stay in the U.S. we went on Sundays to look at houses for sale. Two years later, we bought a house. We all loved the house, but my mom especially loved it. It was spacious and comfortable, allowing us to host many guests and celebrations. A big kitchen, a garden, a swimming pool and one bedroom for each member of the family. Mom spent time in the yard every morning tending to the flowers, trees, watering and cleaning the grounds. The arrival of the family of sisters Sarah and Maria, and the family of brother Rafael, opened a new chapter in Mom’s life. They gathered often, and had long conversations on the phone every day. The move of Sara and Maria’s family to our street did not cause communication problems.

From the first days in the U.S., Mom wrote letters to Tashkent, giving an overview of life in the new environment, expressing her positive and negative view of her surroundings. She asked Boris to send visas to one relative or another. Boris was busy with his mother’s numerous errands and had to quit his job and work from home.

There were more and more of us. By the end of the fifth year the community numbered about one hundred and sixty people. They were relatives, matchmakers, matchmakers of matchmakers, their children and wives, grandchildren…. A few months later the first newly arrived relatives appeared. We, who had arrived earlier, helped them with renting apartments, filling refrigerators, meetings, counseling, paperwork, and trips to stores, government offices, and educational institutions.

In memory of Mom Tamara Mavasheva 10 years since her death

25 февраля 2014 года стал самым тяжелым периодом для всех нас, кто знал и любил мою маму, Тамару Мавашеву. Прошло уже десять лет с тех пор, как мы потеряли её. Десять лет – время, когда каждый из нас сталкивается с неизбежностью расставания с близкими. Эти моменты застигают нас всегда врасплох. Чувство вины, которое возникает после утраты близкого человека, совершенно нормально. Это была самая трудная проверка для нас, особенно когда дошло до того, что предстоит жить дальше без неё. Когда у тебя есть человек, на которого ты всегда можешь положиться, жизнь кажется идеальной. Но когда этого человека больше нет, приходится покинуть зону комфорта и перестроить свою жизнь. Никто не может заменить маму. Несмотря на ностальгию по тем временам, когда было легко и беззаботно рядом с мамой, она и сегодня – одно из самых важных понятий в нашей жизни. Её роль и значимость не поддаются переоценке. Наша мама была настоящим талантом в организации всего вокруг. Она всегда проявляла свою силу воли и чувство ответственности. В её глазах всегда отражалась гордость и любовь к нам, что заставляло нас, её детей, чувствовать себя ответственными за свои поступки и деяния. Благодарим маму за её любовь, заботу, веру в нас и помощь в нашем самосовершенствовании. Мы гордимся тем, что у нас была такая чудесная мама.