The sudden death of my mother Rivka after several days of pain and suffering becam
heartbreaking experience for all of us. I was in hospital when I was told that my mother was not
well. The rest – news of her death, the funeral, the infinite mourning, everything got mixed into
one dreadful dream. Years later, recalling and analyzing my mother’s life, I tried to understand
why she had to endure so many hardships and sufferings. Things could have been different, well
at least she could be near her husband, who was an authority for all of us. His presence alone
helped us to have faith in the days to come.
After father’s forceful escape, my mother began to earn a living by sewing. I remember
waking up in the middle of the night and watch her stitching garments with a sewing machine by
the light of a kerosene oil lamp. Every time I told her that it was already very late and that she
should go to bed she would say: “Sleep my daughter, close your eyes and sleep. I am almost made
it.” She never complained about anything, trying to pretend that all is good, hoping to see her
husband soon. She dreamed of coming back to Israel again. I remember from her stories that she
had a sister and a brother in Israel.
When the news of my mother’s death reached Israel my father was totally distressed by
the loss of his wife and although at that time he was relatively young he never married again. He
was only 56 years old.
Information on father’s life in Israel was very scarce. We received news of him maybe
once a year through acquaintances or relatives; it was real happiness for us. To write an open
letter abroad was equivalent to convicting oneself and all your relatives to imprisonment, or
putting an end to one’s career.
In 1951, we received news that our father was killed under mysterious circumstance early in the morning on his way to synagogue. It happened on September 1, 1951. By hearsay, he
was the witness of a night robbery, but there was nobody to ask for more detail.
Observing traditions, we always held commemoration gatherings in memory of our
mother and father when all brothers and sisters came together with their families to remember and
drink for the peace of their souls without the presence of a Rabbi. Only sometimes one of the
brothers said Caddish in a synagogue – because at that time the law persecuted it.
We, brothers and sisters, children of Avram-Haim and Rivka (Nissim) Mavashev, were
always very friendly and everyone till their last breath sought to help each other. All of us lived in
the capital of Uzbekistan, in the city of Tashkent. In spite of the fact that each of us lived his own
life, we, the children, the sons and daughters-in-law, nephews and nieces were as one big closeknit family.
