Each of us who immigrated from the former
Soviet Union and then adjusted to the new country faced challenges at
practically every point of this phase of life, as is generally known. Starting
with the most important, such as the decision "to leave or not to
leave," problems getting permission to leave, problems getting settled in
the new country, and more...
It has been 32 years since I left my
country of origin. When I think back to how difficult they were at first, I
just want to put that experience behind me. But now that I have started writing
about my immigration, I thought it would
be better if I wrote about how during this difficult period of time, there were
things that happened in my life that could only be called miracles from above.
To begin, my family and I, along with my
now-deceased spouse Yakov Israilov-Khojibekov, and our two children resided in
Dushanbe, a city in which everything was native, where we enjoyed a high
standard of living, and in which we were independent and happy. I was a senior
researcher at the Institute of Gastroenterology of the Tajikistan Academy of
Sciences, taught and lectured at the Department of Roentgenoradiology of the
Medical Institute, defended my master's thesis in Moscow, was already working
on my doctorate, and was preparing two graduate students. The only thing I
could complain about was my husband's deteriorating health. In the spring of
1989, he traveled to our friends in Riga, who were doctors, in order to get a
diagnosis using computer tomography, which was not available in Dushanbe at the
time. My mood was sad, and at times it was even difficult to endure. Then, I
experienced my first miraculous event. My heart was quite heavy as I was going
home from work in my "Zhigulenka," and all of a sudden I heard a
voice from above shouting "COME ON." To the very top of my head, it
was forceful; in fact, it was so intense that I actually came to a stop to
check whether there was a hole in the roof of the car. Then I speculated that
it might be a sign, and "Perhaps mystically, "going" meant
"leaving the country.
We had never seriously considered
immigrating before, because my parents and sister's family had already been in
Israel for 10 years, and we knew how difficult it was for them there and how
they had to relocate to Vienna, Austria.
I felt heavy and uneasy when I got home,
but that same night, another Miracle occurred: my nephew Avik Bobodustov called
me from Vienna for the first time in the ten years since I had left the country.
His phone call was truly miraculous. Telephone communication with foreign
countries was difficult at the time, so his call came as a surprise to me. We
had a lengthy conversation about living on both sides of the border, and when
Avik asked whether we wanted to come to visit, I quickly and unintentionally
said that we did not want to come to visit; rather, we wanted to move there
permanently. He couldn't believe it. He yelled into his phone: "What do
you and your family lack? You're happy there! You've got everything! Does your
husband agree?” It was hard for me to
explain to him why I was asking for a permanent residency visa. This decision
occurred to me completely naturally, and I had no doubts about it. Perhaps by
some intuition I foresaw big social upheavals looming in the country and,
indeed, in about six months to a year after my departure riots broke out in our
once peaceful and native Dushanbe, which turned into a long civil war. This momentary decision of mine, most likely
also sent from above, was another Miracle of mine that expedited our departure.
When my late husband came back from Riga, he didn't agree with this unexpected
decision of mine for a long time. But after we moved to America, he often told
me, "You have the finest intuition.”
Our journey to America was long. First
there was Vienna - one month in the house of my sister, Nina Bobodustova. Then a difficult three
months of monitoring in Italy. And only on March 23, 1990, we arrived in America.
We didn't like living in Italy, and neither did many of our friends. My husband
got sick a lot, it was always cold, even in the apartment, and the long wait
for the unknown to end was exhausting.
But our first few days in America did not
seem like the best either. We were brought to Queens by our friends from
Dushanbe, Uriel (now deceased) and Rena Aminoff, who had graciously and
persistently invited us to visit America. Queens, which didn't look like the
American Dream to us because it was dirty and the buildings looked like poor
factory quarters. It was such a letdown compared to our image of a
"beautiful and prosperous America" that I personally started to feel
like I was on the verge of depression. I started to wonder if leaving the
country was the right thing to do. However, this was more than made for by the
overwhelming concern, kindness, and support that our friends showed us. They
helped us out financially for a month, and even let us stay in their tiny
two-bedroom apartment despite the fact that they were recent immigrants and
faced all the hardships that come with that. I also think that having such
friends is a sign from above and one of our great miracles.
By law, you become an American citizen five
years after you start coming to the country legally. Therefore, I will
concentrate on these five years, which will test your strength as well as your
ability to deal with challenges and accomplish what you set out to do. My only
objective was to become a doctor in the United States and continue practicing
radiography, which I love (in America this profession is called diagnostic
radiology). To the government's credit, the Jewish group NAYANA and the state
itself assisted us out up until I started making my own money during my residency.
During this time span of five years, I was
required to "travel through fire and water." My medical school
training lasted exactly one year, from July 1990 to July 1991. At that time,
there was no other activity besides studying. I left my house at seven in the
morning to go to a special library known as Kaplan's. My goal was to begin
studying my medical books (which were ten to twelve inches thick for each exam)
at eight o'clock sharp; to study until ten o'clock (when we got tired of
sitting and laid down on the floor); and to get back to my family at eleven
o'clock at night, when the kids were already asleep. That was the case each and
every day of the week. Fortunately, their father could care for them despite
his poor health, so I realized that I had a big responsibility for the family's
financial future. Then a new Miracle happened. I passed all four exams (two for
the confirmation of my medical degree and two for my American license) on the
first try. It was incredible! Many of my friends took several years to pass,
and some even stopped and went into another profession. As you can see, I got
lucky, and I believe all four of my achievements (one for each exam) to be
Miracles from God.
And then, just a few months later, in
December of 1991, my husband passed away, and with his passing came the
beginning of a new phase in my life. We were pioneers back then, because none
of our relatives were around yet. During this difficult period, I sensed an
amazing outpouring of support and concern for our family, not only from our
circle of friends, but also from the entirety of the Bukharian Jewish community
in New York. I, also, considered this incident to be a wonder to be added to my
"box of immigrant miracles." Our population is remarkable in that
they are always willing to lend a hand to others in their community who are
struggling.
Just 20 days after the tragic circumstances
in my life, I unexpectedly received an invitation to an interview for
residency. I was immediately accepted! On
American soil, this marked a turning point in my professional career. And how
could it not qualify as my next Miracle!
Although the therapy residency was
enjoyable and provided me with an income, it was exceedingly difficult: the
hospital was far from home, the workday lasted from 7 a.m. to almost 7 p.m.,
and I had to be on call every two days. . Only twice a week did I get to see my
teenaged kids, so I frequently prepared their favorite "oshi sabo"(
traditional Bukharian dish prepared only for the Sabbath) on the other days of
the week, which amused my friends. There was limited opportunity for hands-on
parenting and supervision, and instead most interactions took place by
telephone. They were sarcastically referred to as "phone kids." And
the fact that they grew up to be highly educated and decent is really a
Miracle.
After finishing my residency, the idea of
working as a therapist did not inspire any sense of optimism in me. I missed
practicing radiology and had a strong desire to get back to it. However, at
that time, they did not permit non-citizens to apply for residency in that
particular field of medicine. My age (46) was also a major barrier. However,
another miracle occurred: all the obstacles suddenly dissolved, and I was
accepted into the radiology residency program at the same hospital, where I
completed another five years of study. Finally, my wish came true! I graduated
as a Diagnostic Radiologist in America!
And yet another miracle, the thirteenth
one, took place in my life, many years later. In addition to my professional
activities, for the first time in my life, I became a member of the Bukharian
Jewish Congress of America & Canada, president of its women's organization,
and publisher of the "Women's World" community magazine.
I have loved the number 13 all my life, and
it is so great that all the wonderful things that happened to me during this
difficult period of my immigration fit into these 13 Miracles.
Am I happy with my life in America? Yes.
If I could have changed anything, I would
have immigrated far earlier to make "conquering" America simpler and faster.
My hometown of Dushanbe, Tajikistan, has a special place in my heart, and I hope that it continues to thrive and make strides forward.
Dr. Zoya Maksumova
