initials under the question and told me to bring the paper back to school the next day with Papa’s signature on it.
When I got home that afternoon, Papa was in his study, and I took the paper to him and waited for what was yet to come. To my amazement, Papa started to laugh (knowing that I liked algebra and always made excellent grades). I guess he thought it was funny. But then, with a very serious look on his face, he told me that what I had done was very wrong and that my punishment would be to sit at his desk (for as long as it took) and work this same problem over again until I finished it. It took me about two hours to get finished (it was about two pages of work), and Papa looked it over and signed it and told me to take it back to school the next day. However, he told me that Dr. Shutzburg may not be as tolerant as he was. He told me to apologize and ask the teacher to give me another chance—to give me another problem equally difficult to work on.
I stood in the hallway waiting for Dr. Shutzburg; then I gave him the paper and apologized like Papa had said for me to do. I was really surprised when he said OK, and the first thing he did when he went into the classroom was to write another problem on the blackboard and call my name.
Everyone in the class had a great time watching me march to the blackboard again, and I am sure they expected to have another laugh. This time I worked very fast and wrote all the answers, step by step. I did not turn around when I had finished. Dr. Shutzburg looked it over, faced the class, and spoke in a soft voice, saying, “Now, I hope that all of you learned something from this experience and that no one will try anything funny again. And now, Miss Lisowskaja will get her grade changed from an F to an A+.” From that day forward I liked him, and algebra continued to be one of my favorite subjects.
Another lesson that stands out in my memories happened when I was six years old and in the first grade. The thing I remember most was that Papa was insistent about teaching me different languages while I was very young. By the time I started school (at age five), I spoke at least three other languages really well (Polish, Yiddish, and German). Of these three languages, German and Yiddish were the easiest for me to learn, with Yiddish being the easiest—however, German and Yiddish are both similar. When I was six years old, I was very proud that I could speak different languages. One day, I got angry with one of my classmates, and I called her some names—it was very harmless—but I used the Yiddish language to call her the names. The teachers sent for Papa, and he had to come down to the principal’s office and do some fast explaining on my behavior in school and why I was speaking Yiddish. Papa had to tell her that he had taught me several languages. He was very upset with me, and told me never to do such a thing again.
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YIDDISH • Nonna’s teachers called Papa to the principal’s office because Yiddish was the language of the Jewish people. Papa had taught her Yiddish but had warned her to speak Yiddish only at home, not in public—since speaking the language of the Jews could arouse suspicions of having Jewish sympathies, if not heritage.
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From then on, my every move in school was watched by the teachers. They also watched my brother, Anatoly, as well as my entire family. The teachers would question Anatoly and me and ask if we were Jewish, and from then on, I was careful to not use my language ability in school. With the rumors of war and all the suspicions from everyone, I was losing my excitement for school and was not as happy as I had been when I started school.
19: Changing Times
1934–35
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Editors’ Note: Most farms in the Soviet Union had become the government’s “collective farms.” Communists had taken over private land and livestock. During these years, Nonna’s family—especially Feodosija—lost most of their wealth and property,
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