Tag Archives: #immigrants

From Bialystok to Brooklyn: Part Three

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The Oshinsky Story Part Three: Making it to America

Simova, Poland ➡️ Bialystok, Poland ➡️ Minsk, Russia ➡️ Moscow ➡️ Viana, Russia ➡️ Erkutcsk ➡️ Chita, Siberia ➡️ Harbin, China ➡️ Chanzhou, China ➡️ Darien, China ➡️ Sent back to Harbin ➡️Yokohama➡️Hawaii➡️San Francisco➡️Chicago➡️Brooklyn!

Unlike most Eastern Europeans fleeing pogroms and poverty to America through ships sailing across the Atlantic Ocean, Harry “Chonie” Oshinsky took a journey over three continents. His trip took a dangerous turn in Darien, China, where he and his fellow travelers were arrested, accused of being part of a murderous gang. Here is the last installment of Harry’s incredible journey. 

 Harry and his two friends were thrown into a prison, where they sat on a stone floor, fed a diet of foul rice, and listened as the Chinese prisoners who shared their cell were beaten with a rope. An attempt at a hunger strike backfired, and the three hand-bound boys were taken by train back to Harbin. 

Miraculously, Der Forvertz carried a story of their arrest, which triggered a protest in the Yiddish newspaper. Harry’s sister, when she herself read in New York about the arrest of Chunya Oshinsky and two other boys, she realized for the first time that her little brother was alive. 

Soon after, authorities transferred Harry and the others from the Russian commandant’s office to a prison near the Jewish Committee House, a place Harry and Yankel had stayed at earlier in their journey. Although the bottom floor held hardened criminals, the three were taken to the second floor, where they joined approximately thirty other political refugees who were held. They experienced good conditions: they received food, decent beds, and daily morning access to fresh air. Ironically, some of the other prisoners were actually paying money to be there. “This was so much better than being on the front lines and risking one’s life in battle!” they told Harry. Again, Harry’s tailoring skills proved useful, as the overseer often called on him to do alterations for himself and others.

As the prison stay extended into its fourth month, Harry realized that his only chance of release was to have money sent to him from America. Not knowing the address of his four siblings, he sent a desperate plea to Yankel, whom he hoped had already made it to America. He mailed a letter to The Goldbergs, 22 Ludlow Street, New York. “Just as a bird gets lost from his home in a tree and gets caught and put in a birdcage,” Harry wrote, “so this has happened to me.”

A few weeks later, Harry again faced the Russian commandant. The officials in the consulate had never been able to confirm he was a murderer; however, they conscripted him into the army. Before reporting, he made one last trip to the Jewish Committee House. Fate shone on him again, as two hundred rubles had been sent from America for his release.

On a bitter cold winter’s night in March 1917, Harry and three other Jewish refugees began their three-day trek on foot back across China into Japan. Once over the border, they traveled by train and boat. 

They arrived at the Japanese seaport of Yokohama in time to hear the news that Czar Nicholas II had been overthrown. Three weeks later, on April 10, 1917, Harry and his companions boarded the Shino Maru.

When the ship stopped in Honolulu, Harry was filled with “sheer happiness and joy” when he touched American soil for the first time. His twenty-four-hour stopover was almost extended when a tour of the island resulted in a chance meeting with a Jewish men’s clothing store owner. After hearing Harry’s story, the owner offered him a job as a tailor and salesperson. “I thanked him for his goodness,” Harry later recalled, “but I was determined to go to New York to be with my family.”

The Shino Maru arrived in San Francisco on April 29, where all immigrants were processed through Angel Island. The next morning, a representative of HIAS met with Harry to arrange for his train trip across the United States.

 Harry arrived at Grand Central Station during the first week of May 1917. He heard his name being called; it was Yankel Goldberg, his friend with whom he had traveled until their separation in Yokohama. His siblings Zalman David and Leah did not recognize Harry until Yankel shouted to them, “Here! Here he is! This is your brother Chonie!” They fell into each other’s arms, kissing and crying. After a two and a half year journey, Harry was finally reunited with his siblings.

Settling in Brooklyn, Harry found employment in a factory that sewed soldiers’ uniforms. In a few weeks, he was making enough money not only to rent his own apartment but also to help support his siblings. He enrolled in night school to learn English and in dance school to improve his social life. In his spare time, he explored New York City and attended lectures about the ongoing war and politics. 

The November 11, 1918, armistice brought relief to Harry. knowing he would not have to return to Europe to fight in the war. He was able to send a letter home. “I am alive and living in America.” A few weeks later, he received an answer. “Everyone is alive!” His sister reunited with her fiancé, who had been a prisoner of war; Poland was an independent country.

Eventually, Harry earned enough money to bring his younger draft-eligible brother Yitzchak from Poland to America. With Harry’s help, Yitzchak found a job as a salesperson in a Lower East Side candy store. 

After Harry’s parents passed away, his sister, now married with her own family, remained in Poland. Tragically, she and her family were later killed in the Holocaust.

During the Depression, Harry supplemented his income by opening a candy store he opened with his brother Yitzchak. The business remained in the family throughout their lives.

 In 1927, Harry met Frieda, a young woman from his own area in Poland, and they were married that August. Harry and Frieda had two sons, Leonard and Robert, who both shortened their surname to Oshins. Both married and had children of their own. Robert and his wife Natalie settled in Schenectady, New York, and were active members of Congregation Agudat Achim. After a career working for the post office, Lenny and his wife Bobbe moved to Clifton Park, New York, to be closer to their daughter Cindy and her family and joined Congregation Beth Shalom.

 Harry passed away in 1976, but he left his legacy and his history in a 12,000 word autobiography that was originally published in Yiddish in Der Forverts in the late 1960s. Lenny Oshins gave me a copy of the document, which had been translated into English by Simon and Anne Paktor, friends of Robert and Natalie in Schenectady. 

Lenny (Z”L), it took me way too long to write your father’s story. I hope you, your parents, your wife, and brother are all reading this in heaven and kvelling over a life well-lived.

Originally published March 17, 2022. Updated May 26, 2025.

Lenny and Robert Oshins

Route to Jewish life in States not always the same story

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My family, like those of most of my Jewish friends, can trace their roots from Eastern Europe and Russia. The stories of our lives have been captured again and again in movies and literature: Our grandparents, facing religious persecution and the fear of pogroms in Russia and Eastern Europe, fled to the Goldene Medina, the Golden Country—America. Most landed at Ellis Island and started their lives and the lives of their children in New York City’s Lower East Side. But other friends have shared stories that represent a more circuitous route. One such person is Gilda “Hilda” Kilman Gallant, whose own history starts not on Hester Street but in Havana.

Hilda’s parents, Simon Kiman and Golda Szejerman, were both born in Poland. When they were small children, their families immigrated to Cuba in 1925 and 1929, respectively. Growing up in the same Jewish neighborhood in Havana, the two eventually fell in love and married in 1950. Hilda was born eleven months later. By 1957, the Kimans were a family of five, with the birth of two more daughters, Rose and Julie. 

Despite political tensions and the 1952 coup that resulted in the subsequent dictatorship under Fulgencio Batista, the Kimans lived a happy, comfortable life. Simon and his brother owned and managed a successful small variety store, while Golda was a full-time homemaker. Although they continued to speak Yiddish within their home, they also learned Spanish, the language of their adopted country. Hilda and Rose attended a Jewish parochial school, where they were taught secular subjects, including Spanish, in the morning. After a break for lunch, the traditional main meal, they returned in the afternoon for Hebrew lessons and Judaic studies.

In 1959, Cuba’s political world was upended. Open corruption and oppression under Batista’s rule led to his ousting by the 26th of July Movement, and Fidel Castro soon assumed leadership. Under his communist rule, Castro nationalized all businesses. The communist government prohibited private ownership, resulting in Simon and his brother losing their store and livelihood. As conditions in all areas, including education, deteriorated, the family decided to leave Cuba. Failing to secure American visas, Simon and Golda applied to and gained acceptance into Israel. A few months later, Hilda’s maternal aunt, uncle, and grandmother also emigrated to Israel and lived across the hall from the Kiman’s. Simon’s family eventually immigrated to the States and settled in Philadelphia.

Out from under Castro’s iron thumb, Simon and Golda still found life in the United States very difficult. Simon, who had no formal education or training, worked a job in an orange packaging factory. Golda supplemented his salary by learning the diamond cutting trade. Struggling with Hebrew, they continued to mostly speak Spanish and Yiddish with other immigrants of similar background. Hilda and her sisters adjusted well to life in Israel as children.

When Hilda was approaching her 16th birthday, Simon and Golda yearned to be with their family in the States. They sent her to Philadelphia to live with her father’s sister and husband and her paternal grandmother. She shared a room with her cousin Henry in a tiny home. Although she received much love, she missed her parents and sisters very much. 

Although she found math and science courses relatively easy, Hilda found courses that required English proficiency a struggle. Fortunately, several wonderful teachers took her under their wing and provided extra help before and after school. “Henry also helped by introducing me to American TV,” said Hilda. “It turned out to be a great tool in learning a new language.”

Rose soon followed, and in 1968, just before Hilda’s high school graduation, her parents, youngest sister and grandmother finally obtained visas to enter the US. The family was finally reunited. Hilda’s parents purchased a small food/variety store and then a clothing store, and the entire family found happiness in the very large and tight-knit Cuban Jewish presence in Philadelphia.

After high school, Hilda’s aunt insisted she continue her education. “You are in America,” she told Hilda. “Women don’t rush off to get married and have babies after high school. You need to go to college.”

Hilda enrolled at Gratz College in the Judaic studies program. She worked full time during the day as a bookkeeper to help support her family and took classes at night and on Sunday. Because of her time in Israel, Hilda spoke fluent Hebrew and became friends with many of her Israeli classmate, along with a part-time native Philadelphian.

Stuart Gallant had grown up in the “City of Brotherly Love,” the only child of first-generation Americans and the grandson of Eastern European/Russian refugees. Along with his public school education, Stuart attended the usual 3-days-a-week Hebrew school through his bar mitzvah. The rabbi of their Conservative synagogue, of which his parents were co-founders, enticed Stuart and some other boys to engage in additional learning, including Torah reading and leading services. Raising the stakes, the rabbi then insisted that his students attend Shabbat services weekly “Until my high school graduation, I became a fixture at the shul,” Stuart said. “I read Torah on Saturday morning, taught Hebrew school and bar/bat mitzvah students, lead junior congregation and, in my senior year, served as president of the local chapter of United Synagogue Youth.”

After he graduated high school, Stuart enrolled into Drexel University for a degree in electrical engineering. Struggling to balance his new classes and the slew of Jewish holidays that fell on during his first weeks on campus, Stuart had to cut back on his attendance at services. His “school vs. shul” decision resulted in falling out with the rabbi. He stopped going to services, even avoiding driving near his synagogue. 

Despite his estrangement from formal religion, Stuart enrolled in Gratz College part-time to further his Jewish education. During one of his classes, he noticed the lovely young woman who spoke fluent Hebrew. Intrigued by what he thought was her Israeli background, Stuart asked her out. On their first date, however, Hilda called her parents to alert them she might be late coming home because of the bad weather. “She certainly wasn’t speaking Hebrew,” said Stuart. It was only after that phone call he learned about Hilda’s Cuban-Jewish background. As a matter of fact, throughout their courtship and their marriage, Stu could not converse with Hilda’s grandmother since he never learned fluent Spanish—or Yiddish. 

After completing his masters at Drexel, Stuart began a career in biomedical engineering that took him and Hilda to Minneapolis, Baltimore, and eventually to California. Hilda initially stayed home to raise their two sons, Joshua and Avi. She eventually used her strong accounting skills in several jobs, including Stuart’s own medical device start-up company.

The “school vs. shul” decision long behind him, Stuart, along with Hilda, became actively involved in their synagogues through their lives. Stuart has served on synagogue boards; Hilda called on her background in Judaic Studies to teach in a Jewish-nursery school. 

For Hilda, the journey that started in Cuba has recently brought her only 400 miles from her birthplace (although she stated she would never visit!). In 2021, Hilda and Stuart moved to Florida to be closer to their children and grandchildren, who live on the East Coast. Wherever they go, Hilda and Stuart’s rich background and warm presence will be a blessing.

Originally published May 27, 2021.Updated May 25, 2025.

A Jewish neshama shining bright in Alaska

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As Betty M. E. “Liz” Ross joined the other women at Congregation Shalom Aleichem on the bima to bless the Sabbath candles, she put the hood of her kuspuk, her traditional Native Alaskan snow dress, over her head. And on her neck, her gold Star of David caught the light of the flickering flames. A business woman, a college professor, and a black belt in karate, Liz also carries with her the love and respect of her double heritage: Judaism and Native Alaskan.

Liz’s great-grandparents had fled their native Kyrgyzstan in the late 19th century to escape the pogroms. A fur-trapping family, they were nomads who lived throughout the then-Russian territory. Out of fear of discrimination, they rarely spoke about their Jewish heritage to their only child, Ola. “it was a taboo subject,” said Liz. “We were told there are some doors that should not be opened.”

In the 1920s, Ola married Joe Nashoalook, a Native Alaskan who served as the chief of the Inupiaq village of Unalakleet in the Bering Strait region. Their daughter Anna, the oldest of the Nashoalook children, met her husband Arthur Ellis when he was stationed in Nome, Alaska, during World War II. He continued in the Army for just under thirty years, a career that took Anna and seven of their children, including Liz, to military bases throughout the United States, Europe, and Asia.

After graduating from high school in Colorado Springs, Liz began her post-secondary education in a community college before enrolling in the University of West Florida. During this time, Liz often visited her older sister Nancy, who had been raised by a childless aunt and uncle from Nome, Alaska, who were observant Jews. Experiencing this “taboo” subject for a first time sparked in Liz an interest in learning about Judaism that has lasted a lifetime. 

In 1979, Liz met her husband, Jeff, and they were married in 1980. Over the next several years, they had four children. All the children attended private schools through eighth grade. Their oldest son attended public school from eighth grade through his graduation. The other three of the children were home schooled, where they received an “eclectic” education, which gave them the flexibility to join Liz on her trips to Alaska as well to travel around the world as a family. “I wanted them to understand all backgrounds,” said Liz. “There was so much prejudice, and I wanted them to be open-minded.” They are proud that all four attended college or trade schools.

A self-confessed “Type A” personality, Liz continued with her education despite her arduous schedule. She completed her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in business administration in New Hampshire and a doctorate in finance and management from the Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale.

In addition, the time spent with her observant relatives led Liz to study for eight years with a rabbi to reconnect with her Jewish roots, opening a door that her mother had kept closed. Her learning culminated in her formal conversion, complete with the mikvah, or ritual bath, in 2003. “The rabbi said that since my mother was Jewish, it was unnecessary,” said  Liz “As I wasn’t brought up with a traditional Jewish education, however, it was important for me to undergo a formal conversion.” She chose Leah as her Hebrew name, which is as important to her as her Inupiaq name, Kanuk (snow goose).

While the family established their home base in New Hampshire, Liz split her time between New England and Alaska. She worked as a board member of the Thirteenth Regional Corporation, where responsibilities included procuring and implementing government contracts to invest in local business ventures. She also volunteered as the CEO of the Native Village of Unalakleet Corporation, her way of giving back to her grandparent’s home. 

Being the only practicing Jew in this remote rural area of Alaska provided challenges. Liz often observed the holidays and festivals on her own—baking challah, lighting Shabbat candles, and drinking grape juice—the best alternative to wine in a “damp” community that set limits on the amount of alcohol a person may fly in per month. Determining the Sabbath candle lighting time was difficult, as sunset happened as early as 3:30 in the winter and 1 a.m. in the summer. When  Liz was in Alaska during the High Holy Days, she would travel to Fairbanks, the closest place with a synagogue. 

In 2005, Liz took a position as the program director of the master of business program and professor at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks. She also was the business and karate instructor for Rural Alaska Honors Institute during the summers, mentored the Native Alaskan Business Leaders, a student organization, and founded a martial arts class.

 Liz also became the first Native Alaskan to teach the business class for the Rural Alaska Honors Institute. The University of Alaska Fairbanks developed the six-week summer program at the request of the Alaska Federation of Natives. Its purpose was to encourage Native Alaskan high school students to finish college so they could bring back new ideas and business expertise to their villages. “You need to use your time here so you can grow, and then give back to your own communities.” Liz told her students.

 Liz stated that most participants had grown up in small remote villages that could only be accessed by air taxis, boats, or dog sleds. “Many had never left their home villages,” said Liz. In addition, some students having grown up in a subsistence lifestyle where their families had gotten their food supply through planting, hunting, and fishing. “The students experienced culture shock when they found they could buy meat and vegetables in a supermarket.”

While in Fairbanks, Liz established her first official membership in a synagogue when she joined Congregation Or HaTzafon. Rabbinical students/cantors lead services during the summer months, while an ordained rabbi oversees the High Holy Day services. During the rest of the year, members of the Ritual Committee plan and oversee the Sabbath including, including the weekly oneg, the after-service refreshments. 

The congregation has established that candle lighting time was 7:30 pm, no matter when sundown officially occurred. Long, cold Alaska winters, however, affected many Jewish holidays. Liz remembers building a Sukkot in several inches of snow and eating the traditional meals with heavy coats and snow boots.

In 2015, Liz took a position as executive director of the Small Business Development Center at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado. Similar to her position in Alaska, she mentored members of Native American tribes in Southwest Colorado through business education classes and entrepreneurial support. The move was, in part, driven by the need to be closer to her widowed mother, who was living in Colorado Springs.

After contracting an infection during a trip to Vietnam in 2017, Liz retired and moved to the home in Florida that she and her husband had purchased several years earlier. Her mother and her sister Karin live nearby. As a member of Congregation Shalom Aleichem in Kissimmee, Florida, Liz taught classes in Jewish ritual to its congregants.  

Liz has returned to Fairbanks, where she continues to give back to the Alaskan Native Community by working at the Tanana Chiefs Conference as the Deputy Director of Tribal Government and Client Services. She is expanding her Jewish heritage by studying and learning from Rabbi Heshy Wolf and his wife Chani at the newly opened Fairbanks Jewish Center – Chabad Lubavitch, what is the northernmost Chabad House in the world.

 Liz strives to keep kosher, satisfying much of the requirements by keeping to a fish and vegetarian diet. Jeff, who is Catholic, follows his wife’s dietary restrictions up to a point. “After almost 45 years together, we both have found a middle ground,” said Liz. “Our values are conservative with a strong faith in God.”

Meanwhile, Liz keeps learning about both her Native Alaskan and Jewish heritages. A Chinese quote, “Learning is a treasure that follows its owner everywhere” is embedded in Liz’s email signature—and in her heart.

Originally published March 7, 2019. Updated May 25, 2025.

Liz Ross In Alaska