Mevasseret Zion is a small town perched atop a hill located about 10 minutes northwest of Jerusalem. Like many hilltop towns in the Jerusalem area, it offers a breathtaking view of the expansive city.
Mevasseret Zion is no ordinary town — it is an absorption center for new immigrants. As such, it has the communal atmosphere of a kibbutz. Only the metal bars on the windows and doors of the houses give it a more urban feel.
The town is a virtual United Nations, with immigrants from the United States, Canada, South America, Romania and Ethiopia. And then there is the group whose arrival is changing the lives of all immigrants at the absorption center: the Soviet Jews.
The Russians have arrived at Mevasseret Zion, and despite the fact that they have come with no money and uncertain prospects, most seem optimistic. They say they feel at home.
At one time, even only a year ago, the Jewish Agency for Israel, which operates the absorption center, would have been totally pleased with these sentiments. It would have encouraged families to stay at the absorption center until they were securely on their feet and had saved enough money to purchase an apartment.
But this is February 1990, and times have changed. Every day, new Soviet immigrants crowd into Ben-Gurion Airport, and the Jewish Agency and government must find them places to live.
The Jewish Agency is starting to get tough.
DESPERATE FOR SPACE
Officials know they can’t allow immigrants to become too settled in absorption centers, because the space is desperately needed for newcomers. So, the Jewish Agency issued new rules in January, intended to encourage the Soviets and other immigrants to leave the absorption center and enter the rental market.
Those who stay at Mevasseret Zion or any other absorption center now have to begin paying a nominal rent after six months of residency. If they remain in the absorption center a year, their rent shoots up even higher.
The new regulations shocked and dismayed many of the absorption center’s residents. When the announcement was made, some traveled to an absorption center in Jerusalem to join other Soviet immigrants in protesting the decision.
Tzipporah Lipin, a Jewish Agency representative who takes journalists on tours of Mevasseret Zion, says the Jewish Agency’s goal is to make the new immigrants independent as quickly as possible.
“The time spent here is not to coast and wait. It’s meant to be a constructive working time, a learning time,” she says.
Newlyweds Vicki and Grisha Lubarski are models of the talented young immigrants that have Israeli officials raving about the potential of the new aliyah.
The Lubarski household is not much different from any other Israeli household. The sparsely furnished room is impeccably arranged, with doilies on the table and the bookshelves. The floor is freshly mopped. Standing out in the middle of the room are a brand new, full-size refrigerator and a large television set.
Curly-haired Vicki Lubarski, 20, looks like she could be an undergraduate at Brooklyn College. Like many Soviet women, she favors pink lipstick and pastel eye shadow.
Her husband, Grisha, 29, returns home carrying flowers. Wearing brown wire-frame glasses, a patterned Shetland sweater, jeans and a still-shiny wedding band — he and Vicki have only been married for a year — Grisha looks like a Soviet version of the American yuppie.
He has just been to a kibbutz explaining the Soviet aliyah to children there. Despite his short time studying Hebrew, he is fluent in the language and rarely resorts to Russian, even though a translator sits beside him.
Grisha is a doctor who has worked in radiology and internal medicine. “The medical studies here are essentially the same, but the equipment is far more sophisticated,” he says.
In order to practice in Israel, he must take eight to nine months of retraining courses, pass a battery of tests and do an internship.
‘WHAT WILL HAPPEN, WILL HAPPEN.’
When asked if he is worried about the huge numbers of doctors among the Soviets, he shrugs. “What will happen, will happen,” he says. “There isn’t much I can do about it.”
Grisha initially worked for a month in a nursing home, but quit, saying it interfered with his Hebrew studies. Because Vicki’s mother, Genia, is living with them, they say they have enough money in the short-term to devote themselves completely to their Hebrew studies.
“For now,” Grisha says, “there is no problem with money.”
But the couple have been at the absorption center for five months, and they are not sure what they are going to do when their six-month deadline to begin paying rent arrives.
They are reluctant to commit themselves to an apartment rental, because they are not sure in which city they can best pursue their studies.
So right now, they don’t know if they will move, or continue at Mevasseret Zion and pay the rent.
For some of their neighbors, the time for choices has already run out.
Maria, an electrical engineer, and Lisa, her retired mother, came from Leningrad and have been at Mevasseret Zion for two years. They are finally responding to the pressure to leave.
“It’s very difficult to buy a flat. The ones who remained here in Mevasseret Zion were the ones who don’t have the money,” says Maria, a slim, middle-aged woman. She looks around wistfully. “It’s very nice here. But now the time has come to rent an apartment.”
Maria works, but her salary “is very low,” she says. They aren’t quite sure how they will make ends meet in the new place they have rented in Jerusalem, but they are about to try. There is no other alternative.
Their financial troubles have not embittered them. Despite their concerns, the pair, who were refuseniks for 19 years, say they are proud of Israel and glad they immigrated here.
The Archive of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency includes articles published from 1923 to 2008. Archive stories reflect the journalistic standards and practices of the time they were published.
