The Crossover People

“Now the LORD said unto Abram: ‘Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto the land that I will show thee.’” Genesis 12:1. “...you are about to cross over and take possession of that good land.” Deuteronomy 4:27.

My Dear Grandchildren:

I am writing to tell you about my boyhood in a land where my fathers and their forefathers lived, the land where I was born: Ukraine, then a province of Russia. I believe it is important that I write about these things before I go back to God. Psalm 103:15-16 says: “As for man, his days are as grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; And the place thereof knoweth it no more.” I hope that this remembrance will give you an understanding of the hardships that my family experienced in a country that despised us merely because of our Jewish religious beliefs. Perhaps when you read this, you’ll have a better knowledge of your ancestry and will realize how blessed you are to live in America, the “Goldene Medine,” the “Golden Land.” Some people live their entire lives in one place and never travel more than fifty miles from their birthplace. Others have left their homeland and lived their lives in a distant land far from the people they knew and loved. Among these are the “Crossover People,” the children of Israel. Abraham crossed over from the Ur of Chaldes to the land of Canaan; the Israelites crossed over the Red Sea from Egypt to the promised land; Joshua led the Jewish nation and crossed over the Jordan into the promised land; the Jews were dispersed from the promised land and crossed over many national borders in the Diaspora; and our family crossed over the Atlantic to America, the Goldene Medine. All of this was in accordance with the will of the LORD. I was born on March 15, 1912 in Kiev, Ukraine to God-fearing parents, Gershom and Sareh Bashinskii. They named me Jakin, after my great grandfather Jakin. The Bible indicates that Jakin was the son of Simeon, the second son of Jacob and Leah. In Hebrew Jakin means “He establishes.” One of the two pillars at the front of Solomon’s Temple was called “Jakin (the other pillar being “Boaz”).” When I arrived in America, my parents named me “Jacob” on my naturalization papers. Of course, my surname became “Bash”, the assumed name chosen by my father when he arrived in America. When I was two years old, my father, Gershom Bashinskii, emigrated to America with the intention that with God’s help my mother Sareh, my sisters Golda and Hayya and I would join him within a few months. As a reservist in the Russian cavalry (he’d fought in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905), my father was once again faced with compulsory military service in the army of the anti-Semitic Tsar Nicholas II. In the summer of 1914, contrary to the warnings of the British and the French, the Tsar decided to mobilize the Russian armed forces (including the reservists) to fight against the Germans, the Austrians and the Turks. In 1904, my father was drafted into the Russian cavalry when the Russo-Japanese War broke out. Although he’d been decorated twice for valor, he’d never been promoted since prior to 1917 Jews were rarely made officers in the Russian Military. While on patrol near Sha-Ho in Manchuria, he was wounded and his horse was shot out from under him. Left by the others in his patrol to die, he was captured by the Japanese who imprisoned him in a camp in Japan for the duration of the war. For many years after the Japanese war he had a difficult time forgetting about the dreadful treatment he’d received as a Jew in the Russian military. My parents viewed his military reactivation in 1914 as intolerable and decided to leave Russia. They planned that as soon as my father was settled in America we’d join him. But it didn’t turn out that way. The Great War (World War I) broke out shortly after he left and we had to endure war with German occupation, pogroms, revolution, civil war, and terrible persecution without anyone to protect us. When my father left I was just a toddler, not even old enough to understand what we faced. I still have troubled memories of those eight years we were separated from my father. Before I continue about why Gershom left, let me tell you more about our family (you might want to look at the family tree I’ve attached to this letter to better understand the people I’m discussing). My mother (your great grandmother) Sareh Bashinskii, nee’ Rosenstern, was born in 1888 in the Village of Yasnogorotka in Kiev, Province of Ukraine, then a part of the Russian Empire. Grandma Sareh died in 1966. She was strong-willed and courageous and where others may have faltered in adverse situations, she was like a rock. Her strength saw us through many years of virtual hell after my father left for America. She was a pretty, petite young woman when she married my father in 1907. Your parents remember her as a partially crippled, gray haired woman with wrinkles on her face. But they only knew her when she was getting on in years afflicted by arthritis. As a young girl, she had long brown hair, a fair complexion, smooth skin and dark brown eyes. My mother wasn’t a tall woman, but because of her strong will, one wouldn’t notice that she was only about five feet tall. For such a small lady, she could be a terror - she had a quick temper! She let anyone who roused her ire have it on all barrels. I know this first hand since I was in her sights on many occasions.