I Left my Heart Behind to Find my Home 

The water was cold.  The air was cold.  Everything was cold.  In fact, I scarcely recall thinking of anything else while on the boat from London to Ellis Island.  The December air bit at my nose and face as we pulled into the dirty harbor.  I remember passing by the Statue of Liberty, standing against a backdrop of dreary gray clouds.  I'd seen pictures of it - but the drudge and smog I saw looming over the fabled New York City seemed to contradict everything I'd heard of America.

            Truth be told, I didn't want this to be my home; the thought alone stirred deep sadness in me.  I wanted to be back in Ukraine, where I'd been raised.  I wanted to run in the green fields, and tall grass.  I wanted it to be summer, and for the cold, snippy air to go away, and for the sad clouds to leave and let the light of the sun come through.

            But, America was our home now.  Ukraine was no longer safe.  Europe as a whole was no longer safe.  We had come here to start a new life, one that held promise.  A bright hope and a future awaited us.  Mother continually reminded us of the Scripture which read, "For I know the plans I have for you, saith the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you a hope and a future."  I was four years old when she first read those words to me, when we were going through the bad times in Ukraine.  I don't remember much of our struggle - probably because I had never known anything else - but I do remember Mother continually reciting that verse to me.  In retrospect, I think it was mainly to herself, but I still like to think that the verse was especially directed at me.  I've never forgotten it since, and even then, I recited the words to myself when I saw the dismal scene laid before my eyes, as we pulled into the windy harbor past the Statue of Liberty.
            It wasn't as if I had any choice in coming to America.  My second oldest brother, Burkard, and my mother had made the decision to move here, and I was just a twelve-year-old girl, with no say in the matter at all.  I was the oldest of the girls though, so I did have some social perks within our family structure - but not many.  Father had always been the head of our home, and now Burkard tried to do the same, in his absence.  Father and my oldest brother, Christoph, had been forced into the military in Ukraine.  After not hearing from them for several years, as tensions mounted across all of Ukraine, Burkard insisted that we move to America.  He said that there were millions of unclaimed acres of land for immigrants to come and settle on.  We were farmers by trade, and this seemed to be an ideal opportunity for our family to forge a new life.  But, I silently resolved in my heart that someday, when I was old enough, I would return to Ukraine with my family.
            Ellis Island was cold, in more than one way.  I will choose to omit the details of our experiences passing through, but will mention that I haven't stood for so long in my life.  The ceilings were tall and spacious.  They echoed a lot, further heightening and jumbling the clamor of the crowds below.  The bombardment of noise from all of the other immigrants in such an echoic room was enough to drive a twelve year old girl distraction; but I, as the oldest of the girls, had to set the example, so I waited quietly next to Mother and waited for our turn to process through the line.  Burkard was his normal, nervous, eccentric self, always pacing, and asking the stony officers questions.  It seemed they were nearly as irritated as he was about the situation we were all in, but unfortunately for them, it was their job to be here.  I could have never worked at Ellis Island.  Snow began to attack the windows.  I used to love the snow, during Ukrainian winters.  We would play in it for hours, until we were soaking wet and shivering with happy exhaustion.  But, ever since that day, I have hated the cold.  I cannot separate it from those memories.
            Furthermore, they changed my name. Yes, I have a name. It was Emilie Benedikt, but the big man at the desk told me that my American name would be Emily Benedict.  I didn't want my name changed.  I didn't want to come to America!  But, Mother shushed my protests, and I knew that I had no choice.  Benedikt said that we hadn't been able to make money anymore in Ukraine because of the Russians and their Communist beliefs.  We hadn't been able to go to church anymore; Mother said it wasn't safe to go.  I didn't understand why it was unsafe to love God, or to be kind, as Christ had instructed.  Little did I know that Christians all over Ukraine were being thrown in prison, shot in their own front yards, tortured, beaten and ridiculed for calling Christ their Lord.  As I grew older, I almost felt as if I should have stayed behind to suffer with them.  Even that day at the desk, I knew it was petty to feel hurt by my name being changed; but somehow, it seemed to signal the loss of my entire identity.  Mother understood me, and she continued to spell my name "Emilie" when she wrote it.  She still does.
            We didn't loiter in New York once we passed through Ellis Island.  Burkard (now renamed to Brock, which I thought I was uglier than even my new name) knew where he wanted to take us: Texas.  He had heard  that there were many Ukrainians moving to the Texas area.  There was one problem, though: None of us spoke English.  Accordingly, it was difficult to travel - and to gain money.  Burkard had to get temporary labor jobs at several farms on the way south, to secure transportation money.  I did my best to help Mother, but she was often tired and silent and despairing, and the loss of Father to the Russians ate at her every hour of every day.  It was not easy for any of us, but Mother suffered the most.
            As we traveled, I realized with certain finality: Christoph, and Father were both gone, possibly not even alive anymore, and we were on the other side of the world trying to make a new life without them. Hardly a day went by for the first several years in America when I didn't remember them, and I often felt guilty for the freedom I had here.  As our new garden flourished, and we settled into rhythm with the land yet again, I felt guilty that I hadn't wanted to come here, when opportunity was waiting for us to take advantage of, and it wasn't so readily available for others, who would have gladly taken the opportunity, had it been offered to them.  But, these feelings waned slowly with the passing of the years in Texas, and my resolve to return to Ukraine softened into gratitude that God had spared my family the grief that so many others suffered.

            Burkard got married several years after we'd settled in Texas, and started a family of his own.  He only had a basic education from the schools in Ukraine, but he was smart, and managed to be admitted into
a college in Texas and turn his knowledge of farming into an agriculture degree.  I began attending school when I was thirteen and my teacher soon reported to Mother that I was a very bright student. The other girls attended school as well, and we all learned English quickly, except Mother who stayed at home. She was terrible lonesome, but never considered remarrying because she believed Father was still alive.
            Soon, we began discussing another change.  We had heard of the growing German settlements up in the Dakotas for quite some time, and Mother yearned to go.  But, had it cost us so much to establish ourselves in Texas that we did not have enough money to go turn around and move up there.  But eventually, we decided to pull up stakes, sell our farm, and move the whole family up to North Dakota, to a little town called Dickinson.  When we arrived there, we were shocked to find that nearly everybody there still spoke German!  Mother was just about as happy as a clam to speak German again.  She had been slightly embittered at America for requiring all of us children to abandon our native language.  She fretted that we would "lose our roots" altogether, and admonished us to "always keep your history near your heart."  Nonetheless, she also recognized that integration was best - and required us to speak English during supper, so that she could learn a few phrases herself. Yet, none of this stopped her from being elated to move into a German-speaking community again.  She was getting older, and we wanted her to be happy again.
            The year was 1910, and I was now eighteen years old.  Boys had started to catch my eye, and I theirs.  Mother still quietly mourned the loss of Father.  We children thought that someday she would recover entirely, but now I understand the human heart much better.  A heart, once broken, is never the same thereafter.  God bless Burkard for trying to fill Father's role in the home, but she remained devotedly unmarried and satisfied in her solitude without Father.  Her heart always remained fully his.

            Inevitably, I met and married a young man, named Alexander Hoffman, and became Emily Hoffman in 1912.  We lived happily, and didn't waste time having children.  But, the world didn't waste time turning sour either. Five years of marriage later, my husband went off to fight in World War I - which, of course, at the time, I didn't know was the first one.  I cried every day for months, certain that my new husband would never return, just like my father never had.  When he came back safely, I took security in that for twenty years before both of our sons went off to fight in the second war.  One of them came back, one of them didn't.

            Now, as I write this in my old age, I see that it's not just about the home I still miss very much in Ukraine; it's about the home we made for ourselves here – and the freedoms we were given.  America is truly a great nation, and so many people have contributed to her greatness.  Looking out the window at my grandchildren, I know now that I would much prefer what we've accomplished here with our freedoms, than have attempted to live in a war-torn country and hide from evil monsters like the communists and fascists for my entire life.  America is our home now; America is where we will stay.  But my heart will always cherish our life in the Ukraine and the heritage of my family, to preserve now and for the generations to come, my roots will forever live on as a Ukrainian German from Russia - here in the United States.

 Bibliography

“German-Russian settlement map”, http://www.rollintl.com/roll/grsettle.htm.

“American Historical Society of Germans From Russia” http://www.ahsgr.org/.