In Debt to Hollywood

I always have a special feeling landing in Los Angeles and seeing the giant Hollywood sign. Recently, while attending the Milken Institute Global Conference, I told someone that, in a very real sense, my family owes its freedom to people in Hollywood. He suggested I share our story more broadly. So here is the short version — personal and grateful.

I was born in Moscow, the capital of the Soviet Union, into a family of two aerospace engineers. When I was three, my father left his engineering career and became a full-time author, scriptwriter and playwright. He became successful and well respected in his new profession. An animated series he co-created had the kind of recognition across the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe that Tom and Jerry had in the United States.

In the summer of 1973, my parents decided to emigrate to Israel. The Soviet authorities did not appreciate that decision, and we became “refuseniks” — the moniker for Jews denied permission to leave. Our phone line was disconnected, my father’s work was rejected everywhere and to earn his living he had to write scripts and plays under other people’s names, just like in Hollywood in the 1950s. But this only increased my parents’ determination, and my father became active in the Jewish exodus movement. He served as co-editor of the underground journal Tarbut (Culture), and my parents hosted bi-weekly seminars on Jewish culture in our living room. My father went on two major hunger strikes. We all learned Hebrew. What began as a private decision became part of a larger struggle for identity and freedom.

In December 1976, several activists, including my father, organized an international conference on Jewish culture. Most prominent invited guests from abroad were denied entry into the Soviet Union, but some came. On the morning of the conference, the homes of the organizers were raided and searched by the KGB and in the following two days, my father was interrogated at the KGB headquarters. Later that week, two KGB agents came to our apartment and warned him to “lay low” or else. He asked for their IDs  —  they refused. He told them to leave.

A few days later, I was walking with a friend when two well-dressed, powerfully built men in their 20s approached us and, without warning, attacked. This was no random street fight. They were professionals sending a message to my father. I was kicked repeatedly in the face, ribs and stomach. When I was lying on the ground, they stopped and said with a smirk: “We must have confused you with someone else. In the U.S. they would have shot you. Here we just beat you up. No big deal.” They calmly walked away, and police refused to register our complaint despite my obvious injuries. I was 17 years old.

But there was a silver lining, and it came from America. The Chicago Action for Soviet Jewry, led by Pamela Cohen (thank you!), took up our case and made it visible. Because of my father’s profession, activists focused on Soviet cultural delegations. The message that Soviet authorities act like a Mafia, beating a Jewish teenager to intimidate his family they keep captive, took hold. This, as we were told by members of a Soviet delegation, convinced the Writers Guild in Hollywood to declare that no member would attend the 1978 Moscow Film Festival unless our family was released. The threat worked. In October 1977, we received the exit visa, and on Nov. 21 we arrived in Israel.

That is why Los Angeles means something very personal to me. Hollywood was not just a distant symbol of glamor and art. It played an important role in bringing my family to freedom. My parents, my brother and I were able to build our lives and families for the last 50 years because people we never met decided that we mattered. Our children, quite literally, would not exist otherwise. My deepest gratitude hardly seems enough, so I cherish this opportunity to share this story of moral clarity and leadership emanating from this incredible place.

There was a time when people in Hollywood had the moral clarity to also defend Jews who were in danger half a world away. My family’s freedom is the direct result of that solidarity. I hope that the moral clarity and the willingness to speak up also for Jews in danger, loudly, clearly and without hesitation — will return to Hollywood soon.

Prof. Eugene Kandel is Chairman, Israel Strategic Futures Institute. www.israelstrategicfutures.org/en