Staring in the Face of Evil

l​The morning after moving in, I woke up, washed my face and hands, dressed, and ate breakfast. I could not wait to go outside to discover the new neighborhood and to make new friends.  
            When I looked out my window, I saw a magical world. It snowed during the night, and everything looked virginal. I quickly put on my winter coat and valenki, the snow boots made of boiled wool. It was a popular footwear for many Soviet citizens. These boots were helpful during the winter when the snow was crisp and stayed on the ground for a long time. They provided comfort and warmth for the feet and were affordable despite being ugly. But at nine, I was not too concerned with fashion. All I wanted to do was to go outside and hopefully find someone to play with.
            Mama ensured I would not freeze to death by putting a large babushka/platok on my head and crossing its protruding, long ends behind the back of my coat. The platok was large enough to cover not only my head but the entire body of the little me. On my hands, I wore mittens. I felt like a little stuffed doll after Mama made sure I stayed warm. But none of it mattered. I was excited to discover the new neighborhood and make friends.
            Outside, I gingerly walked through the piles of freshly fallen snow, ensuring I did not lose my footwear. I pretended to be in a fairytale land. The sun rays gliding over the snow made it sparkle with myriads of colors. The tall old trees dressed in their finest stood sentinel in front of the ugly-looking Khrushchev Era apartment buildings. In my make-believe world, covered in snow, the tall buildings looked like mansions where princes and princesses lived.
            I pushed through the snow for a while, paying attention to my surroundings. It was too early in the morning for the volunteers to plow it. It happened to be the weekend, and most citizens slept in.
            Suddenly, I saw a group of small children not far away. Full of joy, I ran toward them. I wanted to make friends so badly, and this was my chance. As I ran, I noticed each child held a snowball in their hand. They were about to build a snowman. I could not miss this opportunity, so I sprinted away, forgetting I might lose my valenki.
            But as soon as I approached them, I heard a creak from an open window and an angry woman's voice yell, "Don't play with her. This girl is a Kike!"
            I froze in my tracks when I heard this word. At nine, I did not know its ugly meaning, but the woman's voice implied that it was something sinister. The scattering of children only reaffirmed my suspicion.
            Perplexed and upset, I stood in the middle of the playground, not understanding what happened. The rejection hurt, and I turned around and ran toward our house to ask Mama for an explanation. The tears ran down my cheeks as I moved as quickly as I could to reach my destination.
            Inside, Mama held me in her arms. She stroked my back to calm me down, and when I did, Mama told me that we were Jewish. She also mentioned another foreign word, "Judaism," to me. Mama said it represented the religion Jewish people practiced. Her explanations confused me even more because I knew that the Soviet Union did not practice religion. Religion was the anathema to the Communist Party and persecuted by law. How can I be Jewish if I do not practice Judaism? Nothing made sense.
            Years later, as I reflect on what transpired on this beautiful morning, I realize that the woman from the open window buried my innocence in a pile of virginal snow. Years later, I wish antisemitism had died that day as well, buried in the same pile of snow along with my innocence. The day I discovered I was Jewish, not because I was practicing the religion of my ancestors, but because the totalitarian government chose to use it as my nationality, I stared in the face of evil. From that day on, I began living in fear.