In Romania,
mail was delivered seven (7) days a week, and thus in
Romania, Sunday was an ordinary day for mail services.
However,
for me the Sunday of April 6, 1969, was transformed
instantly from an ordinary day into an extraordinary day
with the arrival of my mail, as there in that mail was
the Notification from the Romanian Police with respect to
the fate of my application to visit Yugoslavia. From my
previous two rejections, I recognized the envelope
instantly. The result of the visa application was given
on a reply form with two boxes: one box if checked
indicated that the visa was denied, the other box if
checked was that the application was approved. I was
afraid to open the envelope, so I attempted to read
through the unopened envelope. I somehow was able to see
that the box designated for rejections was not checked
and then, engulfed with emotions, I immediately opened
the envelope. I was completely stunned when opening the
envelope, I saw this statement:
"Your
visa to Yugoslavia has been approved. You may go
any time within six (6) months for the
duration of time specified in your application.
Please present yourself here in person with this
letter to obtain your visa."
I remember reading
and re-reading these lines over and over in total
disbelief. I was all alone in the house: my sister was
not home, my mother was in a hospital for minor surgery,
and my father, who was divorced from my mother, was
living elsewhere. I called my father, asking him to meet
with me right away as something extraordinary had just
happened. It was about 11 o'clock in the morning. My
father had put a raincoat over his pajamas (as he had
worked a nightshift at his hospital), and we met outside
the building where he was living. I showed him the letter
that I had just received from the Romanian Police
Headquarters. He had a somber and concerned look on his
face and, after a moment of pause and silence, stated to
me that I would have to leave Romania as soon as
possible. Any delay with my departure, my father
reasoned, would decrease in a substantial way my chances
to leave Romania. And this was because at that time in
Romania it was very common that after a visa was
approved, weeks later it would be revoked. As a
procedural matter, once a visa was approved, it was
always re-examined by a higher-up. And in my case, it was
clear through my actions over the last six months that I
was trying in all directions to leave Romania, and thus,
in all likelihood, upon review my visa would have been
recalled. We thus, my father and I, agreed that I should
leave Romania as soon as was possible and that I was not
to talk with anyone (including my sister) about my plans
with the exception, of course, of my mother.
After meeting with
my father, I took the bus to the Elias Hospital where my
dear mother was waiting for a minor operation. Upon
learning of the news, my mother became extremely
frightened and nervous asking me whether I was sure of
what I was doing. After I responded in the affirmative,
my mother asked me not to go alone to the Police Station
next day, but to go with my cousin Ivan. She mentioned
that because Ivan's entire family (his mother who was the
sister of my mother, his father, his sister, and another
cousin) were scheduled to leave Romania permanently
immigrating to Israel in only three (3) days, on
Wednesday April 9, 1969, that he would be the most
suitable person to accompany me to the Police Station on
the next day. No one knew what would will be the process
in securing the passport much less what would will
transpire at the Police Station. For sure everybody was
afraid to go into a Police Station.
Soon after visiting
my mother at the Hospital, I went to see my cousin Ivan
and he was completely mesmerized by the news. Next day,
April 7, 1969, my cousin (who turned 20 years old on that
day!) and I went to the Police Station with the letter
received, as advised, not knowing what would happen next.
The Police Officer, upon seeing my letter asked me for my
ID. [In
Romania, at that time, everybody had an ID similar to
that of a Passport. As in a Passport, the Romanian ID had
pages where the Police would put stamps indicating the
locations where the respective citizen traveled within
the country.]
After I gave the Police Officer my ID as requested, he
excused himself. We waited there for some five (5)
minutes which seemed to me an eternity in an
extraordinarily tense mood not knowing what we were
waiting for or what would happen next. When the Police
Officer finally returned, he had in his hand a passport
to which he said as he was handing it over to
me:
"This
is your Passport. From this moment you have
six months at your disposal to leave Romania
for Yugoslavia for the requested two weeks. We will
keep your ID here and, when you return from your
trip, you will come here: you will give us the
Passport and we will give you back your ID. Have a
good trip."
Saying "Thank You",
we left the Police Station immediately in disbelief that
I was carrying with me a passport with a visa for
Yugoslavia. From there I went straight to work at the
Observatory excusing myself for being late and stating
that my stomach ulcer was bothering me again. Obviously,
no one from the Observatory knew what had happened with
me in the past two days much less that I was carrying a
Passport with a visa for Yugoslavia. After a few hours at
the Observatory, I asked and received permission to leave
early claiming that my stomach ulcer was bothering me
again. I was also able to rearrange my schedule to work
mostly in the afternoons, evenings, and some nights. From
the Observatory, I went straight to my mother at the
Hospital to bring her the incredible news that had just
transpired: I was in the possession of my passport with a
visa good for six (6) months for Yugoslavia. I
informed my mother that I would schedule leaving for
Yugoslavia as soon as possible by train and that I would
keep her informed of everything that would transpire.
Next day, on
Tuesday April 8, 1969, I went in the morning to the
International Railroad Ticket Agency to buy railroad
tickets to Yugoslavia. Upon my inquiry as to the first
available train to Belgrade, Yugoslavia, the woman at the
other end asked me if I had a Passport with a visa for
Yugoslavia. [In
Romania, you could not buy an international ticket if you
did not have a valid passport with a visa for the
respective country.]
Upon showing and verifying my passport with the
corresponding visa, the woman at the counter advised me
that the first train for Belgrade was on Saturday April
12 at 8:00 PM. To this, I responded that I was
interested in buying tickets for Belgrade to which she
asked:
"Do
you want to buy a one-way ticket or a round
trip?"
[If
you were stupid enough to fall for this trap and
asked for a one-way ticket, your fate would have
been sealed for good as she would have confiscated
the passport and called for the police.]
To this, I
responded in a rage and with a most angered
voice:
"How
dare you ask such a question! I have never been
insulted like this in my entire life! I demand an
explanation and an apology for this."
After the woman
apologized several times, I continued:
"I
would like however my ticket to Belgrade to be in a
first class sleeping car and to reserve an entire
compartment of double occupancy, i.e., to
pay for both beds of the compartment, and for my
return I would like third class. Any
questions?
"No, Sir,
everything is clear, and I am sorry that you got so
upset." --the woman replied. After paying for and taking
my tickets, I was left pondering my next move.
I knew that the
Romanian money called "Lei" (in translation "The Lions"),
notwithstanding their name, were worthless outside the
country and this, in itself, was a big problem. The
maximum that a person could exchange at that time in
Romania for a trip to Yugoslavia was 200 dinars and that
was not very much. Other problems began to pop up which
required prompt attention. These final and frenetic
preparations are discussed in the next section.
