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."
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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."
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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.]
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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."
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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?
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"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.
