At the “Inturist” travel agency, Dad bought train tickets via Moscow to Vladivostok. One ticket costs 500 US dollars. During the journey, Dad and Tolik’s trousers were tied with a string because the belts without buckles had to be thrown away. From that train trip, I only remember absolutely white fields. And the hot water sold at the stations, which we drank to warm ourselves up. How long did we spend on that train? Two weeks? And when we arrived in Vladivostok, it became clear that we didn’t have tickets for the ship to Japan. And we didn’t have the money to buy those tickets, either. Fortunately, the train was full of poor souls like us. To return everyone back to Kaunas, to the Soviet Union? Impossible, because no one has a return ticket. The local Japanese Consul then decided to let the whole train into the ship nonetheless. “They have no money, but they have Japanese visas!” he told customs. The border guard inspected Dad’s visa for a very long time, smiling crookedly and mumbling something to himself, but then he sighed and waved his hand towards the ship. Come aboard.

That’s how many miracles had to happen before we could finally get off the ship in Tsuruga, where very nice locals allowed us to take a warm bath for free and gave us apples. I don’t remember anything tastier than that simple apple from the hands of a smiling Japanese person. Then we headed to Kobe, from there to Australia, and one year later, after many adventures already fading from my memory, we finally found ourselves in America. In Cleveland we found the newly restored Telshe Yeshiva and totally, completely grown up Aaron.