by Borukh Gorin, lechaim.ru
It was the early 1980s. On the coffee table stood a VEF-202–heavy, solid, with the smell of plastic and Soviet electronics. Its long antenna, like a taut nerve, caught the voices of a distant world. On the dial–London, Paris, Monte Carlo, and between them the frequencies that carried what was absent from Soviet news: the BBC, Voice of America, Radio Liberty.
There was a whole world on shortwave. On Kol Israel, I listened to Jewish music–old songs that seemed somehow familiar and distant at the same time. On the BBC, Seva Novgorodtsev talked about Western music, which we only knew about from rare records copied onto reels. And Svoboda talked about things that our newspapers were silent about. About Jews in the USSR, who “don’t exist.” About refuseniks, who are not allowed to leave. About synagogues that are still standing, but people are afraid to come to them.
And there was also a religious program.
I listened to Rabbi Haskelevich. I always listened alone.