by Boris Zubry
The Uzbek grandmother was quite educated and extremely intelligent. In no time, she mastered Mongolian to a somewhat accented perfection. Now, she was able to work, and she did. She was appointed a small downtown cinema director and soon that grew into a large community center with a cinema, small theater, and classes in all branches of art.
People could learn to paint, sculpture, act, sing and dance and all that for free. That was covered in the taxes as well as healthcare and education. All of it was terrible, outdated, and not really professional but for free. Free was good, and people supported it not really knowing the difference. Thus, one got very little pay, bad social service, food, and other goods shortages, no freedom, of speech, assembly, religion or movement but tried to stay happy. So, you drink to death, and that’s where the happiness was hiding, in the bottle. That was the happy times in the Soviet Union, Mongolia and the rest of the Socialist camp.
The cultural center was becoming important. The whole set up was quite popular, and the center started to offer classes in Math, Literature, Language Skills, History, and the car repairs but not too many would sign up for these. After about two years of trying hard and advertising it profoundly, they had to give up with almost all educational and vocational classes but the car repairs and driving. Still, the artistic side of it went strong. They even had the rare evenings for the public where anyone could perform, and then, dances and the non-alcoholic refreshments were served as well. This was so new that tickets for those events were sold out a month in advance. That’s how popular it was and the director of the center, the Uzbek grandmother of the President, was very respected. She could do no wrong.
So, the grandparents never went back to Fergana or even Uzbekistan. Well, they went back there for a few times for a visit with relatives and old friends, weddings, funerals and some other happy and not occasions. They thought of returning to the place that used to be home, but the home was in Ulaanbaatar now. That was a better home. No, it was not the best place on earth, but they built the life there. And, it was a good life all considering. They enjoyed the work, and the pay was good, and people were just people. People were always good if you treated them right. So, they applied for the permanent residency permit, and it was granted just in a few months. Bureaucracy was bureaucracy even in Mongolia, and it always required time for the due process. The Mongols thought so well of both of them, and the Soviets did not see anything wrong with them either. So, their daughter, Gulzara, was a born citizen of Mongolia,, and thus, could be anyone in that country. But, she was not a citizen of the Soviet Union. Dual citizenship was not allowed in the Soviet Union. Maybe one day, maybe one day but when. Soviet citizenship was somewhat stronger than the Mongolian, but it was not that important.
Then, Gulzara met a young Lieutenant in the Mongolian internal security force. The security forces; he was going places. They met at the community center on one of these famous gatherings with tickets impossible to obtain. Only the connected ones were lucky enough to get them. She had a ticket because her mother ran the place and he had a ticket because he was in the security apparatus. What a coincidence. What a blessing. He was a Mongol, and she was an Uzbek, but they fell in love on the first dance. It was like in a fairytale, but it happens if you try. A Princess meets a Prince, and they fell in love.
Six months later, they were married. It took that long only because some relatives from Uzbekistan wanted to attend. Visas had to be arranged, places to stay, the wedding, the food, and many more things. Money was not really an issue. Everyone helped as much as they could, and some of them could do a lot. They wanted a traditional Mongolian wedding, but her parents wanted at least some Uzbek dishes like Plov, Lagman, Kabob, Samsa, Manti and many more. All dessert dishes were Uzbek, but many of the drinks came locally. Mongols knew drinking better than the Uzbeks. The relatives in Fergana offered to pay for the chef and his assistants to go over and to prepare the feast. After all, between the Mongolian, and the Uzbek side, at least three hundred people would attend, and no one believed in the Mongolian cousin. It was an expensive affair, but that’s how it was done in that corner of the world. Everyone chipped in, and it was enough to pay for the wedding and all associated expenses and to leave plenty for the newlyweds to start on the right foot. They had everything they needed, and the baby that should be soon on the way would be fully equipped at least for the first few years of his life. And, the rest of it? Parents, grandparents, and multiple friends and relatives on both sides of the border would provide. That was the custom no one would ever break. That was a good custom, don’t you think so?
Arban Vagabundi was born, as was expected, in about ten months after the memorable wedding. He had the loving parents, fighting for attention grandparents on both sides and scores of relatives and friends of the older generations wishing to help and willing to do almost anything for the boy. Just tell us what you need. How do you like that? Can you beat that combination? Could he fail? Yes, but why? There was no need for that. Don’t even mention that. So, the boy grew without any significant problems that other youngsters could acquire. He was in a different orbit with the rest of the world. Now, he was a teenager, and it was time to think of his future. Everyone agreed that Arban should go to the University in the Soviet Union. That should give him a good education (better than what was offered in Mongolia), decent status, possible connections, and fluent Russian.
All that was so important in the world of so many important things. A miscalculation could be costly, but the right calculation could be profitable. So, things had to be arranged and just right. Moscow and Leningrad (the first choices) were too far, and no one had real connections there. Also, an Asian in the predominantly Russian part of the Soviet Union would be a minority; thus, may be discriminated. It was so prevalent in the multi-national brotherly union of the Soviet Union. So, one had better know his place. Someone proposed the University of Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. It was not too far from Mongolia, still in Asia and close to the relatives. It was more local, friendlier, and more familiar. The relatives in Fergana had multiple connections there and could help with almost anything. The telephone calls were made, and the ideas exchanged, and young Arban went to Uzbekistan to become a doctor. To be a doctor was good, very good. That was a profession of status in Mongolia and doctors, especially, the Soviet Union educated were in very short supply. If he survived the University, Arban’s future was secured.
The five years at the University went like a dream. Another country, money to spend, the status of the privileged foreign student, available girls of the different descend and the score of relatives and new friends made the experience quite agreeable. No, Arban was never in trouble on any front. Still, the family was always there to help if needed. He went to Fergana quite often and was always welcome. He was made to know that he was a family and a close one. There, on multiple occasions, he notices that relatives were somewhat different. The culture was not known to him and needed an occasional explanation. Some of their customs, some of the food, some of the social structure were different, and a few other things he could not pinpoint. First, he thought it was the Uzbek influence. After all, they were Uzbeks and not the Mongols. Then, with time, he started to notice more and more differences in customs even with the Uzbeks. One Friday evening, he was offered to join some of the cousins in the Jewish synagogue with the following Sabbath dinner at the uncle house. That is how he understood that the family from Fergana was actually Jews, the Bukharan Jews. Before that, he knew the words, and now, he met the people. And, they were his people, his family. All this was very new to him but so interesting. Was he a Jew?
Arban never met any Jews before, not in Mongolia. Well, that is beside the grandparents and the mother, but he did not know. They never told him that. Maybe they were planning to do that after he came home from the University, but he did not know that either. The entire Jewish thing was a mystery to him. Jews were a mystery to him. The Jewish connection? Where did that come from? How could he miss it? There
were not too many Jews in Mongolia if any. Where would they come from? Where did all Jews come from? He did not know any and never heard of any Jews in Mongolia. A synagogue? Was such a thing in Mongolia? Where? Judging by the grandparents and the Uzbek relatives, Jews were not such bad people. He was not bad people, but he did not want the whole world to know about the Jewish connection. People, in general, did not like the Jews, and there should be a reason. It was so confusing but intriguing and so exciting. Jews, what does it mean? What is the whole thing about? He wanted to know, so he started to ask. First, the family was hesitant somewhat. They called the grandparents and the mother. Then, they started talking, and that was something to listen to. That was like a journey through the history of the world with the Jews leading the way paving it with accomplishment, tragedies, tears, and the dead bodies. He belonged to such an honorable group of people, a nation of Jews.
The relatives showed Arban the Torah and some other religious books that went back to the 16th – 17th centuries. Some artifacts were even older than that. They had a Persian silver coin that went back to the times before Christ. That coin had the Jewish symbols. Jews were that influential even back then and back there, in Persia. The story was (as far as they knew it) that they were the descendants of the Tribe of Naphtali and the Tribe of Issachar of the Lost Tribes of Israel who may have been exiled during the Assyrian captivity of Israel in the 7th century BCE. Historically, they spoke Bukhori, a Tajik dialect of the Persian language. That language was connected to the former Central Asian Emirate of Bukhara, which once had a sizable Jewish community. It was not clear whether Bukhori came from Bukhara or the other way around, but what difference did it really make. They were the ethnic Hebrews and lived in those lands for at least fifteen hundred years.
The Bukharan Jews were the Mizrahi Jews and have been introduced to and practiced Sephardic Judaism. The Mizrahi Jews, ("Sons of the East" - Hebrew) or Oriental Jews, were the descendants of local Jewish communities in the Middle East from biblical times into the modern era. They included the descendants of Babylonian and Mountain Jews from modern Iraq, Syria, Bahrain, Kuwait, Dagestan, Azerbaijan, Iran, Uzbekistan, the Caucasus, Kurdistan, Afghanistan, India, and Pakistan. The Yemenite Jews, as well as the North African Jews, were sometimes also included but their histories were separate from Babylonian Jewry. They also claimed to be the descendants of the Khazars and the Jewish Kingdom that was right where they were now. Neither the Mongols nor the Arabs or the Turks mistreated the Jews. Jews, whether converted to Islam or not, were allowed to lead the professional lives and to prosper to some degree. The degree of prospering had to be determent by the local, ruler, and a few other conditions. Many of the Bukharan (Mizrahi) Jews, became quite known throughout history. Many converted to Islam either because they believed in it or just to make a living a little more comfortable yet, all were born in the region of Bukhara, Samarkand, and Fergana. If we check the birthplaces of most of the Arab/Turkish famous doctors, scientists, writers, philosophers, and the astronomers, we will find, the Emirate of Bukhara (a part of the former Kingdom of Khazars) quite often.
The relatives helped Arban to understand the complex history and the philosophy of the religion. He liked some of the customs, but the faith made no sense for him. All religious convictions were foreign to him, and the relatives did not push. They were not very religious and very assimilated. Still, there were some traditions they liked to follow, and Arban loved it as well. He wanted to know more, and the relatives gave him the names of the famous people and what they accomplished and tons of books to read. Some of those books were old, even rare, published before the revolution. Not too many new books covered the issues Arban wanted to know. The Soviet philosophy did not include the ethnicity and the religious aspects as the legit questions and suppressed anything related to that. So, it became more of Arban’s hobby, but he was earnest about. It was the interest chased for pleasure and relaxation and not as a primary occupation, but he wanted to know it all. Now, he knew that he had some Jewish blood, the blood of the mysterious Khazars that all Mongol warlords respected so much. So, he was one of them and a Mongol on top of it. What was he more? No matter what and how that was an unbeatable combination. He was so proud of it but warned not to advertise it, too openly. Who knows who was listening and their feelings on the subject. Not everyone was friendly to the Jews. Racism and especially, anti-Semitism, was still everywhere and so powerful. And, the minorities were the worst racists of them all. In short, the entire Jewish thing was on the need to know bases and not too many people needed to know. Only if you knew what the other people were, you could tell them what you are. But they should be first. Know your adversary better that they know you and be as ruthless as they are. Always strike first, if necessary. It was an astute policy that saved so many lives.
After graduating from the University in Tashkent, Arban came home to Ulaanbaatar as a doctor and with the knowledge of Mongolian, Uzbek, Russian, some Tajik and Chinese languages. Under the father’s advice, Arban went to the military service where he served for three years as a doctor in the military hospital in the capital. His record was spotless and quite impressive, and he could get any position anywhere in the country. He could even get a job in the Soviet Union, but that would be stretching. It was not really needed. Now, he was ready to enter and enjoy the civilian life, but he met a beautiful, yet overly spoiled, girl, and got married. They met at the retirement party of the grandfather. The grandmother had retired a few years earlier. He was active and energetic, but it was time even for him. Everyone who was someone came to that party, and so a few very significant government officials and often, with the families. The grandfather and the grandmother were quite well known and respected in the country, and that went far in the land of that size. They represented things that the Soviet Union had done right in Mongolia, that worked and rather well. In short, these Soviets were accepted and welcomed in the Mongolian society that was not known for embracing just anyone. The history taught the Mongols to be choosy, and history was always right. Who could know history better than the history itself?
So, Arban met a girl there. Well, they were introduced by a mutual acquaintance, his father’s boss, a general in the internal security. Her family was in government, high and very powerful. Her father, actually, was the Minister of the Internal Affairs and in charge of the internal security. Arguably, he was the most powerful man in the country. Her family wanted to give Arban a hand up so, maybe he could become a Minister one day. They wanted him to be a Minister of Health and later, of something better. “Why not, thought Arban. That was a good life, even in Mongolia. He had the knowledge, connections, and the funds if needed. Everyone would help him. Of course, that would be an investment in him, and he would pay it back with interest. He could do it.” Thus, the goal was set, the plans were drawn, and the entire family on both sides of the border was fully engaged. Even though Uzbekistan did not border Mongolia, but through Kazakhstan, everyone knew each other already. They all traveled in one direction or another helping each other with every problem. It was a true union of two entirely different clans, and it worked so well. Those people, even so different, were not that diverse. There were no arguments, no conflicts, no significant disagreement, or even small cracks in the relations that nothing could go wrong. If they did it right, everyone would benefit greatly. That was so clear. These two completely different sides of the world suddenly came together with a common goal.
At the age of thirty, Arban was a Deputy Minister of Health and, at the age of thirty-five, the Deputy Prime Minister. At forty-five, he was the President of the country. Of course, it could take longer if the Soviet Union did not fall apart, and things did not start to move along much faster. Money became more persuasive than ever and the money they had. All sides of the family pledged the funds that could make it happen, and it did happen. The boy everyone liked so much was the President of Mongolia now, and that meant everyone would prosper and fast. Corruption was the name of the game an
d corruption they knew. They could write a book on corruption and maybe one day they would. Mongols and Uzbeks wrote a book on, the subject before, and they could do it again. The main lesson from that book was: “If you could not buy someone, you did not offer enough. Offer more and more until it’s enough. This is only an investment.” That’s what Arban’s father-in-law said repeatedly, and everyone agreed.
So, once again, the wife was not home. He liked those rare moments more and more. He appreciated the freedom, not that he was not free before. Still, he was somewhat looser than when she was around. And, once again, Arban used the opportunity and visited his most favorite girlfriend. Tradition called for many girlfriends, and the great Khans, had hundreds of wives and concubines, but times had changed and, not mentioning the time, no one could afford so many women. Think of gifts, apartments, dinners, and many other things. Where to find time for all that? What if there were children? What to do then? And, on top of it, where would one find so many women in a country of only two million people. Of cause, one could explore the overseas, but that involved so much hustle and could bring in unwanted attention. It was much easier for the Great Khan. He started wars, and that helped the issue. Well, good women had to be exported. No, no, not slaves but exported. So, Arban had only ten, and even that was a handful, and the favorite one was from Ukraine. She was a good woman by all standards. Her father used to be a high up party member, but the social revolution and the recent changes left him outside the system. That was hard times for many and in all former Soviet Republics.
