My father was born in 1933 in the small and picturesque Ukrainian town Zhitomir, where our family had lived for generations. I wish I could tell you what his life was like in his early years. But I do know that his quiet and unsophisticated childhood was one day brutally taken by the sounds of sirens and explosions. The war had begun.

Nazis advanced on Ukrainian cities on the first day of the war. In hope of survival his family boarded a train headed to the Soviet republic of Kazakhstan. En route they were bombed by Luftwaffe planes. That day my father and his siblings – eight, five and three - lost their parents.  

My father never told me what happened to him during the war. However, there are some family tales about it. My father shared full measure of a bitter fate of the children of war – fear, hunger, orphanage.  Once, after yet another German advance he escaped to a Red Army battalion with which he fought… Finally, after a long search his aunt found the boy and his siblings and adopted them. It was a miracle that they survived…  

The Fifties was a decade of recovery and optimism. The country was healing wounds of the war. The new generation was striving for a good and prosperous life. The path to it lay in education. My father was smart and ambitious. After receiving his college degree he continued his education in military school.  His character was tempered and strong which earned him long lasting friendships. Then he met  a young and beautiful girl whom he fell in love with. This girl is my mother…

In 1957 my father received his first officer rank and his military service began. This was his life time journey of 28 years.  The service was his passion and honor. He was a good soldier, wise commander, and irreplaceable missile specialist.

Once in a while my father would take me to the range where air defense launchers were positioned.  I remember spinning antennas, green radar screens, humming and intense smell of  electronic equipment, and the sound of brief and loud commands… I was amazed and proud…

My father’s duties would often take him to very remote places.  The only way to stay in touch was via post mail. Such letters were reason for family gatherings  in aunt Rivka’s apartment just to hear them read out loud. But, his letters were not long....

For a man consumed by three decades of devoted military service the struggle for a new path after retirement was difficult. At this time in the Eighties the Soviet Union entered political, economic, and social instability and finally collapsed. Despite his transition into the Moscow region governor office, he admitted to himself that the country that he had served so proudly would not be a good place for the future generations. My father was always thinking ahead. As immigration became a powerful trend  he pursued a new life in America. 

Immigration was complex and often painful for my father as he started the American chapter of his life in 1992. Nonetheless, his ability to adapt, and undying optimism, helped him to find a new balance. In his sixties he goes back to college and takes courses in English, history, painting and photography. He actively volunteers with fellow immigrants. But his passion is working with war veteran groups to ensure that their feats and courage are never forgotten. Finally, due to his efforts my family and I were able to immigrate to the United States and reunite with him.

This is my testimony about the man, who is no longer among us and whom I am proud to call my father.  These memories will remain forewer in my heart...

Leo Vaynberg

P.S. Please watch the slideshow that dedicated to the great man and my father here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s48aoRkt1tI