Soviet Jewry story June 2026
More than fifty years have passed since a handful of
determined students in Jerusalem helped ignite a movement that would eventually
change Jewish history. Today, when so many of the heroes of that struggle
remain uncelebrated, it is worth remembering how it all began.
For younger readers, it is difficult to imagine a time when
millions of Jews lived trapped behind the Iron Curtain, denied the right to
leave, denied the right to live openly as Jews and denied the freedom that so
many of us take for granted today. Yet that was the reality for Soviet Jewry in
the late 1960s.
In May 1969, while students at Tel Aviv University and the
Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Avi Plaskow and Yona Yahav, who was then
National Chairman of the National Union of Israeli Students, met a group of
recent immigrants from the Soviet Union, headed by Dov (Boris) Sperling, in Tel
Aviv. At this meeting the recent
immigrants complained that the Israeli public was unaware of the plight of Jews
in the Soviet Union and the Israeli Government censored any information thereof.
Yona and Avi were shocked. The stories Boris Sperling told held them
spellbound. He spoke of persecution, discrimination, arrests and exile on long
train journeys to freezing Siberia. To the two young Israelis, born in the
shadow of the Holocaust, the stories seemed almost impossible to believe. They
echoed memories inherited from a generation that had witnessed Jews being
rounded up and sent away on trains, never to return.
As a result Yona approached
Zvi Raviv and asked him to do a fact-check on all the allegations especially
government policy. Raviv was surprised. Like many Israelis at the time, he knew
very little about the situation. Zvi spent weeks checking every detail with the
Mossad and government authorities. Surely there had to be some exaggeration. To
their astonishment, there was none. Everything Sperling and his group had
described was true.
What shocked them even more was discovering that the State
of Israel, fully aware of the situation, was doing very little beyond quiet
diplomatic efforts.
Yona and Zvi reached a simple conclusion: silence was not
enough and they decided to begin a nation-wide student campaign to change
government policy.
Zvi began planning a demonstration on the campus of the
Hebrew University with huge banners proclaiming "Let My People Go"
appeared, echoing Moses' biblical demand to Pharaoh.
When Zvi’s plans were announced for a demonstration, the Rector
of the University Prof. Yaakov Katz, and asked his permission to interrupt classes
for two hours in order to hold a demonstration.
Prof. Katz explained, that he could not permit
demonstrations on campus and disruption of the academic schedule. The event
would have to be cancelled. Faced with authority, Raviv calmly replied
that if the University prevented a one-hour demonstration, the students would
simply strike for an entire day. The Dean decided that one hour was
preferable.
On the day of the demonstration a student, by the name of
Menashe Raz, who had just begun his broadcasting career in the new midday radio
magazine B'Chatzi HaYom asked if he could broadcast from the demonstration and
for the first time all of Israel heard the message that Israeli students were
proclaiming the fact that the Israeli government was not fulfilling its role to
protect the Jews of the Diaspora. The size and impact of that broadcast
attracted the attention of the security services, who contacted the student
leaders and warned them to cease and desist their activities or serve a few
months of reserve duty in Sinai rather than studying.
Instead, they requested a meeting with the Prime Minister.
To their surprise, she accepted their request within a few
days.
Three young men — Zvi Raviv, Yona Yahav and Avi Plaskow
z"l — entered the office of Prime Minister Golda Meir expecting twenty
minutes. Facing them sat that tiny but formidable woman, her renowned
Chesterfield cigarette in between her fingers. Question after question
followed. How would such a campaign work? How many Jews might wish to leave?
Could Israel absorb them? What would be required financially and socially? For
every question, Yona Yahav produced calculations and detailed plans from a
folder he had prepared.
Golda explained that the government had deliberately chosen
quiet diplomacy. Public pressure, she believed, might endanger the very Jews
they were trying to help. She finished her explanation, lit a cigarette
and thanked them for coming, signalling that the meeting had come to an end
As they were preparing to leave the Prime Minister’s Office,
Zvi Raviv turned and asked if he could say just one last sentence. "Mrs Meir, we will continue demonstrating
because in twenty years' time, when I have children, and they ask me what I did
to help the Jews of the Soviet Union, I want to have an answer. Unlike my
father's generation, who did nothing and lost six million Jews." Of
course, Golda understood that he was not referring to his father but to her.
The Prime Minister was taken aback.
"You do not know your history, young man," she
replied. "We sent in paratroopers."
"Actually, Ma'am, I am a history major from the Hebrew
University," he answered. "We sent thirty-seven parachutists for the
purpose of espionage"
"But then we didn't have a country," Golda
responded.
"Now we do!"
At that moment, he saw something remarkable. The Diaspora
mentality that had shaped generations of Jewish leaders seemed to fall away.
For the first time in the conversation, Golda Meir was no longer speaking as a
representative of a vulnerable people, but as the Prime Minister of a sovereign
Jewish State.
Instead of ending the meeting, she sat down, and the meeting
started anew. “What do you want?”.
The scheduled twenty-minute meeting stretched to nearly
ninety minutes.
As they left, they realised how seriously Golda had taken
them. Waiting outside her office were Vice-Premier Yigal Alon and Mossad
Director Zvi Zamir, both delayed while the Prime Minister continued her
discussion with three student activists.
Three days later, Golda Meir's secretary, Adi Yafe,
telephoned Yona Yahav. The government had adopted a new policy, embracing many
of the proposals put forward by the students. Israel would go public. Israel
would go public.
No longer would the struggle for Soviet Jewry remain solely
behind closed diplomatic doors. The State of Israel would openly advocate for
Soviet Jews and support international efforts on their behalf.
Zvi Raviv had one final request: he wanted Israeli
politicians and diplomats standing openly alongside the Refuseniks. Golda
agreed, and on 2 December 1969 stood on the stage at the historic demonstration
in Tel Aviv, which the Israeli government recognises as the birth of the worldwide
campaign to free Soviet Jewry.
In May 1970, an international conference, disguised as a
privately organised event but in fact by the Israeli government, was convened
in Brussels to bring the plight of Soviet Jews to the international arena. In
July of that year, the Israeli Government established the “The National Council
for Soviet Jewry” bringing a successful resolution to the student campaign that
began just a year previously.
The campaign spread rapidly across the Jewish world.
Communities organised demonstrations, vigils and letter-writing campaigns.
Activists picketed Soviet cultural events in their countries. Thousands of
postcards arrived at Soviet embassies demanding freedom for Soviet Jews.
Organisations from London to New York adopted the cry: "Let My People
Go."
Refuseniks became household names throughout the Jewish
world.
These were not dissidents seeking to overthrow the Soviet
regime. They were Jews seeking the most basic of human rights: the freedom to
leave, the freedom to live openly as Jews and, for many, the freedom to come
home to Israel.
The campaign gathered momentum. In 1977, the famed
trial of Soviet dissident Natan Scharansky gave a further international
exposure to the student campaign which began 8 years previously. The trickle
eventually became a flood and beginning in the late 1980s and accelerating
through the 1990s, more than a million Jews from the former Soviet Union came
to Israel.
What those students could not have known in 1969 was how
profoundly this Aliyah would transform Israel. The struggle was fought to save
Jews and restore their freedom, but it also brought an extraordinary gift to
the Jewish state. Scientists, physicians, engineers, mathematicians, musicians
and academics arrived in numbers unprecedented in modern history. They enriched
Israel's universities, hospitals, laboratories and industries, helping to
propel a small country into a world leader in medicine, technology and
scientific research. However, statistics tell only part of the story. Perhaps
that is the greatest measure of success. The immigrants from the former Soviet
Union are no longer a separate community. They are simply Israelis. Their
children command military units, perform surgery, conduct scientific research,
teach in universities, create music and raise families of their own. Their
story has become part of Israel's story
Behind every immigrant was a family reunited. Behind every
scientist was a refusenik once denied opportunity because he or she was Jewish.
Behind every child was a future no longer limited by Soviet restrictions.
In 1991, Zvi Raviv returned to Moscow with a Keren Hayesod
delegation for their annual conference. Standing in Red Square, he quietly
produced a large Israeli flag from his pocket. The group posed proudly in front
of the Kremlin. Two American tourists walked past. "Now I've seen
everything," one remarked. Indeed they had.
History remembers prime ministers, famous refuseniks and
international statesmen. It rarely remembers the students carrying banners
across a university campus or the young activists bold enough to challenge a
Prime Minister. Yet without them, history might have taken a very different
course.
There is an old saying that success has many parents,
whereas failure is an orphan. The campaign for Soviet Jewry became one of the
greatest successes in modern Jewish history and, understandably, many
organisations and individuals became part of that remarkable story. They
deserve recognition for their contribution.
Yet every movement has its genesis. Before the worldwide
campaigns, before the diplomatic pressure and before the great public rallies,
there were a handful of students in Jerusalem who simply refused to remain
silent. Their names are not always remembered, but history should remember
them. For it was their determination, their courage and their chutzpah that
helped set in motion a chain of events that brought more than a million Jews to
freedom and transformed the State of Israel forever.
And it all began with a few students, a great deal of
chutzpah, and a simple refusal to remain silent when fellow Jews cried out for
help