In 1999, I visited my friend Sue West. She worked with me at an association of group homes for the disabled. During our conversation, I mentioned that I was Mennonite. She was surprised. She shared the same background and her birth name was Regehr. Both of our married names were not Mennonite. At that moment we realized the common bond we shared in our heritage.
Sue reached for a large red hardcover book and handed it to me. The title was From Russia With Tears. Sue explained that the book was a collection of letters written by her ancestors in Russia to relatives in Canada. The originals were hand written in Russian and were found in an attic in an old Campbell Soup box. The letters had been translated and compiled by her aunt and uncle. Copies were made for each of the immediate Regehr families. She offered that I could take it home to read. The book contained over 400 letters and the first few pages contained diagrams, maps and photos which helped me to understand the relationships and connect names to faces.
The letters simply described life in Russia and the desperate times as families coped with sickness, poverty and fear. Often they were threatened and fathers, husbands, brothers and sons were taken away, leaving the women and children to struggle for survival. It was difficult for me to read. The situations were so sad and the hardship and suffering they endured was overwhelming. The writers expressed that their faith was the source of strength and encouragement. A thread of hope was woven into the tapestry of pain.
The book impacted me and I felt it needed to be shared. I immediately thought of my sister Ruth. I knew she enjoyed Mennonite history, and was involved in English and Women's Studies at university. She had also traveled to the Ukraine to visit Mennonite villages and heritage sites as well as our grandparents' homesteads. I called her and we went out for lunch together. From Russia With Tears fascinated her. She wanted to read it. I know today that Ruth was the person destined to bring these stories to life.
I am amazed at the incredible journey of these letters. How did they make it all the way from then until now? What were their stories of survival? Some of the letters even arrived without postage. Why did they end up in an obscure attic, in an insignificant soup box, and then in a book? To whom is their message addressed and where do they travel from here?
