My dear friend, the story you are about to read is my family story.

It is a story of courage and resilience, but it is also a story of pain and anguish. I am going to read this book to my grandson Theo, before I will present him a drum as my grandfather did to me. Drum, for my family, is a symbol of our Jewish identity and traditions. Giving my grandchildren a drum is like a passing flame from older generations to a young one. I am sure every family has their own symbol which older generation has to pass to the future. I hope this book will help you to find your family symbol and history, because family history is the most important treasure we are getting from our ancestors, which help us to learn who we are.

Simply send SMS or email to your grandparents, meet with them and ask about your family past and that will bring you to your Future.

Sasha Shmukler, 2019

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1

Prologue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3

Yosef Shmukler, The Drummer Boy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5

The Three Fears . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9

The First Fear: Capture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11

The Second Fear: Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15

Yakov Becomes a Hero . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .18

The Fear of Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23

Hatred is Hereditary: A Family in Motion . . . . . . . . .27

There is No Safe Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31

Let My People Go . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35

Heroism is Hereditary: Moscow, June 1988 . . . . . . .39

Epilogue: The Story Endures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43

Prologue

“Why did he give a toy drum only to boys, Mommom?”

“It was a very different time and place, Honey. That was the way things were in the world. But you can hear the sound of his drum beats if you listen very carefully.”

“How is that possible? It was so long ago!”

They paused as a peaceful evening silence filled the bedroom. Constance Smukler tucked her granddaughter tightly under the covers and kissed her forehead.

“I can’t hear any drums. I want to, but I can’t hear any drum beats. Mommom,mwill you tell me the story again?”

Connie smiled. “It’s late, my sweet, but I never get tired of telling Zayde Joe’s

story....”