In Tbilisi, Writing a New Story of Jewish Community, Connection, and Care

Nelly Zhukova was in the prime of her life when the Soviet Union collapsed, a seismic event that transformed all she had once known. Soon after, she found herself struggling to care for her sick father on a meager pension. At this uncertain period in her life, she had no one to turn to — except for the JDC-supported Hesed Eliyahu social welfare center in Tbilisi, Georgia. 

In this reflection, Zhukova begins where the Soviet Union ended nearly 35 years ago, walking us through the various chapters of her life. 

I was 37 when the Soviet Union collapsed. 

If I had to describe that time period — and the turbulent, difficult 1990s as a whole — I would say it was “smoky.” I mean that literally. In the subway, in the street, in the stairwell, everyone smelled of smoke. Gas and electricity only turned on at a specific hour. All of us would sit in the dark and watch the clock tick until the lights flickered on.

“Electricity!” someone would yell. And then we would hurry to take advantage of this small and fleeting luxury.  

The rest of the day, we were kept in darkness. We scoured the yard for wooden planks to burn for heat and fuel. We lit fires and boiled potatoes in our courtyards. Everywhere it was like this — and everywhere we smelled of smoke. 

What world was this? What had people like my father, a decorated veteran, fought for?

The upheaval and desperation we experienced in the 1990s was also felt in my own life, albeit on a much smaller scale. For 27 years, I had worked as an accountant at a popular electronics store here in Tbilisi. I was proud of my career — I was good at what I did, and it gave me a sense of dignity and independence. But in 1995, my father got sick, and I, his only relative in the immediate vicinity, had to quit my job and care for him. 

It happened so quickly. Suddenly, that was it — the chapter of my life in which I had a successful career was finished, and a new one, the one in which I became my father’s caregiver, had begun. 

I took care of him because, of course, I loved him. But that didn’t mean it was easy financially or emotionally. We lived only on his pension — a paltry amount that failed to cover our basic needs. My former manager would call, trying to convince me to come back to work. 

Saying “no” again and again was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. 

My father often asked me to bring him the jacket he wore fighting the Nazis during World War II. He had been a good soldier and had pinned all the medals he’d earned onto that jacket. Even when he couldn’t walk anymore, he would touch the medals and start to cry. 

One day, I returned home from running an errand and found a note slipped under the front door.  There was a phone number written on it and the words, “I’d love to buy your father’s medals. I’ll pay you well.”

I dialed the number. When I got the black-market dealer on the phone, I said, “If you ever come up my stairs and leave that note again, you’ll be dealing with the police.”

At that time, everything had a price because everyone was desperate. But no matter what happened — no matter how much we struggled — I refused to sell my father’s dignity. 

Priceless, too, was the life-saving assistance my father received from the JDC-supported Hesed Eliyahu social welfare center. When he got sick, Hesed brought medicine, food, and everything else we needed. My father even received regular at-home visits from a doctor. 

Thanks to JDC, we could live. 

A decade after he got sick, my father passed away, and I was left alone with no children, no spouse, and basically no relatives in Georgia. I had poured every second of my waking hours into him. Again, a chapter of my life had finished and a new one hadn’t yet begun. What would it be?

I didn’t have to wait long to figure it out; I found the answer at the very organization that had helped my father when he needed it most: Hesed Eliyahu. 

I get shivers just talking about this. When the electricity bill is high, when I can’t afford groceries, when winter is coming and I know it’ll be freezing, I can turn to Hesed. Just the thought that I will have food in my cupboards and electricity in my home gives me a warm feeling — the sense that I’m no longer alone. 

Hesed is everything for me. It’s that sense of joy when I wake up in the morning and know that I’m going to see my friends that very afternoon. It’s the kindness and generosity everyone displays there — from the director to the security guards out front.

It’s life-saving help, too. When I broke my leg and could barely move, Hesed gave me a wheelchair and everything else I needed. Not only that, the head of their medical program called me every single day to ask how I was doing and whether I needed anything. 

There is no other organization in Tbilisi — or anywhere, for that matter — that would do this for us Jews. None offer such reliable, unwavering support. None of them.

Hesed is also the Jewish community I never had. Since I began participating in JDC’s JOINTECH initiative — a program that distributes specially-designed smartphones so that seniors like me can join vibrant Jewish life and participate in community activities — I don’t have to physically be at Hesed to enjoy its rich array of classes, clubs, and celebrations.

When the electricity bill is high, when I can’t afford groceries, when winter is coming and I know it’ll be freezing, I can turn to Hesed.

Now all I have to do is press a button.

Since I was given my smartphone, the joy I feel has been endless. I get to listen to exciting lectures on Jewish history and culture — often from experts in Israel, I get to participate in fitness classes, and I get to enjoy Shabbat celebrations, Jewish holidays, and the company of friends, all from the comfort of my home. 

There’s a JOINTECH event board that lists the exact date and time of all of the week’s activities.  I keep it here, in my home, and I sit and wait until each activity begins. God forbid I lose my phone. 

Everyone has their own life, their own family, their own job, and their own business, and practically no one comes to visit me these days. Communication — that’s crucial for me now, and Hesed Eliyahu is the only place that provides it. 

I am so thankful that I’m Jewish — I feel it with my soul. Despite the fact that I am alone, despite the fact that, well, I’m getting older, I’m still grateful to God for everything — absolutely everything. And though I have no idea what the next chapter of my life will be called, I’m grateful to you, too, for helping me write this story. 

Nelly Zhukova, 70, is a JDC client in Tbilisi, Georgia.

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