last word
KLEINLIFE’S Victoria Faykin
REFLECTS ON JOURNEY TO THE UNITED STATES
The Immigration Process
Jarrad Saffren | Staff Writer
S When you apply for immigration status,
you get in a line. So in January 1987,
that was what Faykin and her husband
did. Since they had no relatives in the
U.S., they would probably have to wait
even longer, she recalled. But she was
willing to wait as long as she needed.

They remained in line through the
early and mid-1990s. In the meantime,
the couple had a daughter, Yana, and
then another, Rita. They had no way
to get information about the United
States, so they just waited. Finally,
in 1996, they were told to come to
Moscow for an interview. In the end,
they got in, and the only tasks left were
paperwork and health assessments. In
1997, they arrived in Philadelphia. Yana
was 10 and Rita two. No one in the
family knew English.

“Maybe when you’re young, maybe
when it’s your dream and you want a
better life … you just do it,” Faykin said.

ince immigrating to the United
States in 1997, Victoria Faykin
has built a reputation for helping
immigrants and refugees like herself.

In the 2010s, the vice president of
KleinLife in Northeast Philadelphia
established a Sunday school program
for Jewish kids from the former Soviet
Union. It grew from 30 children to more
than 70 in three years, according to a
2018 Jewish Exponent article. Then in
2022, Faykin started a free summer
camp for refugees from the war in
Ukraine. By the fall, it transformed into
an after-school and job training assis-
tance program for these families that
had to leave their soldier patriarchs
behind. We know from past Exponent stories
on her efforts that Faykin is a Russian
immigrant. We are also aware that
she faced the cultural and institutional
antisemitism that so many Jewish
children tackled in the former Soviet
Union. But what we have not yet
explored is her journey, and why it
reminds her to appreciate her life in
America. The Early Days
Courtesy of Victoria Faykin
The Story
Faykin, 57, has told the story in the
pages of the Exponent before. She
did not know she was Jewish for the
first six years of her life. But then on
a vacation with her father at an all-in-
clusive resort, she was outside playing
with the other children. Two women
approached her and asked if she was
the daughter of the man in room 10.

Faykin said “yes,” and the women
proceeded to use a word that was a
slur toward Jews. Everyone around the
young girl laughed; she ran back to her
father in the room and started crying.

He told his daughter yes, they were
Jews, and no, that was not a bad thing.

“‘Yes, I am Jewish; you’re Jewish;
your brother is Jewish; your mom is
Jewish.’ I cried and told him, ‘I don’t
want to be Jewish,’” Faykin recalled. He
told me, ‘It’s not your choice. You were
born Jewish, and you will die Jewish.’”
But then he apprised her of all the
historical figures who had been born
Jewish and who had died Jewish.

“You know (Albert) Einstein? He was
Jewish. You know (Karl) Marx? He was
Jewish. You know (Marc) Chagall? He
was Jewish,” Faykin said. “He told me I
needed to be the best in the class. ‘It’s
a people of knowledge. It’s a people of
the book. You need to be proud. And
they’re just jealous.’”
Later, it dawned on the young girl
that she wanted to immigrate to the
United States. The desire did not come
from her father. He never spoke about
the U.S., according to Faykin. But
when she met her husband as a young
woman, she informed him that if he
wanted to marry her, “we will go to the
United States.”
The Jewish Family Service organiza-
tion helped immigrants upon arrival to
the country. For a JFS meeting, Faykin
walked into KleinLife for the first time.

The immigrants were offered a free
membership and, as Faykin wandered
the halls, she told her husband she
wanted to work at the community center.

First, she volunteered for a year and
a half. Then she was offered a job. She
started on Sept. 1, 1999. Today, Faykin
lives in Huntington Valley and serves
as KleinLife’s second-highest-rank-
ing official under President and CEO
Andre Krug. Her older daughter, now
35, just got promoted by a pharmaceu-
tical company. Her younger daughter,
now 27, went to Temple University on
a full scholarship.

“They’re happy. They don’t ask me
about help. The oldest says, ‘Momma,
I will buy you this,’” Faykin said. ■
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