Sophie Rakhlanko, two autobiographies, one in Hebrew and the other in French

I am very curious to know people's lives. To step outside myself and see what others do with their lives. Therefore, I love reading autobiographies. Provided, of course, that the author speaks to me, that I have a connection to him. And it doesn't matter what his origin or religion is.

Sophie Rakhlenko, an artist and writer, has written and published, among other things, two autobiographies. One in Hebrew and the other in French. I read both with interest, excitement, and pleasure. This article is dedicated to the two books, which combine the two languages:

Sophie Rakhlenko, From there and here, Ipublish, 2018

Sophie Rachlenko, Call me Nathalie, Verona, 2025

From there and here

The first autobiography, published in 2018, is called “From There to Here.” The book’s summary, as it appears on the back cover, is:

In November 1960, a small family immigrated to Israel. The family migrated from the Soviet Union to Poland, and from there they arrived at the Nof Yam crossing near Herzliya. Over the years, the small crossing disappeared and its memory was erased from the Israeli consciousness.

In the book “From There to Here,” Sophie Rakhlanko, who lived in the transit camp for six years, returns to the sights and sounds, to the complex of gray asbestos shacks, and brings to life the colorful characters of the residents.

Sophie opens her heart to the reader, revealing and sharing her intense longing for her parents and memories of the long journey to the Land of Israel, the difficulties of adaptation, and her late love for the Hebrew language.

The book “From There to Here” is not only a personal memoir but also an authentic and unique documentation of a recent and distant period.

The poem that serves as the opening to the book talks about Claude Monet's garden in Giverny, to which I dedicated a detailed article, “Giverny: Claude Monet's House and Garden“. The theme of the song also speaks to my heart. Nature, gardens, art are sources of comfort, dispels mists, gives flavor to life.

The poem begins mournfully and ends brightly. The writing unites times and places, the outside and the inside. And the poem written by Sophie Rakhlanko, which expresses the idea, is beautiful in its words and rhythm:

A cool and foggy morning

Wrapped in my friendly loneliness

I am watching a documentary.

On Claude Monet at Giverny

The garden, the weeping willow branches

The Japanese Bridge

The water lilies

The palette of colorful flowers

And I'm there again.

And at the same time now and here

And slowly, deep inside

The fog is already clearing.

And this is not an impression.

The sun is rising.

This is not an illusion.

Because completely unexpectedly

And despite the delay

Dawn breaks.

The first chapter of the book talks about Sophie Rakhlenko's love for the Italian language, who doesn't love this beautiful language? However, as musical, melodious and appealing as it may be, here, in this case, the Italian serves only as a springboard to the heart of the book – Sophie Rakhlenko's youth in the Nof Yam Passage, which in the 1960s kissed the remains of ancient Apollonia.

About five decades later, on a trip organized by the Italian Cultural Institute, the author arrives at an archaeological site, which since its restoration has been called the “Apolonia National Park.” I did not experience living in a transit camp, and Sophie Rakhlanko’s documentation is important to me both from a historical perspective and in terms of describing her feelings and personal experience. A short quote to set the mood:

Immediately after we got off (from the bus, A.L.), I did move forward with everyone, trying to listen to the explanations of the knowledgeable guide who spoke fluent Italian about the Roman villa, the Crusader fortress, the Mamluk period and the destruction they caused there… But the truth is, even if I physically did not distance myself from the group of Italian culture enthusiasts, inside me a screen separated me from them, invisible from the outside, but almost completely opaque to what was happening around me. Because at the same time as the tour, which was accompanied by a fascinating historical overview in itself, I returned to this arena at a completely different time, and in my private screening, images from my youth that I spent right near this complex, in the area that stretched between Apollonia and Herzliya Pituach, and which was then called the Sea View Passage, appeared in jumbled form and without any chronological order. (p. 12)

Wow, how exciting. The previous life in beautiful, green Lviv, ten years of happy childhood in a house with a garden, on a street planted with cherry trees all along, obtaining exit passports from the Soviet Union and having them confiscated by law enforcement officers who broke into the packed house. I learn historical facts I didn't know and identify with the fear and pain of the family, a couple of parents and a girl, who suddenly, when everything is ready, are forbidden to leave for Poland. Poland was a springboard to reach Israel.

Sophie Rakhlenko expresses her experiences and feelings in language that is sometimes poetic and rich, sometimes more limited, depending on the subject. A slice of life rooted in history, the private and the national are mixed with great sensitivity. Why did the mother want to immigrate to Israel, why did the father, there are differences in the motivation of each of them and in their attitude to the ideal of Zionism, to life in Lviv. The separation from the city and the beloved people is sketched without kitsch and without intimacy.

Despite the hardships and sufferings that are told without a trace, in direct language. Six years of living in a miserable asbestos shack, the father only five years because on October 21, 1965, he died of a heart attack, at the age of 52. I will give a short quote to illustrate the description of life in the transit camp:

“My” crossing is not, as stated, the crossing in Atalit, known from “Saleh Shabtai,” nor is it the crossing in Yeruham or Dimona. To all those who read my words and who may raise an eyebrow, I can only say that not only in the fifties but also in the sixties, living in the periphery that on one side borders the green and established seascape, and on the other is bordered by the villas of Herzliya Pituach, is really not easy. And this is not at all because envy is gnawing, my parents and I never saw material possessions as our life’s aspiration. (p. 52).

Thoughts and reflections on ethnicity are mixed into the description of the experience of the transition. Despite the difficult living conditions and perhaps thanks to them, there were no conflicts on an ethnic basis. And again back to autobiography, learning Hebrew, reference to Russian – her mother tongue, to Polish, to French which Sophie fell in love with at first sight, to English which was acquired as a completely foreign language, to dance, to opera, to art. And the unconditional love of her parents, their devotion, and the longing for them! And all this, with an upright back.

Sophie's parents, Rosa and Nahum Rakhlenko, to whom the book is dedicated, aroused my admiration. She is an artist – she will emerge as a talented painter and sculptor after her retirement in Israel, who during Sophie's childhood worked wonders in the garden and in the kitchen, as well as as a designer when she sewed clothes for herself and her daughter.

He is a mechanical engineer and an amateur singer of operatic arias and Russian romances, an athlete with a heart and hands of gold. They bravely faced all the hardships, never giving up, with boundless devotion to their family, while maintaining ideals, values, and romance despite the severe disappointment in the hut assigned to them in the transit camp and the long and exhausting stay there. From the enviable home on one of the beautiful, green streets of Lviv to the asbestos hut in Nof Yam… The parents paid, however, with their health, and those interested will read the book in Hebrew or French or both.

Sophie Rakhlenko's ideas and theories are very interesting and clarify-sharpen for me, through imagination and contrast, insights about myself. I connect very much with her writing – honest and courageous and her sensitivity – emphasizing the inner world, values ​​and cultural content, while getting rich was never her or her parents' ambition. Their spacious residence in Lviv was state property and they were nothing more than its fortunate residents. And in general, this is an important book, in my opinion, in terms of documenting the events of that period.

The memoir ends with a reminder of an event that occurred after they disembarked from the ship at Haifa Port. Everything could have been different had it not been for this event upon their arrival in Israel. It is left to the readers to discover (the French book, despite its great difference from the Hebrew book, as we will see later, has the same ending).

My name is Natalie.

The second autobiography, published in 2025, about three months before the publication of this article, is called Appelez-moi Nathalie, in Hebrew “Call me Natalie.” The French book is very different, in most parts, from the Hebrew one. It is very interesting to read both and compare.

And here comes one of the most moving chapters of the autobiography – Sophie-Natalie’s first ten years in her dream home in Lviv, with a garden, fruit trees and flowers. Although I had already read about this period of happiness in the Hebrew book, the French version provides more and more details that I drank in with thirst.

I thought about Antoni Gaudi and his early years on trips with his mother to the beach and in nature, shells, sandcastles, the flow of water, roots, trees, vegetation, curved lines, from which he drew inspiration for his later works. In the following video you can remember the Park Guell in Barcelona:

I thought of the brilliant Algerian painter, Baya, and her early years in nature, with her mother, grandmother, and adoptive mother, which gave birth to paintings of a colorful and cheerful paradise, exotic butterflies, colorful flowers, dancing birds and fish, peacocks unfolding. Round female figures in magnificent dresses.

In the following video you can get a taste of the arabesques of Baya:

The first years of happiness of artists like Gaudí and Baila remain a habitat for their entire lives. Paradise Lost is not lost. That was the feeling when I immersed myself in the theory of Sophie Rakhlanko, which touches all the senses. A mythological garden that mixes nature and colors.

And the delicious ravioli-shaped, cherry-flavored, candied with sour cream, every time Natalie remembers it, her childhood paradise is rebuilt, in the manner of Marcel ProustThe curtain rises in the indoor cinema and the wandering scene opens. The gathering of apples and the special type of crepe that the mother made from them, called in Russian “food of the gods,” completes the picture.

And the seasons that changed the face of the garden, from spring in the mural at Hadrian's Villa in the city of Stebia, represented by the Roman goddess of flowering, Flora, to Grandfather Winter:

A little after the cueillette, the freshness of the back-season announced little by little the arrival of winter, and when a thick layer of immaculate snow covered the plates-bands and the bare branches of the trees, our garden, rue des Officiers à Lvov, offered a vision worthy of a tableau de maître. (p. 22)

Shortly after the harvest, the coolness of the transitional season slowly heralded the arrival of winter, and when a thick, flawless layer of snow covered the flower beds and the bare branches of the trees, our garden on Officers Street in Lviv presented a sight that seemed to have come from under the brush of a great artist. (Translated by A. L., p. 22)

Sophie Rakhlanko, enamel work, based on Claude Monet's "The Hummingbird." The original painting by Monet was found At the Dorsa Museum

In those happy years, Sophie-Natalie fell in love with the French language through her father, who did not speak it but sang in it. Natalie's father knew by heart the main arias from Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin" and "Pied Dame." And since then, French has never stopped singing in the ears and heart of Natalie, who became a teacher of this language in Israel. Her father's blood, as Natalie wrote in a touching poem, flows in her veins. She does not forget him, her soul mate. She was proud of him during his life and was proud of him even after his death. All the time. Natalie has an endless dialogue with her father, who instilled in her, unconsciously, the love for this language.

I will quote two sentences that particularly touched me, in this context, towards the end of the book, when the father and daughter await the mother's release from a worrying hospitalization at Meir Hospital in Kfar Saba, which ended peacefully:

On se comprenait si bien rien qu'en échangeant nos regards. Je n'oublierai jamais les beaux yeux verts avec des refletes d'ambre de mon père et tout l'amour qu'ils me transmettaient. (p. 140)

An exchange of glances was enough to understand each other. I will never forget his beautiful green eyes with their amber flashes and all the love they sent towards me. (In my translation, A.L., p. 140).

The beach in Odessa, photos from the same vacation

And between Natalie's personal memories, vacations and everyday life with her young and happy parents, is a record of the difficult life in the Soviet Union of the 1950s, of brainwashing and tyranny. Many episodes, some of them amusing or uplifting, enrich the autobiography.

A heartwarming example of one of them is the friendship with a villager who owned a cow who would visit the family home on Sundays to sell them milk and cheese. Natalie’s father called him “Tuvia the milkman” even though he was not Jewish but a Polish Catholic. His wife was Ukrainian and Natalie did not know what language the couple spoke, but Natalie’s mother was happy to talk to him in the language of Adam Mickiewicz, the language of her youth and university studies. Natalie did not understand everything but guessed that her mother and the milkman spoke nostalgically about the days before the war and the Soviets…

It is heartening to read that after years of infertility, the milkman and his wife were lucky enough to adopt a cute and lovely girl, to whom Natalie gave her toys and dolls as a gift. Except for the doll, whose name was “Natalie,” she took with her everywhere and it came all the way to Tel Aviv. In October 1957, before leaving for Poland, the family said goodbye with great sadness to their friend “Tuvia the Milkman.”

There are also sad episodes, inevitably, like the cute and noble-hearted boy named Slava, whom she befriended at the absorption center in Poland, who years later she learned was killed in Vietnam. Immigration to the US ultimately caused, by a twist of fate, his death.

And towards the end of the book, in a different context, Yosef Romano, the Israeli weightlifting champion, who was among the murdered at the Munich Olympics, is mentioned. Sophie Rakhlanko met him when he helped his father, along with his brother, lift boxes at the grocery store in the transit camp. She also met his future wife, Ilana, who lived with her family in a nearby shack. I just read the Wikipedia entry dedicated to Yosef Romano, the pride of the family, the man and his heroism. Heartbreaking.

Sophie-Natalie’s car accident, which delayed the family in Poland, is told at length in the French book. In the Hebrew book, Sophie Rachlanko only mentions it in passing. For me as a reader, the French autobiography expands on the Hebrew one, even though this was not the author’s intention, as she wrote to me in a private email. In the “Author’s Note,” which I asked Sophie Rachlanko to write as a complement to my article, this and other points will be clarified.

The serious accident, the parents' love for their daughter, the daughter's love for her parents, noble feelings, bravely coping with hospitalizations, surgeries, gratitude to the nurses, to the surgeon, to the high-ranking official thanks to whom the injured girl was transferred by helicopter to the large medical center in Warsaw. I read the autobiography with excitement and amazement. The warmth with which the foreign girl was received in the Polish school, by the students and the teacher. To read and be encouraged.

Poland in those years was very different from the Soviet Union, even though it belonged to the socialist bloc. Sophie Rachlanko does a good job of documenting the special atmosphere that prevailed in the Catholic country. Firsthand, of course.

Arriving in Vienna, on the way to Israel. The perspective of those who came from the Iron Curtain on life outside it! The perspective of the girl from Eastern Europe on free Vienna and its residents who seem relaxed and carefree is so interesting. And from Vienna to Venice. Starting from the voyage from Venice to Haifa, it seemed to me that the two versions, Hebrew and French, were uniting or, more accurately, becoming similar. But I was soon proven wrong. I only felt the parallel for a short time.

The book in French quickly returns to its uniqueness and continues to develop the Francophile aspects. The poems in French written by Sophie Rakhlanko dot it until the end, information is added about learning the French language and the initial immersion in its culture, Molière, Rimbaud, Maupassant, Marima, Stendhal, about the charming teacher, with blue eyes and a talent for acting, who preferred literature to grammar, the comment he made to Natalie, perhaps jokingly, perhaps seriously, about her name having something of the name of a writer, which probably stuck in her subconscious and influenced her destiny...

And finally, before I give the floor to Sophie Rakhlanko, here is the free translation of the summary that appears on the back of the book, which describes not only the spirit of the memoir in French but also that of the memoir in Hebrew:

testimony

Sophie Rakhlenko's mother tongue is Russian and in her daily life she speaks Hebrew but, nevertheless, she often chooses to write in French. Her pen is, indeed, bilingual, moving freely between Hebrew and French.

This book, Call Me Natalie, is her tenth work. This autobiographical text unfolds the story of a small family from the former Soviet Union who, after leaving their country, arrives in Israel in 1960, not before a long stay in Poland. In the process, the author touches on universal and temporal issues such as immigration, uprooting, and the various problems of absorption that are so topical in our time.

The family's journey, full of unexpected, touching events, is very special, unusual. The dominant tone is never kitschy, although here and there it inevitably slips into nostalgia, which is thrilling in its sincerity. The story is full of picturesque landscapes and colorful portraits and is seasoned with humor. All of this makes the reader immerse themselves in it with pleasure and sail through to the end despite its not always easy themes.

Thank you, Sophie, for “lending” your life to me and thereby enriching mine!

The author's word

To most of the anonymous Francophiles who come to these pages, my name will mean nothing, and I hasten to reassure them that this in no way indicates a gap in their education. Because all in all, I am an author (and I am wary of the word "author," which seems too pretentious to me), very far from being famous, almost anonymous, and this is not false modesty on my part, it is a fact.

On the other hand, I will note, in all of this, that I have written other books, some for adults and some for children, I have written prose as well as poems, I have written in Hebrew and French, neither of which is my native language. And this is also an objective fact.

And after the confession, I am sure, or rather I suspect (because sometimes there are surprises and you can never be sure), that reading these lines will cause quite a few to raise an eyebrow and wonder why she is even being given the opportunity to appear here, and what motivated Dr. Orna Lieberman to read her books, and even write an extensive and in-depth article about the two autobiographies of someone who is not at all well-known.

The truth is, not only do I not have an answer to that, but I also ask the same question. Moreover, I wonder to myself how I came to write autobiographies at all, despite my innate shyness and my obvious anonymity. As much as I can, for anyone who has the opportunity to read these lines, I will try below, even if only a little, to clarify the path that led me to write autobiographies.

On January 9, 2013, following severe pneumonia, my beloved and dearest mother passed away. We were very close, and the osmosis between us stemmed, among other things, from our shared love of art, and each of us's work in this fascinating field.

Following the final and terrible separation from my mother, a huge void opened up before me, and on the seventh day of the week, I began to write letters to my late mother, in which I shared my feelings and actions during these difficult days, along with flashbacks to other days and our shared experiences from the past. I wrote these letters in Russian, my native language, a language in which we always spoke to each other. I wrote so as not to die, as Anne Sylvester wrote and sang:

Write to avoid dying
Writing, wisdom or madness
To write in an attempt to say
To say everything that hurt me
To say everything that saved me
Write and get rid of me
Write to avoid sinking
Write, instead of spinning
Write and never cry
Nothing but pen tears
Qui viennent se changer en mots
Pour me tenir le cœur au chaud

And for the Francophiles who are not yet fully Francophones, to the lines I quoted above, I will add my translation into Hebrew:

Write so as not to die
Write what comes.
Words of wisdom or delusion
To write to try to say
The painful and the bitter
Write down what hurt.
And all that saved and healed
Write so as not to sink
And instead of spinning
Write and let go
To write and never cry
unless,
In the tears of the pen
Which become words
And you warm my heart.

And here is the clip, from the program Apostrophes, directed by Brenner Pivo, the well-remembered one:

I admit that in this translation I did not pay attention to the order of the lines for the sake of the alliteration and here and there for the sake of a light rhyme, but I think that I succeeded in all this in conveying Anne Sylvester's touching message, which is the deep inner need to write, an irresistible need. And today, in retrospect, I know for sure that it was indeed this urgency that motivated me to write the letters to my late mother.

This correspondence lasted about six months. Although at first I had no thought of publishing it, after reading all the letters in a flurry, one after the other, I decided to compile them into a book.

The next task I set for myself was to translate the letters into Hebrew. After completing the translation, which was not easy, I added a second part, which is mostly dedicated to my mother’s works. I included about a hundred photographs of her sculptures and paintings, and I spoke directly in Hebrew about the circumstances and method of their creation. The book, which I called “One-Way Correspondence,” was published in February 2015.

Since then, my need to write has only grown, and additional books have been published from my pen, two collections of short stories, and also children's books that I illustrated. But in this context, I will only add a few more words about the two autobiographical books, which are the subject of Dr. Orna Lieberman's thoughtful, beautiful, and in-depth article.

In 2017, “From There and Here” was published, a book that recounts my parents’ and my own tortuous journey to Israel through Poland, and our first and difficult years in the XNUMXs, which, in my opinion, is hardly mentioned in Hebrew literature. To this autobiographical story, additional aspects and insights were added in this book, related to immigration, aliyah, and the problems of absorption that were the lot of many of the country’s citizens, and which probably also speak to immigrants of all kinds.

The book Appelez-moi Nathalie, which, as its name suggests, I wrote in French, a language I fell in love with long before I learned it. I will also allow myself a full disclosure, I wrote the embryonic text more than 30 years ago on my Brother typewriter. Since then, the folio pages have remained in one of my drawers, they have also had time to yellow a little, and over the three decades, I have occasionally felt a small twinge in my heart that they were not published.

Due to all sorts of events and personal reasons, I only took them out of the drawer at the beginning of 2023. I reworked the text, corrected certain sections, expanded and updated several chapters. I finished the new manuscript about two weeks before October 7, and needless to say, circumstances were not kind to it again. I will skip them, then, and only note that despite all the delays and bumps in the road, Appelez-moi Nathalie was published about three months ago, in January 2025.

And another word about my bilingual pen. In my book “From Here to There,” I addressed myself first and foremost to the Israeli reader, and while writing in Hebrew, I did not refrain from even occasionally using local slang, which further emphasizes the couleur locale, the picturesque and characteristic local hue that cannot be translated literally.

In my book Appelez-moi Nathalie, on the other hand, my target audience was primarily Francophone. I will not hide that it was no small challenge for me to write the book in Molière's language, because I took my first steps in learning the beautiful and rich language only when I reached high school, in the ninth grade.

I completed my studies at Tel Aviv University with a master's degree in literature. French. But an academic degree is not everything, and certainly not a guarantee of writing ability in general, and in French in particular. In parallel with my work as a teacher, slowly and gradually, the sounds of the words in French connected to the rhymes I first wrote for my students, who were actually my first readers. I wrote poems for them and also sketches related to their experiences, and when they presented them, and even won 6 prizes in national competitions organized by the French Embassy, ​​that was the first feedback I received on my ability to express myself in the language of Molière. I will skip further details related to my career as a French teacher for 34 years, and return to my two autobiographical books.

Each of them has its own characteristics and emphases, not only from the point of view of its potential readers, but because each language has its own melody, associations, images and cultural baggage. When I write in French, landscapes of France, works by its great painters, lines from poems by French poets and singers. I began Appelez-moi Nathalie by mentioning the famous poem by Gérard Bécou “Natalie”, so beloved by generations of Francophiles around the world.

This song is especially beloved by me because its melody and lyrics take me back to my Soviet roots and at the same time, it charms me with its charming French character. Long before YouTube, I would bring the song to my students on an audiotape, the lyrics of which I would write for them by ear. Today it is much simpler, and for anyone who wants to remember it, here is the clip:

In this book, I also used the trick of an alter ego through the character of Natalie, and writing in the first and third person alternately influenced, among other things, the structure of the book, which differs from that of the autobiography I wrote in Hebrew. I began “From Here to There,” on the other hand, with a trip to Apollonia National Park, which led me to personal flashbacks and the plot of the book.

Although, as mentioned above, the article mainly refers to my two autobiographical books, I will allow myself to complete the picture somewhat and say that in addition to writing, my second occupation, or what the French call mon violon d'Ingres, is painting. I will also note that there is an interaction between these two fields for me because when I write, my pen sometimes pretends to be a paintbrush, and in my collages I give myself complete freedom and combine different materials and often words. As a small glimpse into my watercolors and collages, I will give here three examples:

And to close the circle, I want to thank Orna from the bottom of my heart, and this time I'm skipping her academic degree because in the course of getting to know each other for the purpose of preparing this article, I feel like she has become a very close and dear friend. It's really not obvious to devote so much time and investment to writing an article about the two autobiographical books of an unknown author like me, which came to me from reading her posts on Facebook.

When Orna sent me the finished article, I was beyond excited. I had become familiar with her beautiful and fascinating articles on this Francophile website, which she dedicated to the great French artists and writers. I eagerly read her articles on Modigliani, Monet, Matisse, Camille Claudel, Patrick Modiano, the Nobel Prize winner, Alain Delon, Jane Birkin and more. The interest she discovered in me, the author and artist who few had ever heard of, was so unexpected, so surprising, that even the writers of these lines still barely grasp it. And as crazy as it may sound, in Orna's article about my two autobiographies, I even learned more about myself. With her sharp eye, her intellectual curiosity to get to the roots of things, her in-depth literary analysis and her personal empathy, and all of this in beautiful and creative Hebrew, Orna gave me a gift I couldn't even dream of!

And I can't avoid a personal bottom line:

Thanks to you, dear Orna, and thanks to your wonderful article, I hope to be a little less anonymous, even for your loyal readers on this site.

With immense gratitude, appreciation, and admiration for your diverse and abundant knowledge, your unique and beautiful writing, your additional sharp senses, and your empathy and desire to contribute and do only good,

final

PS: If, as a result of the above, anyone becomes interested in reading my books, that will of course be another bonus for me. Here are some ways to reach my books, and indirectly me.

The two autobiographical books were also published in digital format:

The “From there and here"Can be obtained from online stores in Israel: Hebrew, Mandela Online Bookstore, Indibook, after typing my name and the name of the book into Google.

You Call me Nathalie In the same way, by typing the title of the book and my name in English (Sophie Rachlenko) or by contacting the book's publisher, Éditions Vérone, directly online, where you can also order the printed book.

You can also contact me by email:

Sophie52@bezeqint.net

And at a discount of at least 50%, purchase the printed books directly from me, the “group” photo of whose covers, except for the new French book, I will attach here:

On this occasion, I would also be happy to hear personal impressions of the article and/or one of my books, if of course anyone would like to share them with me.