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Schools

Tracking the History of Russian-Speaking Families in Shorewood

As one of the first school districts to develop a robust English as a Second Language program, Shorewood attracted many immigrating families in the 1990s.

When Vladimir Shteyn moved to Shorewood from Ukraine in 1997 at 9 years old, the only English word he knew was "apple."

"In fourth grade, everyone thought my name was apple, and I never really went hungry because everyone gave me apples," Shteyn, who attended , said.

Shteyn's family was one of hundreds who immigrated to the Milwaukee area from the former Soveit Union during the 1990s, a peak immigration period for Russian-speaking families as many fled anti-Semitism after the collapse of the USSR.

Since 1976, with the busiest years between 1889 and 1997, the Milwaukee Jewish Federation and Jewish Family Services helped 3,582 families resettle in the Milwaukee area, according to Gina Botshtein, vice president of older adult services at Jewish Family Services.

Some settled in the cities; others in the suburbs. But Shorewood stood out decisively as a destination for immigrating Russian families in the 1990s, and holds that reputation today as the families age, though immigration has slowed. 

According to Botcstein, out of 1,474 Russian-speaking households in Milwaukee and Ozaukee Counties, 319 are in Shorewood -- that's more than 20 percent. Together Milwaukee County and Ozaukee County have 474 square miles of land. Shorewood has 1.6.

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Immigrants have left behind war, persecution, careers, loved ones and homes for a chance at a new life in the village -- a community many residents have known as home since birth.

An important draw for many families was the emerging English as a Second Language program (ESL) at Atwater Elementary School, now more established as the English Language Learners program.

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Destination Shorewood

When Ruth Hoenick started teaching at Atwater in 1980, she had one Russian student in her first grade class, and no ESL program to support him. For the next few years, there were a few sporadic Russian-speaking students, and then in the late 1980s, they really started coming.

According to the Jewish Museum of Milwaukee, about a quarter of the Jewish population now in Milwaukee came from the former Soviet Union between the 1970s and 1990s with assistance from Jewish Family Services.

In 1990, Atwater hired a native speaker to tutor Russian-speaking children at the end of the school-day. When the population continued to grow, Atwater started a program in 1994 in which they pulled students out of class for extra help.

“That’s when it was really growing,” Hoenick said. “We would have three or four in a classroom.”

In 1997, Atwater Principal Tim Duax asked Hoenick, who had taken a special interest in the program, if she would get licensed and start a formal ESL program, in which Hoenick often co-taught with teachers in the classroom. Shteyn was one of the pioneers of this program.

By 2000, Shorewood had 101 Russian-speaking students, out of a total 198 English Language Learners, according to statistics from the Department of Public Instruction.

At that time the Russian-speaking population was rising throughout Milwaukee and the North Shore, but not like it was in Shorewood. The Milwaukee Public School District had just five Russian-speaking students, and Whitefish Bay had 11.

When Hoenick started the program, she knew only a few Russian phrases. It was a challenge to get students to take risks in expanding their English, one she bridged through storytelling.

Learning to tell their stories

As Hoenick got to know her students, she quickly realized the rich trove of stories behind their eyes that they didn’t yet have the words to express.

“They gave up so much to come here,” Hoenick said. “When they had enough proficiency in speaking, I would have them write about what they left behind. The toughest thing was leaving pets that they had behind. No, worse than that was grandparents -- coming here and knowing they would never see grandma and grandpa again.”

With students from upwards of 25 countries, some of the stories were shocking. Hoenick remembered most clearly a brother and sister from Bosnia.

“The older brother’s motivation to learn English was incredible,” Hoenick said. “In time through stories became apparent he had really stood side by side with his father and uncles to escape Bosnia and seen horrific events. His mode was, ‘I am a man, I have to help my family survive and I need to learn English to do it.’ His little sister was silent for almost an academic year, very shy and quiet. Through disclosure of stories, I found out she was watching her younger siblings during the escape and the baby died, and she felt responsible for that.”

Many of the Russian-speaking students had also experienced traumatic events, commonly enduring widespread anti-Semitism throughout the Soviet Union.

Shteyn, now 23, said he remembers his family being looked down on for for being Jewish.

“I had a close group of friends, people in the neighborhood, but it was different because we were Jewish,” he said. “We’d get a lot of ridicule for that. People would use words like Zhid, which is derogatory toward Jews."

The memories were not all so dark; students had left behind entire lives. In 2003, Hoenick had students write poetry about their old homes. A poem by Vitalia Dosta, 9 at the time, read:

Light Russian dacha

catching cold, scaly lizards

laughing, joyful times

A harsh transition to a new world

Although happy to be starting a new life in the U.S., Shteyn said he felt he had to make a new identity for himself here.

“Until I was 8 or 9, I was a beasty little kid. There were groups of kids in my neighborhood and we would always fight. I remember one time someone called me Zhid, and I just felt this rage go through me. I jumped on him, and some of my friends pulled me off of him, and I chased him out of the neighborhood. Then I moved here and it was like, shmmm,” he said, motioning decline with his hand.

“There I was a straight-A student, and I ran in the streets. Here, that wouldn’t make any sense. Over here, I was pretty much a failure. And I didn’t really run in the streets, unless you’re talking about physical activity.”

In a world with a conflicting myriad of “cool” standards, Shteyn said he was constantly changing himself to fit in.

“I’d always try to do the craziest stuff to fit in, and in fact it would have the reverse effect. Instead of being me, I used to act the stupidest way and pushed people farther and farther away,” he said. “I started smoking regularly when I was 9, after I came to America. I was throwing rocks at cars, getting into trouble. When you’re not accepted, the people who accept you are the wrong crowd.”

Hoenick said many of her students struggled to become the idea they had of an American.

“Once the students came here and saw what they thought was the American dream, they wanted to be American,” she said. “Some students were too embarrassed to bring food that was different, and they would ask to bring sandwiches.”

Hoenick said she thought most Atwater students were welcoming to the ESL students, but she said some misunderstood the distinction between not knowing English and being stupid.

“We noticed that was happening, so we would talk to classes and say, ‘Imagine you were dropped in a school in Russia. You have to know what a beaker is, and a byson burner, and a petrie dish, and the geometric shapes.’ And they would go, ‘whoa,’ and then they would get it.”

As Shteyn was adjusting to the new culture, his parents were also dealing with their own rough transitions. In Russia, his dad had been a professor, and his mom a health care provider. Here, his dad worked in the back of American, moving furniture. His mom worked in the back of , making beaded jewelry.

“Their degrees were insignificant here,” he said. “It was like all those years had never happened.”

Still, Shteyn said he is grateful that his parents made the move. While he was living in Ukraine, he said citizens were drafted into the military at age 18. He said the draft was the primary reason his family made the move.

“There’s a good chance I wouldn’t be alive if we had stayed, if we’re going to be completely blunt,” he said. “I remember one day I saw a newspaper clip of a mother in a field full of skulls holding her own son’s skull. And no one was going to ask questions there, especially if you’re Jewish.”

A community of shared past, shared future

Although many families moved here knowing no one, they often quickly networked with other Russian-speaking families.

Recent immigrants and their children often gather in , Shteyn said. As a kid he participated in a traveling theater group with dancing and singing in Russian that would practice in River Park and perform for retirement homes.

Although now the number of immigrants is decreasing, there remains a strong aging population of Russian-speaking families. Jewish Family Services has developed special programs for seniors including counseling, therapy and help around the house.

And new families do continue coming, quickly fitting into the well-established network of Russian families already here.

Roxanne Tibbits, a current ELL teacher at Atwater, said Russian families often help each other with things like carpooling, and translating at school conferences.

"They are keeping that network alive, while still becoming part of the larger community," she said. "It's pretty unique to Shorewood that our non-immigrant families have this fabulous opportunity to learn about someone from another culture."

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