Psychological Weapon

As the unforgettable Mikhail Samuelevich Panikovsky used to say - go to Kiev and ask, who was Panikovsky before the revolution?
- so I am sending you to Kishinev. Go and ask any Jew who stayed there - who was Sema Drakover before the great emigration? Well, anyone will tell you: - Oh, oho! He was a great Zionist!!

Semik Drakover was born in a small provincial Moldavian shtetl, where simple Moldavian peasants, both externally and internally, differed little from Bessarabian Jews, who from time immemorial had quite densely populated this blessed land. Semik's grandfather and father worked their whole lives at the local creamery, thus forming a labor dynasty of oil millers. Moreover, before the war, even under the Romanians, this creamery belonged to his grandfather, where in addition to himself, his wife and son (Semik's future father) also worked. But nevertheless, as soon as the "Soviets" liberated Moldova in the 40th year, the grandfather firmly sat down for a few years under the article: - exploitation of the working people.

And no matter how much grandma Manya proved to the new authorities that he exploited only her, and with her full consent and only in bed, and even then not often, the grandfather served his allotted time and upon his return continued to work at the same creamery, only as a simple worker, since the director there was his son. Such was the continuity of generations.

Semik was born a rather sickly child, but grandma Manya, seeing him as a hereditary oil miller, who, according to her plan, was to replace his father in the responsible post of director, stubbornly pumped him full of fish oil with the addition of natural oil, which caused her grandson an absolute disgust for these noble products for the rest of his life. The father, on the other hand, believed that Semik, like all normal Jewish children, should become a doctor. Therefore, he emphasized studying, often with a belt.

Semik categorically disagreed with both grandma Manya and his father. He did not want to be a hereditary oil miller, since he couldn't stand even the smell of oil, much less become a doctor, whom he feared and fiercely hated since childhood. He wanted to become a driver and drive a truck so that he would smell of diesel fuel, drink Moldavian wine after work and play dominoes or cards, as the fathers of his friends did. Now that was the real life of a man.

[End of translation due to length constraints]