Meir Draznin
189(?)–1965(?)
Among the countless lives crushed by Stalin's machinery of repression are stories that remain largely forgotten to this day. One such story is that of Meir Draznin, a man who, long before the Russian Revolution, devoted himself to the revival of the Jewish people in their ancestral homeland. He endured exile, labor camps, and years of underground activity, yet never abandoned the dream that had shaped his life.
Remarkably little is known about Meir Draznin's childhood and youth–or, for that matter, about his life as a whole. Not even a single photograph of him has survived. He was born sometime in the 1890s, though the exact date remains unknown. Well educated, he embraced Zionism at an early age and became actively involved in Jewish public and political life before the Revolution.
At the time, Jewish politics was dominated by two competing movements: Zionism and socialism. The largest Jewish socialist party was the Bund (from the Yiddish word for "union"). Bundists categorically rejected the idea of national revival and the return of the Jewish people to their ancestral homeland. In their view, Jews were not a nation but a "nationless nationality" without a territory, whose future lay in joining the Russian proletariat in the struggle for social and political rights.
Draznin could never accept such an answer to the Jewish question–one that, in effect, denied the very existence of the question itself. For him, Zionism was far more than a political ideology; it was his life's mission. His speeches in Zionist circles in his native Kyiv and other cities drew enthusiastic audiences. Many of those who came to hear him shared his belief that the Jewish people could escape centuries of persecution only by rebuilding their own state in their historic homeland. And the realities of Jewish life–often harsh and unforgiving–only reinforced that conviction.
By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, pogroms had become a grim and inescapable part of Jewish life. Hundreds of Jews were killed in Warsaw, Kyiv, Kishinev, Odesa, Mariupol, Yekaterinoslav, Rostov-on-Don, Białystok, Gomel, and many other cities. Looted homes, funeral processions, shattered lives–once again, Jews were confronted with the harsh reality of their vulnerability and lack of protection. Publicly, the tsarist government condemned the violence and promised to punish those responsible. Privately, however, many in the imperial establishment sympathized with the perpetrators. Tsar Alexander III is widely credited with remarking: "To tell you the truth, I myself am pleased when Jews are beaten."
It is unknown whether Meir's own family suffered during the pogroms or whether he witnessed any of them firsthand. What is beyond doubt is that he grew up hearing about them. Perhaps those horrifying stories became etched into his memory from an early age.
For Meir and his fellow Zionists, Zionism was, quite literally, a means of survival. They dreamed not only of a Jewish homeland but of a life of dignity and security. Moreover, many Zionists of that era also embraced socialist ideals in the broad sense of the term. They advocated a democratic republic, universal suffrage, equality before the law, the eradication of poverty, and access to education and healthcare. Yet could a just society truly be built on the ruins of a vast multiethnic empire where virulent antisemitism had flourished for centuries? Meir had his doubts–and history would prove those doubts well founded.
Before the outbreak of the First World War, roughly 80,000 Jews left the Russian Empire for Palestine, most of them young people. Meir and his fellow activists played an important role in that movement. He was among the leading organizers of the Hakhsharat HeHalutz agricultural training programs, which prepared young halutzim–Zionist pioneers–for agricultural work in Eretz Israel, a land that was beginning to emerge from centuries of neglect.
Even before the Revolution, adherence to Zionist ideals was, to put it mildly, unwelcome. The tsarist government viewed Zionism as a threat to the interests of the empire. Under Soviet rule, however, the situation became even more perilous. The Bolsheviks denounced Zionism as a "bourgeois nationalist" movement that stood in the way of building an international socialist society. During the 1920s, Zionist activists were arrested, Zionist organizations were shut down, and Hebrew-language literature was confiscated. It was during this wave of repression that Meir Draznin was arrested and sent into exile.
We do not know exactly when he returned from exile. Nor do we know how he managed to evade both the Soviet authorities and the devastation of the Second World War for so many years. Yet he did. Back in Kyiv, Meir did not renounce his beliefs–he simply took them underground. Secretly, he continued teaching Hebrew and Jewish literature, while sharing news from Eretz Israel with those who sought to preserve their connection to the Jewish national revival.
After the war, state-sponsored antisemitism in the Soviet Union reached its peak. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, the regime launched its campaign against the so-called "rootless cosmopolitans." Jewish newspapers, schools, and theaters were shut down. The Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee was destroyed, and in 1952 its leading members were executed. By then, for a Soviet Jew, few accusations were more dangerous than being labeled a Zionist. Zionism was equated with treason and collaboration with foreign intelligence services. Zionists were denounced as "agents of international Jewry" and "accomplices of American imperialism." Yet even in this atmosphere of fear and persecution, Meir refused to give up. Drawing on decades of experience, he managed to remain one step ahead of the Chekists for years.
Yet in 1955, Meir was arrested once again. He was charged under Article 54-10-1 of the Criminal Code of the Ukrainian SSR for "anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda"–more specifically, for engaging in "subversive Zionist activities directed against the Soviet state." He was sentenced to ten years in a corrective labor camp, followed by internal exile in one of the Soviet Union's remote regions.
Ten years under conditions that were brutally harsh, often beyond the limits of human endurance. For an elderly man, it was effectively a death sentence. But Meir had no intention of surrendering. He was sent to the camps, where an entirely new ordeal–and an unexpected mission–awaited him.
Meir was imprisoned in several camps, not all of which have been identified. By late 1959, however, he had been transferred to Mordovia, to Corrective Labor Camp No. 385/10, a maximum-security facility. Mordechai Stein, a young Zionist serving his own sentence there, later left a deeply moving account of Meir. This is how he described him: "Of medium height, old and frail, with a scarf wrapped around his neck. His kind, tranquil eyes were inflamed with illness. His swarthy face radiated wisdom and experience. He spoke quietly and deliberately, never arguing. People listened far more than they spoke, and no one ever contradicted him–which, in itself, was something of a rarity among Jews."
This brief portrait speaks volumes. Meir did not avoid arguments because he lacked conviction or confidence. Rather, his authority was so widely recognized that few even thought to challenge him. His knowledge, life experience, and quiet inner strength made him a natural leader.
Stein was struck by the breadth of Meir's knowledge of Jewish history and of the Zionist movement, which he saw as inseparable from it. But Meir was far more than a walking encyclopedia. Much of what Stein had only read about or heard from others, Meir had witnessed with his own eyes. To the younger Zionists in the camp, he embodied living history–a link between generations and eras. For prisoners cut off from the outside world and confined behind barbed wire, he became both a window into the past and a bridge to the future they still dared to imagine.
Meir spoke about the ancient history of the Jewish people, about the eras of the First and Second Temples. He told of the Jewish prophets and their uncompromising moral vision–their struggle for justice and equality before the law. He often described them as the first revolutionaries in human history.
He recounted the heroism of the Maccabees, who in the second century BCE threw off the rule of the Seleucid Greeks and restored Judea's independence, and of the legendary Shimon Bar Kokhba, who led the Jewish people's final desperate revolt against the Roman Empire nearly three centuries later.
Yet his most vivid and captivating stories were those drawn from his own life: attending one of the Zionist Congresses and, above all, the fierce ideological battles with the leaders of the Bund at conferences and public gatherings across Ukraine and Belarus.
"Every evening, our group of Zionist Jews gathered with him in our 'Jewish corner,' where we would spend hours talking–though it was usually he who did most of the speaking. Listening to him was both fascinating and deeply instructive. His knowledge of Jewish history and tradition seemed boundless," Mordechai Stein recalled.
Meir treated Mordechai–the youngest member of the "Jewish corner"–with fatherly care. He became a mentor to the young Zionist: thoughtful and considerate, never imposing his own views, yet always ready for an honest discussion.
Hebrew occupied a special place in Meir's life. He had mastered the language completely and, just as he had done before his imprisonment, continued teaching it to his fellow Zionists in the camps–fully aware that doing so could earn him yet another sentence. Behind barbed wire, in a crudely built barrack, the ancient language of the Jewish people could still be heard in hushed voices. Every lesson Meir gave became an act of quiet resistance. Every new phrase his students learned was a small victory over a system determined to erase the Jewish people's memory and identity. "...He gave us Hebrew lessons and encouraged us to speak only Hebrew among ourselves. His swarthy face would light up with a gentle glow, and had he worn a proper beard, sidelocks, and a turban, he would have looked exactly like one of the prophets," Mordechai Stein recalled.
Meir was also deeply devoted to Jewish music. At every gathering, the Zionists of Camp 385/10 quietly sang lyrical songs based on the poetry of Rachel Bluwstein. Among Meir's favorites were the tender "Al Sfat Yam Kinneret" ("On the Shores of the Kinneret") and the spirited hora "Gilu HaMaccabim, Giborei HaHayil, Sisu VeSimchu Yomam VaLayil..." ("Rejoice, Maccabees, heroes of the nation; celebrate day and night...").
At Meir's suggestion, the group marked Hanukkah by singing every holiday song they knew. They ended with "Hatikvah." Standing together, they sang Israel's national anthem in quiet, solemn voices strengthened by an unshakable inner conviction. As Mordechai later recalled, "Tears streamed down all our faces, and none of us felt the need to hide or wipe them away."
It was nothing short of a miracle. In the hell created by a ruthless totalitarian regime, patriots of a country they had never seen managed to create–and carefully preserve–an oasis of humanity and Jewish culture. At the heart of that oasis stood Meir Draznin: old, frail, and utterly fearless.
Some time later, Meir was transferred to another camp. Those he left behind remembered him for years, "sitting together and sighing in our little Jewish corner," as Mordechai Stein later wrote.
In the mid-1960s, Meir was finally released and returned to Kyiv. By then, however, his health had been irreparably broken. He died not long afterward.
Meir never lived to see Israel with his own eyes. Yet he accomplished something no less enduring: he passed on his faith, his knowledge, and a share of his seemingly inexhaustible inner strength to those who came after him. Mordechai Stein would eventually make it to the Jewish people's ancestral homeland, carrying with him the memory of his mentor and remarkable friend.
May Meir Draznin's memory be a blessing, together with all the hopes and dreams he devoted his life to.
27.07.2026
Author: Mikhail Krivitsky
Translated by Lena Lores
Bibliography and Sources
1. Stein, M. In Memory of the Prisoners of Zion: From the Memoirs of a Prisoner of Zion. A Memorial Page Dedicated to Prisoner of Zion Meir Draznin. Zametki po Evreiskoi Istorii (Notes on Jewish History), ed. by Evgeny Berkovich. Available at: https://berkovich-zametki.com/2006/Zametki/Nomer6/Shtejn1.htm
2. Herzl, T. The Jewish State. Petrograd, 1917.
3. Istoriya evreiskogo naroda v Rossii. Vol. 2: Ot razdelov Polshi do padeniya Rossiiskoi imperii [The History of the Jewish People in Russia. Vol. 2: From the Partitions of Poland to the Fall of the Russian Empire]. Edited by I. Bartal. Moscow, 2012.
4. Klier, J. D. Rossiiskaya imperiya i evrei: Ot razdelov Polshi do padeniya monarkhii [Russian translation of Imperial Russia and the Jews: From the Partitions of Poland to the Fall of the Monarchy]. Translated from English. Moscow, 2017.
5. Maor, I. Sionistskoe dvizhenie v Rossii [The Zionist Movement in Russia]. Translated from Hebrew. Jerusalem, 1977.
6. Gitelman, Z. Y. A Century of Ambivalence: The Jews of Russia and the Soviet Union, 1881 to the Present. Bloomington, 2001.
7. Jews in the Soviet Union: A History. 6 vols. Edited by G. Estraikh and D. Engel. New York, 2022–2025.
8. Pinkus, B. The Jews of the Soviet Union: The History of a National Minority. Cambridge, 1988.
9. Ro’i, Y. The Struggle for Soviet Jewish Emigration, 1948–1967. Cambridge, 1991.
10. Slezkine, Y. The Jewish Century. Princeton, 2004.
