4.2.12 WC: 191694 middle of the music, because Soviet authorities tend to listen to the beginning and end of any music tape to assure that it does not contain forbidden material. I managed to get his statement back to the United States. Shortly thereafter he was released and came to live in my home while he was trying to get into school here. My interest in Soviet Jewry was stimulated by Elie Wiesel’s wonderful book Zhe Jews of Silence. But it became a passion only after a more personal encounter. In 1971, I was invited to become a fellow at the Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences on the Stanford campus in Palo Alto, California. Forty fellows were invited from all over the world, to spend the year writing and thinking. This year for the first time, a fellow had been invited from Communist Romania, Michael Cernea. He was Chairman of the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the University of Bucharest and an active member of the Romanian Communist Party. On the day before Rosh Hashanah, he invited me to take a walk with him through the woods. When we were away from any possibility of surveillance he told me that his real name was Moishe Katz, that he was a committed Jew, and that he desperately wanted to defect along with his family from Communist Romania and move either to the United States or Israel. He swore me to secrecy and asked if I would become his pro-bono lawyer in what would surely be a long-term activity, since his family was being held hostage back in Romania. I immediately agreed and invited him to my home for dinner that night, where we stayed up until dawn, listening to Jewish cantorial music, which he had not heard since his youth some thirty years earlier. Tears flowed freely from his eyes. Several years later, we were able to arrange for him and his wife to be out of the country at the same time, and they both defected, leaving his two children and his elderly mother behind. But within a year or so, with the help of Senator K