perekhod, vyacheslav sergeevich or slava sergeevich, mother died, father in the red army. here he is, my dear, my dear, everything. all the features are familiar, these little hands, oh my god, like a rake, did he go to kindergarten or not, i don’t know, what i remember is that i came and my mother’s braid, i pulled it, pulled it and then i don’t know, yes, this is grandfather’s handwriting, i dedicate it to the fifty -first orphanage of leningrad, he came to the caucasus with the orphanage of leningrad in the summer, he was at home, the joy and comfort of the family, the mother’s voice. i’ve heard this story since childhood. to me. it seems that i understood from birth that there is a very important place in the world, it is called cinain. at least, that was the case for the little leningraders from the fifty- first orphanage. the autumn day of 1942, when they found themselves here at the walls of the ancient monastery, they then celebrated their entire lives. the memory of this story has been kept in my family's archive all these years in ordinary school notebooks, where

bogush vladimir ilyich, from orphanage number 53, father vkka, mother disappeared, transition, vyacheslav sergeevich or slava sergeevich, mother died, father in the red army, here he is, my dear, my dear, all the familiar features of his face, these hands, lord. my god, like a rake, did you go to kindergarten or not, i don’t know, i remember that i came and mowed my mother, i dragged her, dragged her and then i don’t know, yes. with my grandfather’s handwriting, i dedicate it to the fifty -first orphanage of leningrad, he came to the caucasus with the leningrad orphanage in the summer, he was at home with the family, the joy and happiness of the mother’s eyes. i have heard this story since childhood. it seems to me that i understood from birth that there is light. the memory of this story has been kept in my family’s archive all these years in ordinary school notebooks, where the word notebook is written in armenian. here is a photo of my grandmother, here are fragments from her diary, where she writes that if it is necessary to give her life for the children, such was the desire and conviction, how