Natan Ben Zulay Kimiyagarov

Bibliography: Kimyagarov Natan Amnynovich
September 13th, 1980- June 25th, (11 Tammuz) 1999.
Was born in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. Father-Amnyn Kimyagarov, a professor in polytechnic institute.
Mother-Zylai Kimyagarova (Usupova). An English teacher. Two sisters- Miryam and Ksenya.
In 1987 went to school #37 in Samarkand. In 1989 met Mikhail Yakubov. In 1993 left to the United States.
In 1993, in the USA continued acquiring general knowledge with the initiation of religion and its applications.
School-Yeshiva Binat Chaim. An “A” student. June 1994 met Mikhail again. Friendship resumed.
1996- transferred to Forest Hills High School. Met Alex Niyazov and Artur Aranbayev.
1998- Graduated From Forest Hills High School. Got accepted to St. John’s University.
Studied there with Mikhail. …supposed to continue to study 2nd year.
Tammuz 11 (June 25th) 1999, after being in coma for eight days went on living … eternally.

Your image as well as your deeds will always be deep in our hearts.
Mikhail Yakubov, Alex Niyazov and Artur Aranbayev.
Menyhato Be Gan Eden.

In Memory of Natan. (By Michael Yakubov)

In this lifetime it is very difficult to find a good friend. Anyone who found a “real friend” is considered a very lucky person. In a lifetime not everyone can meet and make a true friend. It seems during our time span, which is not that short, it is impossible to find a friend. Paradoxically, life dictates one’s destiny. As for me, I was given a chance to be a good friend and to have a real friend. We were like brothers, and I really mean it. He had all the qualities of a friend that he was by being generous, understanding, honest and very helpful person. His neshama was clean and pure.

To begin with, I consider myself very, very, very lucky that Hashem gave me the opportunity to be his friend. It started back in the year 1989. Our family moved to a new house.  His family had a house on a perpendicular street to ours. Our parents, actually our fathers have known each other for a long time. They both were writing dissertations at the university at Moscow in the mid 1960’s. Later, when we moved, we, again, began to interact with them more frequently. On a hot summer day our families decided to go on a picnic. On that day I met him for the first time. I was eleven years old, and he was almost a year younger than I.

As time went by, we started to associate with each other more frequently. We found that we had lots of interests in common; furthermore, we went to the same school. As I recall, we even had the same math teacher. Again, as time went by, our friendship grew stronger and stronger. Each of our houses was the same for both of us. There we swam in the swimming pool, played Ping-Pong, watched TV, played with our pets, and did a million of other things. We became like brothers because friendship from the early ages is always honest. His departure to the USA disrupted our friendship. I remember those last days when we were just hanging out. On May 18th, 1993 I was leading him to the airport. It was an utmost vexing, sad and unbelievable circumstance for both of us, which made us wailing and sobbing. None of us knew if we ever would see each other again.  That exact moment when we were standing quietly and looking at each other, while recepting the last dawn together along with the perception of the smell of kerosene and the mix of the cool, fresh morning air thrust into my memory forever. The next day when I woke up, I forgot that this part of my daily interaction was missing. When I was about to meet him on our way to school, only then I realized that he was gone. I was shocked. It was like the other half of my daily interaction being gone. I thought that we would never see each other again, even though our family planned to immigrate to the U.S.A as well. I began to interact less with my classmates and neighbors, as my feeling of alienation grew stronger and stronger. This feeling has abruptly dug up from my unconsciousness, memorizing and kind of scaring me when he left… Earth.

After approximately four months, I received a letter from the USA with my name on it. Of course, as I thought, it was from him. He shortly described circumstances his family encountered with and his first impressions of what an unofficial country of the world is. One of his excitements was the Manhattan as a tremendously outstanding piece of work along with, of course, the two tallest buildings. I even remember his exact phrase in his first letter, that stated:” When it is cloudy, you can not see the top floors from the ground.” I immediately wrote back to him, and this way we had written each other about five or six times, until … my arrival.

On June 28th, 1994 my family arrived to New York. As I knew that he lived here, I immediately contacted him after we settled in our relatives’ apartment. The next day, my first day in America, I met him, once again, at last. There were no limits to our joy. He came by bike with a yarmulke covering his head. That was something new and strange to me. I showed him his letters and laughed a little as he made a few mistakes. He started to show me various places in the neighborhoods. I was fascinated by multicultural aspects in New York, and it was a great experience for me. He also did one remarkable thing for which I have changed as well as my view on metaphysics have changed as well. This deed will 100000000000000000000000000000000000000% be count as mitzvoth and, inevitably, will be put in the “Book of Good Deeds” up there. He got me involved in religion. He went to Yeshiva at that time and he introduced me to Rabbis, Allachot, Brachas and friends. He also found me a job; we worked together. Actually, several jobs I worked at were due to him. In short, we inevitably, continued our relationship together while growing up. We, again, were doing everything together. We were so close, that even in the U.S.A where “ money talks and bullshit walks,” we did not care about dead presidents, despite that it were and is a hard economical situation in families like ours.

Life continued, and he got accepted to St. John’s as well as I did. We started going to school together again. It wasn’t high school like before; now it was the University. Unfortunately for people like you and I, his mission in this world was complete and there was nothing for him left here. His neshama (soul) had to go to Gan Eden … in the world of eternity.

At his funeral on June 25th, 1999 about four hundred people gathered. I just could not calm myself when I was looking at his portrait because nobody knew him like I did. Even his parents did not know him that well because friendship from the early adolescent ages is honest, and during these years we shared everything there was in our lives. When I buried him, the physical pain from the friction of the shovel’s handle and the skin on my fingers was absolutely nothing to compare with the pain in my heart.

I am sure I will see you Natan, but not now.

Menahyto Be Gan Eden.