MOVE TO AMERICA BRINGS WOMAN NEW FRIENDS.

Byline: Dennis McCarthy 

They talk on the telephone every day - talk about life, Aleksey Sheychenko says of his grandmother, Lidia Cherchel, and her new friend, Gittle Teshnova.

A couple of Russian women who were strangers only a few months ago, but now talk on the telephone in Russian every day, just like old friends.

``Gittle has come to our house twice already to visit, and we have gone to see her in the home,'' 16-year-old Aleksey says. ``She's part of our family now.''

Part of a family. Six months ago, those words were unthinkable for Gittle Teshnova. She was part of no one's family.

She was a legally blind, 83-year-old woman with no family to visit her - a woman left behind in Odessa, Russia after World War II when most of her family immigrated to the United States - left behind because she was defective, not the kind of person we were allowing into the country at the time.

Gittle couldn't see. Years later, when we finally found our heart and relaxed our immigration policies so that people like Gittle could come live with relatives in America, Russia had tightened its own policies.

It took Gittle two more years to get permission to leave Russia, and join her sister here. By the time she did, her sister - like Gittle's husband and only daughter - had died.

Gittle had finally made it to America, but she made it alone.

It was all in the file that Marilyn Gross was reviewing as she tried to find a match for this old Russian woman - find the kind of friend she would want to walk into her life right now.

Matching the compassionate with the lonely is what Marilyn does for a living at the Jewish Elder Care program, where you don't have to be Jewish to give or receive.

You just have to be breathing, Marilyn says. And care.

Something in the file had caught her eye, a line about Gittle wanting to learn better English, about how she had these feelings of inadequacy when it came to speaking the language.

Marilyn double-checked her list of volunteers, looking for someone who might be able to help her. She stopped at the name Rochelle Kronstadt, a Reseda magnet high school English teacher.

``I think I've finally found a match for you,'' Marilyn said, telephoning Rochelle, who had been waiting six weeks for this call. ``Her name is Gittle, and she wants to learn better English.''

They sat for hours, reading and rereading words, breaking down their pronunciations and meanings.

``Are you getting tired?'' Rochelle would ask.

``No,'' Gittle would say, shaking her head. ``More words, please.''

It went on this way for months, their relationship and trust of each other growing a little stronger after each visit.

``I have a surprise for you next week, Gittle,'' Rochelle finally said one day. ``Some of my students who are Russian want to come and visit with you. Is it OK?''

Gittle smiled. Of course it was OK. When you have spent most of your life alone, you don't say no to anyone who wants to visit.

``What part of Russia are you from?'' the boy named Aleksey asked Gittle the following week.

``Odessa,'' she said.

``My grandmother's from Odessa, too,'' Aleksey said. Small world.

When he got home later, Aleksey told his grandmother, Lidia, about the nice woman he had met that day from her hometown - a woman named Gittle, who had no family to visit her.

``Do you think she would mind if I called her?'' Lidia asked her grandson.

``No, not at all,'' Aleksey said. ``I think she would enjoy very much to speak to someone from Russia.''

So, Lidia called Gittle the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that to talk about life.

They talk every day in Russian and English for hours - laughing, crying, and remembering. Every few weeks, Aleksey drives his grandmother over to the Jewish Home for the Aging in Reseda to spend the day with Gittle, or Gittle comes to Lidia's house to visit.

The woman left behind in Odessa, Russia, because she couldn't see is finally part of a family again.

The Jewish Elder Care program is constantly in need of volunteers to spend time with lonely people, like Gittle.

If anyone is interested in finding a match, call Marilyn Gross at the program's Valley office - [phone]. The program's Los Angeles number is [phone].

Like Marilyn says, you don't have to be Jewish to help. You just have to be breathing, and care.

MEMO: Dennis McCarthy's column appears Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday.