Evgenia (Женя) Prusakova-Tsoy

Hello everyone,
Thank you all so much for being here today and for the incredible love and support you’ve shown my family during this heartbreaking time. Your presence means more than words can express, and I know my mom would be deeply touched to see how many people cared for her and stood by us.
My mom was truly one of a kind. She had this quiet strength that carried us through so many ups and downs. She was kind, compassionate, and full of love — the kind of person who never asked for much but gave so much to everyone around her. Whether it was a gentle word, a helping hand, or simply being there, she made you feel seen and cared for.
Over the last 3 and a half years, she fought breast cancer with unimaginable courage and grace. But my mom always made it clear: she didn’t want cancer to be what people remembered about her. She never wanted her final memories to be about pain or illness. She wanted to be remembered for who she truly was — full of life, full of love, with a spark that lifted the people around her.
And that’s exactly how I want to remember her. The mom who asked how happy I was on a scale of 1-10, who made holidays feel magical, who gave the best advice and always knew what to say. The woman who taught me how to be strong, not by pretending everything was okay, but by showing up anyway — with heart, with grace, and with love.
We cry today not because she is gone, but because she was so deeply loved. Her memory will live on in every one of us—in the stories we share, in the traditions she passed down, and in the love she gave so freely.
To everyone who sent a message, offered a hug, or just sat with us in silence — thank you. Your kindness has carried us through these days, and it’s something we’ll never forget. Thank you for helping us honor her, and thank you for being part of her life.
My mom believed in love, in community, and in showing up for one another. In her memory, I hope we can continue to do just that.
Thank you.

Love doesn’t die, people do. So, when all that’s left of me is love, give me away.
Marrit Malloy

Hello everyone, I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time and coming here
today in honor of my beautiful mom. And I also want to share my gratitude for everyone who has
shown all love and support in this incredibly difficult, if not the most difficult, time in our lives.
Since the day I found out that my mom was battling cancer, I knew that someday I would have
to stand up here and talk about losing my mom but I didn’t know it would be this soon. Although
we knew this day was coming and I had all the time to prepare, nobody can ever truly prepare
for the loss of their dearest mother and best friend. Like my sister mentioned, my mom didn’t
want this day to be remembered for her suffering or the pain she didn’t deserve — but instead
for all the moments she got to share with everyone here today, the moments that made her
happy and made her life truly memorable. I hope we can do just that.
They say that in the seven minutes after we pass, our brain replays our favorite memories —
like a final movie of our life, providing comfort as we leave the place we once knew and step into
the unknown. I hope that in those moments, my mom saw the life she built, the love she gave,
and the inexplicable joy and beauty she brought into the world. I hope she saw the camping
and hiking trails we got to explore with our friends, the legendary pine mountain lakes trips, the
countries that we got to visit that I will forever cherish and look back on. And I really hope that I
was part of those seven minutes — that she felt how deeply she was loved by me, and how I
would tell her,
“Goodnight, Mama. Love you, have a good sleep,
” twenty times, because once
was never enough to show her just how much she meant to me.
If there’s one thing I’ve always been sure of, it’s that my mom loved my sister and I, and every
single person in this room, with everything her heart could hold — and that was something I
never once doubted, not in my entire 18 years. My mom taught me everything I know and carry
with me today and now I am standing here today saying goodbye to someone who
single-handedly shaped the person I am and got me to where I am. Someone once said,
“The
bravest thing a griever can do is live.
” And I will live — with her love inside me, with the lessons
she taught me, and with the strength she passed on. I will always see her courage, her
kindness, and her beauty living in me and because of that, I know that she will always be with
me protecting me from evil.

Светлая память замечательному,человеку с открытой душой...

Choi = Tsoy = Цой
In Korean, "Choi" is written as 최. It can be translated as "mountain," "pinnacle," or "top"

Zhenia’s Eulogy

Is a flower that blooms for only a single night any less beautiful because of the short duration of its life?

S. Freud, The Essay On Transience

Женя’s life, though far too short, was radiant and deeply meaningful.

Today, we gather to celebrate the life of our dear friend — and for many, including myself, a family member — Eugenia, Zhenia. Her name means “of good origin,” and she truly was — not because of family title or social standing, but because of the depth, grace, and quiet strength she cultivated in herself.

As I thought about Zhenia, I realized that the things I learned from her had unexpectedly taken shape as life lessons. The search for meaning is at the heart of the human experience. For me, Zhenia’s lessons carried profound meaning. I’d like to share with you the five lessons that came to mind

Lesson 1: Words matter. Choose them with care.

To me, she was Sharpie — my nickname for her — because she was razor sharp. Her mind was brilliant and incisive, her curiosity boundless. But it wasn’t just intelligence — it was the way she could sit quietly, listening, and then say one perfect sentence that cut through all the noise. When I was spinning in uncertainty, her words would land with quiet force. They stayed with me. Her advice was rarely long, but it was often exactly what I needed.

Lesson 2: Brilliance and Kindness are not loud.

Zhenia wasn’t one to announce her kindness. Her actions spoke louder than words — thoughtful, grounding, generous gestures, all without fanfare. She would pick up friends from the airport, cook dinners and share them, show up when you needed her. She was a speech therapist helping people who couldn’t speak — and yet she herself never said much. She gave gifts that everyone loved, and yet mostly declined gifts offered to her. She carried warmth in the most understated way — never demanding attention, always paying attention

Her writing was breathtaking — more expressive than her speech, though even her spoken words could stop you in your tracks. One of her friends, Tanya Belikova, recalled how, during their entrance exam to a Moscow university, Zhenia sat beside her and wrote a composition on her namesake, Eugene Onegin, with such speed and clarity it felt almost otherworldly. She was one of the few who earned the top grade — not that she would ever mention it. She was also one of the very few students in her class who didn’t have a special directive or so called placement /направление or connections that allowed people to bypass the competition and still be taken into the university. She won the competition with her pure brilliance

As she became sick, she somehow made the disease her teacher. She learned what to eat and what not to eat. She became a walking encyclopedia of healthy habits. She even taught me intermittent fasting — and how to cook broccoli correctly — not as a lecture, just as a passing suggestion, wrapped in her quiet conviction. I passed her teachings on to many others.


Lesson 3: Belonging is not about fitting in.

There was a delicate quality to Zhenia’s presence — her beauty, her way of moving through the world. She sometimes joked about her “logical Asian genes” and called herself practical, but hearing her say it was like watching a butterfly claim to be heavy. Practicality in the common sense wasn’t her trait. Her personality was honest and pure, without any attempt at secondary gain. She had great taste — in books, in art, in how she dressed — and yet never tried to impress. Her thoughts had a softness, a poetry, a hovering uncertainty. She questioned life, the world, herself — like a true artist.

She once told me how much it hurt, growing up not looking like her mother — how people assumed she was adopted. That sense of not belonging pierced her heart - an ache that stayed with her through her life . But instead of hardening her, it made her even more open, more welcoming to others. Somehow, her not fitting in made people feel more at ease around her.

Lesson 4: A true giving is quiet

Zhenia was a lifelong giver. She cared for her husband during his illness and after his passing — all while raising two daughters alone. She also cared for her mother, helping her begin a new life in a new country. She didn’t talk about it. She just… gave. She became the only point of contact for her mother when she came to the U.S., guiding her through the process of becoming a citizen, helping her integrate into a new culture — offering love, support, and structure every step of the way. She didn’t complain. She didn’t make a show of it. Never asking for help

To her beautiful daughters, Sania and Asia, to her grandson Jusik, to her patients and friends — she gave her presence, her time, her care.

Zhenia was a devoted mother and loving grandmother. Her daughters — and Jusik — graceful, strong, and full of brilliance — carry her spirit forward. They are, in so many ways, her true legacy.

Lesson 5: Even goodbye can be an act of generosity.

Zhenia’s life wasn’t easy. Her death wasn’t either. But she met both with a kind of courage that looked nothing like defiance — more like deep acceptance. In one of our final calls, she told me she wanted to bring death closer — not in despair, but to be liberated from the burden of illness. She welcomed it the way she welcomed life: with seriousness, with awareness, and with a trace of humor.

In one of my last dreams about her before her death, she was smiling. She told me she had stopped chemo — and was now going to distribute vitamins. That was so her: turning endings into beginnings, lacing truth with wit, offering nourishment even as she herself was fading. She tried to make her dying easier for those around her — telling us not to worry, trying to shield us even as she faced the hardest of things.

I can imagine her now, hearing all this — her small, familiar smile at the corners of her lips, and that dry tone saying, “Yeah, right. Ну да, конечно…”

Zhenia, we will miss you always. Your clarity, your warmth, your presence — they remain in all of us who were lucky to know you. Our friendship was one of the great treasures of my life. I’m sure I share others’ sentiments here. Thank you, my dear friend, for everything.

May you have a fortunate rebirth 🪷

If I were allowed to use only one word to describe Zhenya, it would be Integrity. There are of course other: Kindness, Humor, Honesty, Beauty, Gentleness, but it is the Integrity that defines Zhenya for me. Thank you, Zhenya, for sharing your wisdom ❤️

Примите мои искренние соболезнования. Пусть светлая память о Жене останется в сердцах друзей и близких !!!

Zhenia always remembered others and thought about others. For example, when she met Elina's dad in New York after having not seen him only once or twice (?) in Astrakhan before, she brought him a Tulskiy pranik (seems like this translates as gingerbread), because she remembered that he had studied in Tula.

Светлая, вечная память Жене!!! Глубокие соболезнования ее детям!!!Скорбим!!!

We often remember Zhenia when we hear this song ("while they bring sake"), where BG sings: Мне снится Басе с плакатом "Хочу быть, как Цой!" (I dream of Basho with a poster saying "I want to be like Tsoy").
https://youtu.be/xpDq1OOTS58?si=QqTxcP17nI5sephx

Other lyrics from that song that remind us of Zhenia: "мы уже победили только это еще не так заметно" ("we already won, it is just not that obvious yet")

Женя-Женечка... Какой подарок для меня, что ты была и есть в моей жизни! Мы познакомились уже после института, и понемногу наше знакомство перерастало в дружбу (по крайней мере, я так считала и надеюсь). Милая немногословная Женя, такая глубокая, умная и ироничная, с редким даром умения слушать и подключаться, как же мне будет не хватать разговоров с тобой в ночь с субботы на воскресенье... Сильная и отважная, ты обращала в шутку мои слова восхищения тобой: тем, как ты круто построила свою жизнь, как смогла вовремя и удивительно мудро оценить ситуацию и принять решение, тем, какой ты невероятный борец, Женька, и во многом для меня ориентир со своей заразительной жаждой жизни!
Как жаль, что я так и не смогла побывать у тебя...
В последнем нашем разговоре ты сказала: "Жду, что будет лучше"
Я так надеюсь, что тебе сейчас лучше...

В память о Жене 🍒🫐🍑
Некоторые люди оставляют после себя не богатство или славу, а наследие любви, смеха и простых, прекрасных моментов, из которых и состоит жизнь. Женя была именно таким человеком.
Каждое лето, по традиции, мы с Женей собирали детей и ехали на сбор ягод — вишни, черники, персиков... Девчонки бегали по саду, руки в соке, звонкий смех, солнце — настоящая свобода детства. Мы с Женей шли следом, с корзинами в руках и с переполненными сердцами. А потом устраивали пикники в парке: расстилали пледы, делились бутербродами, потягивали вино и говорили — о жизни, о материнстве, о будущем наших дочерей.
Вся её жизнь была посвящена воспитанию — сначала своих дочек, а затем и любимого внука. Её любовь была тихой, глубокой. Её советы — спокойными и мудрыми. А счастье — в заботе о тех, кого она любила.
Я никогда не забуду те ягоды и фрукты, долгие разговоры в тени деревьев и ту мягкую силу, которую Женя излучала во всём, к чему прикасалась. Она была матерью во всех смыслах этого слова — не только для своих детей, но и для всех, кто знал её доброе сердце.
Спасибо тебе, Женя, за все эти моменты.
Твоя память живёт в наших дочерях, в тёплых летних днях и в каждом сладком кусочке черничного пирога.

Когда мы рождаемся, сразу, с первых дней, начинает плестись сеть нашей жизни, отражая всё, что с нами происходит, каждый день в эту сеть вплетаются все новые и новые нити, как бы по маленьким кусочкам складывается огромная бесконечная мозаика нас, нашей сущности, нашего характера, нашего мышления, нашего мировоззрения, наших поступков, реакций и жизненных ценностей. В этой огромной мозаике, каждый кусочек, каждая деталь, это что-то или кто-то, кто оставил след в нашей жизни. Некоторые кусочки очень мелкие, если исчезнут, не заметишь, а некоторые важны настолько, что если исчезнут, размывается картина, остаются пустые пространства, искажается восприятие. Настолько, что душе неспокойно и тоскливо, потому что картина уже не та, изменилось что-то очень важное и нужное. Что-то , что сделало твою жизнь, твою мозаику именно такой, какая она есть, сделало тебя таким, какой ты есть. Женьчик, ты очень важный кусочек в мозаике моей жизни, сияющая нить в ее плетении, спокойный, созерцательный, взвешенный и ироничный человек, у тебя я училась выбирать важное, искать главное, не обращать внимание на мелочи (нельзя выиграть все сражения), у тебя я учусь мужеству и стойкости. Женечка, спасибо тебе за то, что ты была, есть и будешь в моей жизни. Я буду продолжать говорить с тобой, буду скучать по твоим советам и буду представлять себе твой умный, внимательный и несколько ироничный взгляд и слышать твой спокойный рассудительный голос. Ты навсегда со мной, Женька Цойкина!

Женя была очень красивая, и я думаю всегда о том, что она была вся такая ладная, с очень хорошей кожей и очень красивыми пальцами. Я помню, как она поправляет какие-то сережки в ушах, так это было со вкусом! Помню ее зимнее пальто в Москве с каким то воротником пушистым, и сапожки... На ней все так сидело, как будто сшили специально для нее, не знаю как выразиться поточнее- очень подходило!
А еще у нее был каллиграфический почерк!
Каждый раз, когда она ехала из Тулы в Москву, она говорила: бабушка меня так хорошо накормила, вот я ехала всего то каких-то 3 часа с небольшим- и уже голодная... тогда мы что-то варганили в общежитии и ели вместе. Бабушка ее очень сильно любила а она любила бабушку.
Женя интроверт , и не выражала обычно свои мысли не только без того чтобы кто-то просил но и по собственной инициативе как то скромничала чтобы это делать. но когда она уже говорила то это были очень умные вещи.
Когда она приехала в Израиль, в 90-х, то помню что ей здесь все очень нравилось. Она жила у моей мамы, ей там было очень уютно, я помню что мы примеряли разные одежки, и как я говорила вначале, ей очень шли платья и костюмы....
Мы очень любим Женю

Вспоминаю Женю в институте всегда улыбающейся. Она была в буквальном смысле этого слова соткана из позитива. Мы учились в параллельных группах, но именно её улыбку я помнила все эти годы.....

Женя
" Несколько никчемных роз
Я принёс на отпеванье,
Ложное воспоминанье
Вместе с розами принес.

Будто мы невесть куда
Едем с нею на трамвае,
И нисходит дождевая
Радуга на провода.

И при жёлтых фонарях
В семицветном оперенье
Слезы счастья на мгновенье
Загорятся на на глазах"
Арсений Тарковский

Мы поселились вдвоём в комнате в университетском общежитии на ул. Космонавтов 13, в Москве, жили вместе с 3го по 5й курс.
В то время я была говорливой уроженкой Крыма, а у Жени был дар содержательно молчать и емко, точно формулировать. Её начитанность и художественный вкус восхищали.
Моя избыточная болтовня разбивалась об её ироничный взгляд и короткие, но точные реплики. При этом с ней рядом всегда было уютно и удивительно тепло.
Рядом с Женей и благодаря ей я научилась ценить тишину, созерцание, научилась не тревожить слух окружающих избыточной болтовнёй, взвешивать слова, не суетиться.
Бесконечно благодарна ей за дружбу, участие, бесконечную доброту и щедрость, за пример стоицизма и высоты духа.
З8 лет нашей дружбы - подарок судьба и сокровище моей жизни

Женечка, солнышко, спасибо тебе за то, что ты была, есть и будешь в нашей жизни. Я буду продолжать говорить с тобой и буду скучать по твоим советам у буду представлять себе твой умный, внимательный и несколько ироничный взгляд и слышать твой спокойный рассудительный голос. Ты навсегда с нами, Цойка!

Zhenia's Avatars can be found here www.icloud.com/sharedalbum/#B0QGRMtznG9n7Jn

Zhenia said she liked them, especially those showing her at old age, because she said it made her hope to live to that age.