We went to Russia because Chayale and Zvi were donated a Sefer Torah, or Torah scroll and they had organized a ceremony to bring it to its new home in their Jewish center. A Torah scroll is a very expensive item, since it's the work of a scribe writing by hand the entire Torah on calf parchment. This one cost $30,000. The man who purchased and donated the Torah scroll was a student of Rony's at Carmel- graduated in 1994. A Russian boy- one of the many who attended Carmel in the early '90's, whose parents made an immediate mountain of money after arriving in Western Europe from Russia. Eli (Ginsburg) has since returned to Russia to capitalize on the boom in Moscow. Done very well in casinos. Has a big Russian heart and a gorgeous smile. He paid our tickets, which ran over a $1000 each.
Another donor involved in the day was Peter Order, another Russian/German Old Carmeli from the same years. He donated an aron hakodesh, or custom-built cabinet to house the scroll. Both of these guys attended the ceremony, but more on that later.
The itinerary for the trip was JFK-Moscow, Moscow-Mineralnye Vodi and then Mineralniye Vodi (by 2 hour car trip)-Stavropol. Way back was four hour car trip fromv Stavropol-Krasnodar, Krasnodar-Moscow, Moscow-New York.
It ain't conveniently located, Stavropol.
Lost at least one night ahead of time preparing school work for my absence. We left on Wednesday, September17 right after I got home from Monsey after teaching. Our luggage included an absolute minimum of personal items among 3 HUGE suitcases stuffed with stuff for the Hershcoviches. Plus we acquired an additional box of stuff for one of the Russian rabbinical families, from the organization in NY that sponsors these guys. In short, we were not traveling light and were in fact far overweight. Luckily they averted their gaze on this; sometimes Rony's get-up- suit, beard, hat serve quite conveniently to stifle criticism. We just leave 'em struck dumb behind us.
Among the carry-on stuff we happened to be toting a shofar, a ram's horn which is hollowed out for the purpose of blowing during the services of Rosh Hashonah. Most shofars are modest items, 8-10 inch horns that can be tucked into bags. But Chayale, bless her little Russian heart, ordered Chavi to go and purchase a GARGANTUAN specimen, a veritable Goliath of shofars, fully 3 feet long, with graceful sweeping curves along its length. I mean, this came from a REALLY BIG ram. And it wasn't going into any suitcase. I dragged it along behind me, and wondered if security would consider it a weapon. Moseying along down the concourse it elicited many stares and of course it served as a sure-fire conversation starter.
As we slid up to the first security check at the check-in hall into the concourse the guard took a look at the shofar and asked (knowingly- this is code Jew-to-Jew, that "I'm Jewish too") if we were going to Russia to give religious services. I answered "yes", but my husband's eyes lit up. He asked the guard "Did you hear shofar yet today?" "Nope." "Can I blow for you?" The bloke answered "yes", but that's because he didn't know what was coming. I couldn't believe it, that it was really going to happen, as there was a rapidly growing line behind us. Let me tell you that a 3-foot shofar makes a REALLY big noise, and Rony of course did not short-change the guy- he blew all the necessary sounds, about a full minute and a half's worth. I could not possibly describe the scene properly. The check-in hall in the international terminal at JFK is cavernous, about the length of a football field and totally open-air. At the blast of Rony's shofar the entire hall, thousands of people, came to a stand-still, security personnel spinning in their tracks, and all stood there immobilized until he finished. Once done, there were a few seconds of stunned silence and then…. They all applauded.
Quite a dramatic advent to our journey. All the way to the plane, we drew appreciative stares and strangers came up to meet us. I began to feel that fame would have its drawbacks, and started to feel sympathy with Angelina Jolie. It's not easy to deal with constant admiration and attention.
Plane trip. Long and boring through the night. Another with no sleep.
Moscow in the morning overcast. We have to catch a shuttle to a different airport for the next leg. Waiting in the airport, Rony, feeling that he was on a roll, repeated the shofar thing for another unsuspecting traveler. Bit dicier, in NY anything goes, but hey this is Moscow, most of the airport security are ex-KGB. Luckily utter shock kept them quiet.
Shared the shuttle ride with a Russian ex-pat from Queens who was returning with her husband to Sochi to start a business there in preparation for the 2014 Olympics. Before we got off the bus she had managed to engage my husband, who has a real flair for cutting to the chase, in a discussion about why G-d conceals Himself in the world.
Next plane ride to Mineralniye Vodi, a provincial town two hours car-ride east of Stavropol. The city is a regional resort for Russians- known for its mineral waters and spas, a kind of Carlsbad of the Caucacus- but pretty much ignored by Westeners. No one in that airport spoke English. No one. And it was absolutely clear no one had ever seen anyone that looked like my husband. Yep, we were a long way from New York.
Picked up by Alek, a friend/driver/community member of Chayale and Zvi's circle. He drove very slowly. The drive started promisingly enough, on a highway that looked a lot like Highway 14 through Hand County, slashing through flat wheatlands (dark though it was). Then things deteriorated; highway became old 14. Finally, at one point, "highway" resembled that track through the Elk Mountains up behind the Rock House, the one that you can only travel with a Jeep. Once we slowed down to 15 miles per hour on this road, we were pretty sure we had reached the stage when we were about to be kidnapped in foreign territory by Chechnyan ists.
But, it turned out inexplicably, that this is just the road to Stavropol. Hmmm.
Arrived in Stavropol about 10:00 pm their time, 6:00 am ours. Another night with no sleep.
Chayale and Zvi's apartment, let's put it delicately, is modest. Crumbling Soviet block of cement walls. The elevator doesn't stop on their floor (elevator holds only two skinny people without touching each other, two heavier in a tight embrace) so the suitcases went to the floor above and then we shlepped them down. Smart. We arrived to the alarming news that the residents had been informed just that morning (notice pasted near the entrance) that for the next 10 days the pipes in the building would be replaced/repaired and thus for that time there would be no hot water. From 9 am to 6 pm there would also be no cold water.
Russians accept these things without complaint; stuff like this is just life as they know it.
Kids were delighted with all the goodies in our bags. Especially the chocolate.
Next day was preparation for Shabbos with no water. Highlight of the day was running out an hour before Shabbos to take a room at the Intourist Hotel, where we, Rony and I, could avail ourselves of their service of "registering", a mysterious procedure whereby foreigners register their presence in the city, something required of them. The main point of the hotel room however, was to take a shower, which 6 of us did in under an hour.
On Shabbos day (Saturday) Chayale and I took a walk to the city center, taking Miriam with us. Poor calculation on our part: we went too far, since we were not allowed to carry her on Shabbos she had to walk all the way back. I felt a little bit like a child abuser. In the city center is a park, with Lenin Square beyond it (more on this later). Happened to be 'Stavropol Day' so the park was full of people. Our English conversation and clothing stood out, but since the Russians are reserved, rarely overcoming an ingrained culture of minding one's own business to initiate a conversation with a stranger, we were left alone.
Curious cultural event of that walk. Everyone smokes. Women, men, 10-yr-old boys. So we ran into a group of about a dozen teenage s who had been clothed in matching black jeans, short hot pink trench coats and matching hot pink canvas briefcases. Coats and briefcases were emblazoned with the word "Kiss". Took us awhile, but finally we discovered that Kiss is a cigarette brand. We got to watch the s approach hunky young men (and their friends) in the park and offer them cigarette samples and lighters. Chayale was really disappointed we weren't offered because she quickly began practicing how to say "Kissing someone who smokes is like licking an ashtray" in Russian. She just wasn't sure about the ashtray part.
I thought Stavropol would look like a European city, poor, but definitely European. It did not. It looked Asian. The city is a patchwork of ugly aging Soviet apartment houses (none more than 6 stories) sticking up amongst tiny one-story decrepit shacks. I mean, imagine, the Ree Heights Implement store- as it looks now- that's the state of these buildings. Only people live in them. They're not peeling white paint. They're grey stone. With curved styled Russian shutters- as though cut from a stencil. Occasionally, there will be a brand-new sparkling building, startling and throwing all the rest into brown contrast.
Next day was celebration day.
Bit of background. Lot of ethnic groups in Stavropol. Chechnyans, Armenians, Moslems, Cossacks, ethnic Russians, Kazakhs, etc. Different from our ethnic groups in NY (didn't see a single black face in Russia), since all of these are indigenous to the area. They are not far from home, in other words.
Likewise, there is a Jewish ethnic group in the area- called Mountain Jews. They are actually Sephardi (Oriental Jews with Oriental Jewish customs), and their ethnic home is in the Caucaucus Mountains to the immediate south of Stavropol. They have their own customs and apparently those who still live in the mountains are quite traditional and have weathered the Communist years better than the rest of Russian Jewry. Many, however, have come down into the cities in the area, and are relatively assimilated (though not to the same extent as other Russian Jews).
Footnote: While we were waiting for our luggage in Mineralyne Vodi we met a Mountain Jew who had left the area for NY right after perestroika. Once in NY he met and married a non-Jew. His mother and sister eventually also came to NY, took an apartment next door to him and never once in nearly 20 years have spoken to him (because of the inter-marriage). He was returning now to the homeland to visit his grandfather, hoping that he would be accepted.
Zvi's brief is really for all of Stavropol krai (province)- an area that extends all the way to neighboring Georgia. He has made contact with Jewish communities in several other towns in the province, but he assured me that it wasn't safe, and he wouldn't, travel in the extreme southeast of the province. Thank G-d.
Anyway, living in Stavropol is a clan of these Mountain Jews, who own, collectively, a restaurant in the city. This family, the Solomonovs, donated the use of their restaurant for the celebration and allowed Rony and Zvi to come kasher (make kosher) the facilities. They surely got more than they bargained for; we think they probably thought Zvi would just come and make a blessing on the place. The boys were there Sunday 6 am and put the poor Solomonovs through a crash course on kashrus. They were real sports though, and even though Rony couldn't speak English they became pals through sign language.
The event was scheduled to begin at 3. The crowd showed up at 2:30!! Unheard of in NY: they beat us to the hall. Beautiful lay-out, delicious food, and a huge crowd. Chayale and Zvi had no idea what to expect, this being their first big do. What a shock when eventually something like 300 people showed up. Can't begin to tell you what a miracle this number is. Russian Jews, especially in the farther provinces, are submerged, quiet, totally assimilated. All the publicity for this event was word-of-mouth. But they came, and they stayed.
Must also say that Chayale's and Zvi's organization was flawless. The thing was perfectly thought out, no detail omitted. And they work really well together. We were very proud of them.
Unfortunately, there was a hiccup- not their fault. The sefer Torah was coming from Moscow by airplane, accompanied by the scribe who had written it, the speaker (a talented rabbi from the city) and Eli and Peter, the donors. For some reason, typical in Russia, the plane was diverted from Mineralynye Vodi (2 hrs. drive) to Krasnodar (4 hrs. drive). They would be late- very late. Also, the rabbi in Krasnodar (they are the closest religious family) was on his way with a few extras and their car had broken down. They would be late- very late. But the crowd held. Finally, an hour and a half late, the visiting dignitaries arrived and we had a very emotional and exciting ceremony.
The ceremony is called hachnasos Sefer Torah. It means 'welcoming the Torah scroll'. It is preceded by the finishing of the writing of the scroll. The scroll is written with a goose quill, with specially prepared ink, written on a parchment made of calf-skin. The letters have to be written in an exact method of calligraphy, and according to numerous laws. In this ceremony, the scribe left the last 40 letters to be "completed" by honorees. In truth, he writes the letters, the honorees just touching his hand to participate. It was a heart-stopping moment to watch Jews who really know nothing about Judaism, who really only know that they are Jewish and that they want to do this Jewish thing, cluster around the scribe, eager to have their turn. They were really so proud to have their own sefer Torah. With a sefer Torah, they can have a synagogue in the city again, with services on Shabbos and festivals. With a sefer Torah, they are a community again. Once again, Jewish life rises out of the ashes of those who wished to do them in.
After the Torah was completed, everybody boarded buses (provided by Zvi and Chayale) and cars to go to the Jewish center, to bring the sefer Torah to its home. The center is located near the center of the city right near a city landmark. There is a large stone arch called "The Gateway to the Caucacus". There we got out and danced in the street with the scroll and then walked a half block down to the center, where the ceremony ended with a special service and more refreshments.
During the time when we were outside dancing, the locals gathered at the edges of our group and stared. I'm not sure they even understood what they saw, that these were Jews. I'm quite sure they didn't understand the significance; that these were Jews returned to public Jewish life again. Rony saw one group of local boys draw up, stare and cross themselves. Guess they must have understood something.
Grand success. Very moving and we're really proud of these two. The community LOVES them.
Monday we got out late, but we toured the city and bought souvenirs for the kids. Went on a wild goose chase for a samovar for me. Will have to resume the search next visit. A few highlights. In the center of the city is Lenin Square- a huge and empty space. I've never seen anything like it in an American city, nor in England. A vast, windy space. On one side a provincial government building with a large statue of Lenin (still standing). One the opposite side sits the city museum/library. Zvi wanted to show us the ancient Torah scroll confiscated by the Communists some 80 years ago from the old (defunct) synagogue. This scroll is downstairs in the museum basement, in a closet, in an old cardboard tube. It needed visiting. (He visits it regularly.) Unfortunately we arrived at closing time; they said no way, and in Russia, a rule is a rule. However, Zvi quickly explained that outside is a visiting dignitary, the Chief Rabbi of New Jersey (he may actually have said the Chief Rabbi of America) who wishes to see the scroll.
Well, it appears that visiting dignitaries trump rules in Russia. So we saw the scroll, and were so happy that its exile has been redeemed, so to speak, by a new compatriot safely housed just a few blocks away in the Jewish center.
Zvi seems to be really big on the visiting dignitary thing. He really wanted to be able to present us to the provincial governor as visiting dignitaries, giving him an audience and an opportunity to request certain facilities. Unfortunately, the provincial governor was detained in jail during our visit on some sort of embezzlement charge.
Maybe next time.
As evening drew on, we went to what seemed to be the highest point in the city. There is another park at this location, with a World War II memorial and a look-out over the city (pretty at night-fall when we saw it- you can't see the grays and browns- like Manhattan at night, gorgeous with the lights when you can't see the grime and crowds). Big plaza there, one side of which is ted by a graceful old building that was, before the Revolution and before religion became a crime, the Jewish synagogue. A big building, it is testament to what Jewish life there must have once been like.
I was busy snapping pics of the synagogue and a historic wall around it, when three burly, husky, scary-looking guys hustled up to me and told me something in Russian. Zvi hurried over and translated that they were telling me I can't take pictures. What do they mean I can't take pictures. I'm an American, I can do what I want! I blurt out, real confrontational, "Why not?" Zvi shushes me up, does some explaining to the guys, gestures to my husband standing at the synagogue entrance, and moves me away. Apparently, the head of the regional Mafia lives next door to the synagogue. No pictures, you understand. And they mean no pictures. I got it. Zvi smoothed it all over with them by explaining that that guy over in the entrance to the synagogue is the Chief Rabbi of…
An exciting trip. We were off to home the next day.
