With much fuss and fanfare, this week’s NYU 2012 university commencement marked the conclusion of my undergraduate career. But instead of rushing forth and celebrating recklessly, determinedly, as is perhaps appropriate, that evening was a decidedly low-key affair. In this post-graduation haze, the only thing I’m inclined to do is sit and self-reflect by the glow of my computer screen (a cathartic state rather characteristic of my generation, unfortunately or not).
These past few days have been certainly eventful, to say the least. Last weekend I spent three days in Princeton with hundreds of Russian-speaking Jews from around the United States and Canada, at the annual Limmud FSU conference. Limmud can be described as a number of things: a learning experience, a celebration, a reunion, and a big party, all surrounding the central theme of Judaism. Limmud FSU brought together Russian Jews of all ages, backgrounds, political inclinations and religious beliefs (or lack thereof). It was intense and interesting, challenging and frustrating, wickedly fun at times — and for someone notably secular, very Jewish. Perhaps uncomfortably so.
So what does Limmud have in common with a graduation ceremony, aside from the scores of people speaking on big heavy topics and imparting tokens of wisdom like tchochkes at a campaign rally?
After finishing my first year of college and returning home happily to see my family and friends, I have been thinking about the level of education given at the university level and the preparation that secondary schooling gives in the United States. The result: we need to change the way we educate children in our country and elevate the standards across all subjects, primarily in middle school and high school. Not only do college courses demand much more time and effort of the student, they also place an emphasis on self-discipline, a virtue that is intrinsic in Russian education. I do not believe that we must give up “room for creativity” in our course schedule, as many supporters of the American system of education advocate for, but I feel that we must put the focus of our educators and parents on stricter studying methods and increasing the level of difficulty of classes.
Coming from a Russian immigrant background, as many fellow children of immigrants may relate to, I was put under plenty of academic pressure since I initially entered school. When the average classroom program was not demanding enough, my parents placed me in additional preparatory programs such as Kumon (a math and reading learning center) and CTY courses (Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth). Those extracurricular classes put an emphasis on independent learning and agility, which nurtured my academic interests and growth outside of the classroom. Meanwhile, some of the classes for the “gifted and talented” in my school were not challenging me enough, and only in high school did I feel more pressure and challenges from Advanced Placement classes. Now in college, I realize that there is a dramatic difference in the intensity of coursework between high school classes and average college courses. Even AP preparation does not demand as much as that of higher education. This brings me to my next point, that the Russian system of education should be looked upon as a beacon of inspiration, given the strict training and inculcation by educators.
Talks with my parents hint at a childhood filled with great demands in school as well as extracurricular activities, which are representative of the culture they and other immigrants instill in their children. Yet, it amazes me how the level of difficulty differs drastically. Take algebra, for example, which they completed in 5th grade, while in the US most kids begin to study in 9th grade. The trends in science education are comparable to mathematics, where children in the Soviet Union consistently took physics, chemistry and biology every year from the time they were 10 until graduation from school. Science in America is also taught in a poor manner with the students only getting a peek at each of the three main science subjects for a year in high school; that is not enough time. Unfortunately, the majority of American students are falling behind in standards our national government has dictated, so it is easy to see why college students struggle later on in courses that were never part of a foundation for such learning.
More than 500 young Russian-American Jews from across the United States will gather at Princeton University for a conference designed to bring them closer to Jewish history and culture.
The Limmud FSU conference will take place at Princeton May 11-13.
Limmud FSU is a festival of Jewish learning featuring a program of lectures, workshops, round-table discussions, music and a wide-range of cultural events presented in Russian, English and Hebrew. The goal of the program is to bridge young Russian-speaking Jews and their disconnect from the American Jewish community.
I was at my local grocery store this weekend, standing in line at the checkout. I saw that the line next to mine was moving faster. With stealthy Soviet queue analysis skills acquired only by years of living with Russian parents, I scanned the lines, assessed the length of time, and made a beeline into the line next to mine. I got through the checkout maybe ten seconds faster than I would have in the other line. I won.
These are the types of stories you always hear about how hard people had to hustle in the Soviet Union to avoid the staggering bureaucracy and inefficiencies. Apparently, even twenty years after the fall of communism, this is still the case. Miriam Elder writes:
Finally, it is your turn. You put six items of clothing on the counter. Oksana Alexandrovna lets out a sigh. This would be the point where you would normally get your receipt and go. But this is Russia. It’s time to get to work. A huge stack of forms emerges. Oksana Alexandrovna takes a cursory glance at your clothes. Then the examination – and the detailed documentation – begins…. There are 20 boxes that could be ticked. Is this sweater soiled? Is it mildly soiled? Very soiled? Perhaps it is corroded? Yellowed? Marred by catches in the thread? All this, and more, is possible. The appropriate boxes are ticked. But that is not all – a further line leaves room for “Other Defects and Notes”. By now, you have spent less time wearing the sweater than Oksana Alexandrovna has spent examining it.
On my blog and here in the Forward, I’ve dissected every single issue of Russian-Jewish life in America, from Russian Dolls, to raising Russian kids. But there’s only so much introspection you can do before you reach a meta-loop and break the universe.
That’s the point I reached last December. I was tired of writing about Russian-Jewish issues. I was tired of Russian grocery stores where all the women judge you if you’re wearing sweat pants. I was tired of living in the warm Russian Jewish bubble of Philadelphia where everyone hears you cough three miles away. I was feeling suffocated by the expectations of the Russian-Jewish community.
Up to this point, I’d followed the Russian Jewish life plan exactly and without deviation: studied hard in school, studied harder in college, picked a major that would result in a job where I didn’t have to make lattes, got married early and bought a house. But last winter, I reached my limit. I realized that if I continued to follow everything that was mandated of me by the norms of our immigrant culture, I would die inside as a non-Russian, non-Jewish individual. I was more American than I thought. I, like Belle from Beauty and the Beast, wanted more out of life. It really says something about how at the end of the rope you are when you’re legitimately quoting Disney characters.
In today’s world, our lives revolve around technology and social media. Day in and day out, we text, Tweet, and see what other people are doing through a constant flutter of photos and status updates. We long to be connected to everything and everyone, feeling naked without our phones or compulsive checking of Facebook. But when the day is done, what do we really get from refreshing the webpage just to see all the photos our “friends” are posting from yet another party that looks identical to all the rest?
In this Moscow Times article, our elders recall how fond they were of their childhood. They reminisce about playing out in the backyard and relaxing with their grandparents during summer vacations. Even in the hard times of the Soviet Union, when food and money were scarce and religious freedom was non-existent, they are able to remember a simple and happy time. But now, with so much more freedom and opportunity than our grandparents could ever imagine, we can barely boast that we are as happy as they were then. With one in every 10 U.S. adults diagnosed with depression, it makes me wonder if all the hype of technology and social media plays a part in the rise of this disease.
The constant comparison to what your peers are doing, what you should look like, and feeling like an outcast if you are not updated on the latest device makes people feel inferior and takes away from their quality of life. As someone who finds myself wishing I could just make Facebook and Twitter disappear sometimes, yet can’t imagine life without these things, it makes me thankful that the lessons I am learning from Judaism can help me stay connected to the things that really matter and bring me happiness.
I read an article last month in Philadelphia magazine about how American men aren’t growing up. These kinds of trend pieces aren’t new. Neither are pieces examining why Americans are raising their kids the wrong way. Just look at Amy Chua and the “bringing up the French bébé” phenomenon. But seeing this last one in particular made me think that the Americans are dealing with a nationwide problem that’s independent of whether your child is a Tiger, a Bébé, or just some Russian guy in the Bronx named Boris.
American kids are often raised to be afraid of everything: strangers, candy, and most importantly, strangers with candy. After a childhood spent in bubble wrap, they’re suddenly pushed off to college. They’re told they can do “anything they want,” which includes majoring in Underwater Basket Weaving. Then, they’re told to become self-reliant right away and handed a whopping student loan bill. There’s a reason the old trope of the parents redecorating the bedroom the minute the door slams exists. The result is college-age kids who are overwhelmed by the real world and become directionless, unmotivated, and move back home to watch Golden Girls reruns all afternoon. But it also produces talented musicians, screenwriters, and journalists who would have otherwise been told to just give up and start playing chess for money.
In the Russian community, things are a little bit different. Kids are the center of the Russian family, adored, and loved. But they’re never spoiled rotten and are in fact put to use as soon as they can be. Raising Russian kids takes lifelong dedication and a struggle against the inherent laziness and impulsiveness of childhood. Most of my friends and I were left home alone as early as age 6 because our parents had to work. It was never seen as an issue. We were pressured to get majors that would guarantee us real jobs after college, not to “follow our dreams,” and seeing how difficult it had been for our parents to become upwardly mobile, we had a deeper understanding of hard work. The result is hundreds of thousands of Russian Jewish doctors, lawyers, software developers, and Forward blog writers.
Gal Beckerman, Forward’s opinion editor and author of “When They Come For Us We’ll Be Gone: The Epic Struggle to Save Soviet Jewry,” the defining book on Soviet Jewry, talks about meeting the refuseniks who attempted to hijack a plane and draw attention to the troubles of Russian Jews.
What is life like for the Bukharian Jews who have found a new life in New York? The Forward’s Paul Berger spends an evening at a Bukharian restaurant where old and new memories are celebrated by the community.
Despite having grown up in an overbearing society, people raised in the former Soviet Union feel that they do have many happy childhood memories.
Passover in my family has rarely been a formal affair. At one point, when I was a child and my family still observed a few watered-down traditions plucked out of the Jewish canon, we would gather round a makeshift Seder table to read selections from the ShopRite Haggadah. A Seder plate and stack of supermarket matzos would be placed on the table symbolically and I, being the youngest, prompted the ritual by asking the Four Questions as necessary.
As a child, this tradition (unglamorously lacking in bunny mascots and pastel candy) always seemed like more trouble than it was worth. I felt that those tedious procedures — the eating of the chalk-flavored, unleavened bread; the sharing of the Kiddush cup with relatives — were done mainly to appease my father, the observant member of our largely secular clan. Nonetheless, I would sit through the grueling ceremony until my mother permitted my escape, upon which we children bolted from the kitchen to scavenge for hidden matzo, fueled by promises of glorious bounty to be granted upon its discovery.
It wasn’t until my college semester abroad that I truly appreciated this holiday for what it’s worth. I was studying in Tel Aviv at the time, but my Passover break was spent in Turkey’s enormous capital city, Istanbul.
Year to year there isn’t much change when it comes to my Passover Seder. Wine, matzo, and politics are always the dominant features. But this year I want to be conscious of the message the Haggadah provides and what it means to me.
Searching for that meaning forces me to look back on the vastly divergent Passovers experienced by my parents. The Seders my mother grew up around in the United States were rooted in tradition. It would run continuously through the night, reaching far past midnight because her father refused to miss a single word of the Haggadah. Every prayer was said, each song was recited, and her father would even dress up as Elijah the prophet. I try to look back and imagine my grandfather leading the Seder and I see the meticulousness with which he recited the Haggadah. I see him focusing intently on each word, each prayer, and each explanation. I hear him speaking in his calm yet demanding voice to all the guests at the table that God had once again brought us back to Eretz Yisrael, and that hopefully next year we would rejoice in Jerusalem.
At the same my grandfather was reciting those words, my father was in Odessa, secretly attempting to find matzo for a Seder that was illegal. In Soviet Russia, the Seder was an affront to communist ideology. Therefore, any attempt to buy matzo, recite a prayer, or hold a Seder would be punished, sometimes severely. Despite the yearly struggle my father and his family went through every year, they were usually able to find a small amount of matzo. Their Seder, however, was in no way comparable to that of my mother’s. My father, his friends and family, would sit around a table and enjoy a dinner much like any other, except at this one they would eat matzo.
Growing up as a single child to a Russian Jewish immigrant family, I have always felt the pressure to succeed. In a Russian Jewish home, success is often defined as perfection. Though I don’t know much about life in Russia, I can imagine that people were more invested in becoming “perfect” rather than taking a nurturing step-by-step approach towards growth. It seems that Russian culture is primarily concerned with where you stand on the ladder, rather than how many rungs you have climbed.
I got a taste of the marathon lifestyle, where it is easy to forget what matters most. And while I appreciate the drive instilled by my Russian culture, my Jewish identity has been the line in the sand in my life; it keeps me from being distracted from what matters most.
Soon we are going to be celebrating Passover, our exodus from slavery. Growing up, Passover was always just another meal in my house. We had matzo on the table, probably right next to the bread. And until recently, I never really understood that the holiday offered us a wonderful opportunity to spend time with our families. Given that my grandfather is a Holocaust survivor, and unfortunately was always made to feel inferior because of his religion, my family still feels that we are Jewish at the end of the day and it is imperative for us to mark the holiday.
When I was younger, I was never too excited for Passover. Eight days of no bread?! How would I survive? Later, in my teenage years, I used eight days of no bread and other kitniyot as a means of being on a diet. But the past few years, I have come to appreciate how important Passover is to me, and my identity as a Russian Jew.
Last year, Passover fell on eight days I was traveling in Australia and New Zealand. Most people that lived in the area of Australia I was studying in, had barely heard of Passover, and I could not find a store that sold matzo anywhere nearby. The last few days of Passover were spent traveling through New Zealand in a camper van, so I took to eating mostly vegetables and eggs over the course of the holiday. It was far from easy, especially when all my friends around me were eating anything they wanted, but I did my best to stick with the laws and traditions my family had fought to uphold for so long.
Decades ago in Russia, my family celebrated Passover in a very different way than they do now. There was no cleaning the house of hametz and gathering together over a formal Seder dinner because they were not fully aware of all the traditions and rituals of Passover. Family and friends gathered together but there was no reading of the Haggadah about the exodus of the Jewish people, asking of the Four Questions by the youngest child, or searching for the afikoman.
Every April, in the households of Jewish families, we know that Passover is coming. The holiday that defines our freedom as a people is integral to our history and has become a symbol for our incessant struggle to gain liberty and justice as a free people. Of course those who are religious or are aware of Jewish holidays and traditions know the story of Passover and how it relates to every Jew in one way or another, from our struggles in Persia, survival in Czarist Russia and rebuilding after the Holocaust. But the holiday has struck a chord with the Russian Jewish community more recently.
In my family, as in many other Russian Jewish ones, we experience a scramble when it comes to celebrating religious holidays exactly how it is told to be celebrated. Yet, I think we do a great job at maintaining the main customs while also mixing in some Russian, yet kosher, delicacies. Every year we gather at a family friend’s house and congregate thirty or more people around an extended dinner table. We read the Haggadah, everyone drinks the four cups of wine, dips their green karpas in salt water, breaks apart their matzo, and eats their Hillel sandwich.
Certainly it may seem that our interpretation of Passover is right on point, but we also add in a few Russian salads and begin the meal as quickly as we can (though the kids get upset if we don’t hide the afikoman for them to find!). The asking of the Four Questions and the reading of the stories are an integral part of our celebration as they allow the younger guests at the table to experience our tradition of questioning and seeking knowledge.
There is nothing more Jewish than Passover, the holiday of hope. There is nothing more Russian than trying to get a little something extra from the U.S. government. So I thought I’d take this time leading up to Pesach to talk about my hope that the Russians who keep defrauding the government cut that out. They’re giving the rest of us a bad name.
Recently, the New York Times had a story on an insurance fraud ring in New York. It noted:
“This [crime ring], like many others, was rooted in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, the locus of the city’s Russian-speaking immigrant population, many of whom grew up under a Communist system that bred disdain for the rules and a willingness to cheat to get around them.”
Recent breakthroughs in Israel’s relations with its neighbors in southern Europe point to a sanguine outlook on the future for its economic relations in the Mediterranean, and Europe in general. Greece, Cyprus and Israel signed an agreement on March 4 to develop an underwater electric cable linking Israel’s energy reservoirs to the European continent, with the main cable stretching the 287 kilometers between Cyprus and Israel. The remaining cables will pass from Cyprus to the Greek island of Crete, and then onto the Greek mainland. The cost of the entire project will be about 1.5 billion euros by its expected completion in 2016.
The Israeli Energy and Water Minister Uzi Landau, along with the Cypriot Ambassador Dimitris Hatziargyrou, Greek Ambassador Kyriakos Loukakis and several Israel Electric Corporation officials signed the deal that will have far-reaching consequences throughout the region. Landau put it superbly: “Israel is connecting with Europe, this is also marking Israel as an Island of stability in the region.” Although the project is due to start soon, the goal is to finish what has been called the “Euro-Asia Interconnect”. What is most important is that all three countries hope to gain from the deal: economic vitality and leadership in the interconnected European markets.
Indeed, there do seem to be high hopes for the deal as it will verify Israel’s potential and give it an image of a lucrative business partner, in comparison to the scenes of suicide bombers and protests over the West Bank and Gaza. The last few years it seems that Israel has suffered tremendously in the public eye of much of the world, being scrutinized over internal and foreign policies incessantly. Yet, as many Jews who have visited or are well-informed about Israel know, the country has created many opportunities for business growth and the implementation of new technology. We must continue to support such endeavors in Israel because it highlights the Jewish homeland’s positive ventures.
Alan Meskin, 19, is from Sparta, N.J., and is a freshman at Rutgers University, where he is pursuing a double major in biology and psychology.
For a period of a few weeks the Jewish community followed the events of Israel Peace Week and Israel Apartheid Week at my school, Brandeis University. Looking back, there seems to have been a large disconnect between the amount of attention the events received in the Jewish press and the reality that exists on my campus.
Ali Abunimah — a leading proponent of the one-state-solution — received a lot of media coverage recently when he traveled to many campuses across the country, visiting mine as well during the first Israel Apartheid Week organized at Brandeis. But the Abunimah event came and went without much fanfare. There was certainly a decent audience present, but most were either from the pro-Israel or pro-Palestinian camp, along with a handful of adults who traveled from around the Boston area to hear Abunimah speak.
What makes Brandeis University particularly unique compared to other universities across the country is its Jewish character. With about 50 percent of the school Jewish, many of the students on campus have grown up in pro-Israel households. Although there is a large pro-Israel community, there is a much smaller group of students who actually participate in advocating and vocalizing their political views. For the purpose of uncovering what is happening on my campus I spoke to Pinchus Polack, co-president of Brandeis Zionist Alliance, and Noam Lekach, co-president of Students for Justice in Palestine. Both these men were influential in creating and participating in IPW and IAW respectively.
Last year, with each college campus I visited, the tour guide raved about the uniqueness of each brick that made up this or that structure, the new “green” innovations on campus, and the dining hall filled with organic and environmentally friendly food. What these guides also emphasized was the diversity that existed on their campus. Students from different backgrounds, races, and religions were all part of the melting pot that made the school distinct.
It was this word, diversity, which never failed to be included in the guide’s vocabulary. Somehow it had to be thrown in that the glowing building was also diverse. Don’t forget the grass. It was diverse too. The dining hall was obviously the epicenter of diversity, with food stands that served Mexican, Italian, Japanese, or any other ethnic food that could come to mind. So I wondered to myself where was my diversity? What would I, a Russian Jew from Brooklyn, be able to offer my college in terms of diversity?
Living on the Brandeis University campus now, I see that the life of a Russian is rather unique from those of other students. However varied the cuisines in the dining hall may be, there’s always a nostalgic grumble in my stomach that longs for a piece of black bread spread over with butter and a bowl of borscht along side it. So for most of the semester we suffer, deprived of that mouth-watering Russian food.
It’s no small feat to capture generations of hardship in the span of a single theater production. But somehow, the theater collective The Lost and Found Project has managed to do just that, in their experimental play ”Doroga” (or “Road,” in Russian). In the words of the creators, ”Doroga” is “an interactive play that explores personal family stories and immigrant experiences through narratives and dramatic snapshots.” The production debuted at the JCC in Manhattan on March 8 to a packed auditorium of mostly Russian speakers.
A mystical antique shop served as a narrative device framing this nostalgia-laden story, in which customers examine sentimental items that transport them to the former Soviet Union, into the lives of Russian Jews struggling to overcome discrimination. Through a series of flashbacks, the audience watched generations collide and family histories unfold. We were exposed to the difficult circumstances that sent Jewish immigrants fleeing to America, and explored the confusion their grandchildren face as assimilated Americans grappling with issues of identity.
The overriding message I took away from this production was this: despite changing one’s nationality, despite overhauling one’s identity and external environment, history and culture still play a tremendous role in cultivating an individual. To fully understand who you are in a larger context, the significance of the past cannot be overlooked. Elements of Jonathan Safran Foer’s ”Everything is Illuminated” were strongly reminiscent here, in that the history of the Jewish experience and one’s family heritage will always beckon at our curiosities. This is natural and necessary; for without curiosity, we opt for ignorance in a world of complex meaning.
The expectations Russian mothers have of their daughters are tough to live up to. The biggest one is that Russian women should know how to cook. And since we have the double privilege of being Jewish, we are expected to know how to make both borscht and latkes, often at the same time as having children, pursuing higher education and having a career, and marrying a Nice Russian Jewish Doctor.
The thing is: you could technically be splicing the atom. But unless you have hot soup on the table for Romochka or Natanchik or whichever Russian name diminutive you decide to marry, you are an abject failure.
“I spliced the atom today, mom,” you might hear yourself saying on the phone, beaming. “That’s nice dochenka (the diminutive for daugher),” your mom might reply. “But it’s already seven - so late. I’m sure your husband is starving at home and the kids are going feral. Don’t go too crazy. Go home and make them some soup. God forbid they’re eating takeout on a Wednesday night.”
And then the killer phrase questioning. “What kind of hozayika (homemaker) are you?” The unspoken fear is that your mother-in-law will get word of this, and gossip of your non-cooking will spread like wildfire through Brooklyn. The Russian Jewish gossip rumor wave is thought to be stronger than radioactivity and will render anyone within a five-mile radius impotent.
Growing up, Purim was my absolute favorite holiday. I went to a yeshiva for elementary school, and Purim was always a big hit there. The school put on a quasi-carnival with raffles and games, leaving me covered in shaving cream after attempts to shave a balloon without popping it. Everyone dressed up in lavish costumes and celebrated the extraordinary story of Esther overcoming the evil Haman to save the Jews from yet another attempt to destroy the nation.
But my favorite part of this holiday? The Purim gift baskets called “mishloach manot” which were large decorative baskets filled with all the best candy, snacks and other goodies. I looked forward to this day every year. I would come to school and trade baskets with my friends, stocking up on enough sugar and carbs to last a lifetime.
Now for anyone who has ever seen a true Purim gift basket, you know that it is an art form, and a booming business. These baskets can cost a fortune, especially if you plan on sending them out to all 400 close friends and family members. Unfortunately, I have not participated in trading these baskets since I left yeshiva. When I was younger my Russian parents were not sure how to go about crafting mishloach manot that could compare to the ones I got from my friends. Instead, we would go to the nearest 99-cent store and buy a couple of hologram paper gift bags and discounted snacks (who doesn’t love Bamba?). So I guess I’ll take this time to apologize for my lack of knowledge and etiquette on how to give and receive a mishloach manot. To all my childhood friends that were left with a little bag of random candy that was probably the last pick of the litter, after handing over a beautiful basket filled with finger-licking food to me, I am sorry. Just know, it’s the thought that counts.
This year will be the first time I celebrate Purim after many years. I am going to go to a “South of the Border” themed party at Chabad at my school. While I am not sure there will be an exchange of gift baskets, I am looking forward to dressing up in a costume, my second favorite part of Purim. Cowgirl Rashel? I think that has a certain flow to it. Hag Sameach and happy snacking.
Rashel Noginsky, 22, whose family emigrated from St. Petersburg, Russia, was born in Brooklyn, N.Y., and is studying Industrial and Labor Relations at Cornell University.
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