Oy, the Umanity!

It has taken me a long, long time to write this post – now at least five or six days overdue! I apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy it:

Ukraine’s M-05 highway winds out of the center of Kyiv and heads south. If one can stand the near-constant rattle of car wheels against long-neglected potholes, nausea-inducing swerves to avoid runaway trucks or drivers who have forgotten about their turn signals, and perhaps the occasional wild animal – lane hog takes a literal meaning in this land – the highway will take you all the way to the Black Sea port of Odessa, a distance of nearly 500 kilometers.

On a clear day, scenery along the M-05 mimics Ukraine’s blue and yellow flag; wide open sky meets endless fields of golden wheat in a continuously looping landscape. The commonly-held idea of Ukraine as the breadbasket of Europe is hard to refute as field after field rolls by. This past Sunday, October 2, I looked out the car window as the sun rose over the road and finally began to comprehend the vastness of this country. My academic advisor, Vitaly played opera arias on the stereo as his colleague from Southern Connecticut University, Corinne, sat behind the wheel of her rented Volkswagen as we plodded out of the capital.

“Corinne, how can you stand driving here? I would go crazy.”

“I drive in Manhattan. This is so much better.”

I am still reluctant to believe her.

Wheat field after wheat field, truck after truck. And then a bus, filled with Hasidic Jewish men, their heads covered with tallitot, or prayer shawls, t’fillin, or phylacteries wrapped around their arms and foreheads. And another bus. And another. And another. And another.

It might surprise you, but we were actually all headed to the same place. Not Odessa, no. Indeed, Vitaly and Corinne were headed to the Black Sea later that day but I was not to join them for this part of the trip. I was in on the trip for a pit stop of sorts. For most of my readers, the name of this “pit stop” destination – Uman – likely means very little. But the time I spent there was the most eye-opening experience I have had in Ukraine to date – and may ever have anywhere in my life. And yes – there were thousands (THOUSANDS) of Hasidic Jews.

Screenshot from Google maps. Uman is marked with the red pin.

Let me explain (as best as I can – I am no expert on the historical and religious context that I feel is central to this post but I will do my best to be comprehensive and concise. Well, at least comprehensive.)

A typically sleepy city of less than 100,000 people, Uman for many people is little more than another place to pass through. Nestled in Ukraine’s Cherkasska Oblast’ (an oblast’ is a federal region), Uman is perhaps most famous in Ukraine for its Sofiyivka Park, one of the “seven wonders of Ukraine,” a UNESCO heritage site, and a testament to 18th century landscape design like that found at Versailles.

For some, however, Uman is famous in another way entirely. On the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, Uman transforms into a site of holy pilgrimage for tens of thousands of Hasidic Jews, the vast majority of whom are men, from around the world. Hoards of worshippers from Israel, the United States, France, Canada, and other corners of the globe descend on this little city to pray at the graveside of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, an act believed to cleanse the souls of pilgrims during the Jewish High Holy Days – a time for reflection, forgiveness, and absolving of one’s sins before God.

A sign reads ‘Welcome’ in Hebrew as Corinne drives us into Uman.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810) is considered the founder of the Breslov branch of Hasidic Judaism, named for the town in Ukraine where he spent a large amount of his time. He was born in Medzhibizh, a small town in Western Ukraine that was also home to his great-grandfather, the Baal Shem Tov (~1700-1760), or Besht, considered the founder of Hasidic Judaism. The Besht was a mystical Rabbi and scholar of Torah who believed in the development of a close rapport with God through everyday actions, conversations, and practices. There are many active branches of Hasidic Judaism alive today, most of which are named for the locations (mostly Ukrainian) where they were founded. The largest is the Lubavitcher group, best known for its ties to the international Chabad movement (also active in Claremont, CA – shoutout to the Matusof family!) now headquartered in…drumroll please…Brooklyn.

Continuing and building on the teachings of his great-grandfather, Rebbe Nachman generated a following as a tzaddik, or spiritual master. He was famous for his lessons, stories, and other teachings that attracted the attention of Jews all across Eastern Europe. His legacy remains vibrantly alive today and Breslover Hasidim are known for the emotional and spiritual intensity of their expressions of faith. An offshoot of the Breslovers, known as the Na Nachs, are famous for singing a song with the lyrics Na nach nachma nachman meuman. And they don’t just sing it. When I was in Israel in 2009, I distinctly remember walking around the holy cities of Jerusalem and Tzfat hearing people chant the words of this song, jump up and down in circles, and blast the tune from loudspeakers in the middle of the street.  Little did I know I would “visit” the great Rebbe himself almost seven years later.

Rebbe Nachman died of tuberculosis at age 38 in Uman where he was later buried. Why people come to visit his grave to this day is best explained from an excerpt on the official website of the Breslov Hasidic group: (http://www.breslov.org/breslov-faq/#11)

“Rebbe Nachman made a promise no other Tzaddik in the whole of Jewish history has ever made. Taking two of his closest followers as witnesses, he said: `When my days are ended and I leave this world I will intercede for anyone who comes to my grave, recites the Ten Psalms of the Tikkun HaKlali, and gives some charity. No matter how serious his sins and transgressions, I will do everything in my power to save him and cleanse him. I will span the length and breadth of the Creation for him. By his peyot, his sidecurls, I will pull him out of Hell!’ (Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom #141).

The practice of visiting the graves of the Tzaddikim to pray is an ancient one, going back to biblical times (Rashi, Numbers 13:22) and was well known in Talmudic times (see Sotah 13a; Zohar II:70b). Even today, many visit the cemetery before the High Holidays, to pray for good health and a successful year. After the death of the Tzaddik, his soul is permanently absorbed in God’s infinity. Since according to the Kabbalah the nefesh, the lowest part of the soul, remains at the gravesite, this is a fitting place for Jews to pray to become attached to the infinity of God. While visiting the graves of Tzaddikim has its definite material benefits, the desire to be a good Jew, to serve God with all one’s heart, is the focal point of the trip to Uman.”

The pilgrimage, also known as the “Rosh Hashanah kibbutz” – kibbutz is a Hebrew word meaning a group or gathering – began shortly after Nachman’s death in 1810. In the days of the Soviet Union, when Uman found itself behind the Iron Curtain, the number of pilgrims was very small though some managed to slip into Uman secretly to worship. After the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, however, the floodgates opened. Today, estimates put the number of pilgrims at as many as 30,000 or more annually.

And as every year goes by, it gets easier and easier for that number to grow. As the pilgrimage has become more routine, so have opportunities for locals in Uman to take advantage of the temporary influx of people and the requisite services needed to support them. As I mentioned above, Uman transforms for this event. Truly.  Unlike many cities in Ukraine or around the world that are economically driven by open market commerce – a 24/7/365 phenomenon – the main economic engine in Uman is not traditional commerce but tradition itself. Amazingly, the biggest money-maker in Uman, year in and year out, is Rosh Hashanah.

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We drive up to the city and hit a police checkpoint. Corinne is a woman. They are worried we will face trouble with the pious gaggles. Vitaly explains we are American researchers. A-ha! We’re in. The first thing I notice, other than the steady stream of heavily bearded, black-hatted men (can’t miss that, for sure), is the smell and sight of voluminous rubbish. Everywhere. Rosh Hashanah has not begun and the place is already trashed. Now, I realize I am illustrating this as if Uman is always spotless. Like any city, I doubt that that’s true. But I can’t help but wonder how the volume of people and their specific needs, like special meals that must be flown in (Ukrainian cuisine isn’t exactly Kosher), impacts the ability for the city to control waste removal. Frankly, it stinks. We walk uphill and a stream of muddy water trickles down past our feet. I think about public health. I think about the pressure this act of pilgrimage puts on the local community. I think about how, five minutes into our visit, it is abundantly clear that to many, Uman exists as a place of pilgrimage only, and not a home for some 86,000 people year-round.

And then we plunge into the chaos. I experience sensory overload like never before in my life (and that’s on top of the funky stench).

People everywhere. I know these people, like me, are Jewish. But I feel alien. I put on a yarmulke to try to stick out less but really what difference does it make? I have three ear piercings (body modification is technically not allowed in Judaism), I do not have a beard or payot, or unclipped sidelocks, a signature of some ultra-religious Jews. While I know that technically anyone is welcome to participate in the pilgrimage, I feel so completely out of place. The hypermasculine environment, to me, teems with misogyny and homophobia. For the first time in my life, I feel distinctly un-Jewish.

Then there is the cityscape.

Everything from large Soviet-era apartment blocks to small, centuries-old cottages become rental properties for groups of travelers. One man standing outside his house told me that closer to Nachman’s grave, some people will rent their apartments for hundreds of dollars for the week – no small sum in Ukraine, where the average monthly wage is about $200. A monolithic Soviet apartment building is draped in large posters, all of them in Hebrew (or maybe it’s Yiddish). Banners hang over the street advertising every service imaginable: food, lodging, medical help, souvenirs. And all of it, yes all of it, is in Hebrew (….or maybe it’s Yiddish).

The city’s central street, Pushkinska, named for the beloved Russian poet Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin, becomes something of a “prayer bazaar.” Large prayer halls, all temporary constructions line the street interspersed with more temporary housing, market stands, a Kosher Pizza Hut, a Kosher knock-off Starbucks, and people shouting words of rabbinic wisdom over megaphones. A man shoves a pamphlet in my face entitled “Don’t Take it Personally.” There’s irony to be found here but I’m not entirely sure what.  Local citizens sell SIM cards by the dozens. Electronic dance music (EDM) plays at full volume and I wonder what part of the blaring cacophony is derived from nigun, or traditional Jewish prayer tunes. (Hint: they are likely unrelated.)

Others make bank hauling load after load of luggage for the descending hoards. As the holiday had not yet begun, people were still flowing in off charter buses from airports in Kyiv, Odessa, Lviv, Dnipropetrovsk – great distances to cover after stepping off a flight, especially a transatlantic one. I turn a corner and hear shouting. Aggressive shouting. A man is speaking thickly accented Russian and screaming at a guy, probably my age, who has been hired to push a cart stacked high with bulky suitcases. They are disagreeing over how much he should be paid.

“You said twenty dollars for each of us!” the local fellow shouts as his partner looks on.

“I never agreed to such a thing,” the visitor shouts back. “Twenty for the both of you and that’s it.”

The boy drops the suitcases on the ground. Threats to call the police are volleyed back and forth. They resolve their issues but I begin to understand that there are dynamics at play here that go far beyond the spiritual.

And while I don’t see it myself (or maybe I did), there is prostitution. The righteous many who come to Uman to cleanse their souls prior to facing judgment before God apparently do not consider paying for sex with local women to be forbidden.

I’m going to drop a section of the above-linked article here because I want everyone to read it:

“Wait a moment. What do the rabbis say about hiring sex? It turns out that some rabbis over the ages have ruled that a man may have sex with a woman whom he met in a distant country, on condition they not do it openly, and that he wear black throughout the act in order to be reminded of his shame. Some others have ruled that a man may have sex with an unfamiliar woman if they it is done in secret and nobody can see him.

Daniel, the Breslov who admits to hiring women for sex, says he did get caught by patrols. So what. ‘It wasn’t pleasant but I got over it. I don’t owe any answers to anybody, after all. Only to God.’”

Yep. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

But no matter how you shake it, Uman is a special place. It was moving to see so many people engaged in such fervent prayer. I do not consider myself religious but I do find such spiritual depth inspiring (if not perplexing at times). Furthermore, it is likewise moving to see the return of Hasidic tradition to Ukraine after near-total destruction of the Jewish people here. The fact that this is largely imported today, however, is an important distinction to make. Most of the pilgrims are not Ukrainian. Ukraine is merely a platform on which this pilgrimage can take place. The intersection of Ukrainians and Jews is certainly there but it is, for the most part, a fleeting occurrence – and a visibly strained one, at that, no matter how much Uman benefits in positive ways from the event.

I did not spend much time in Uman at all. Roughly two hours after arriving, Vitaly and Corinne got in the car to drive to Odessa and I made my way to the bus station to get back to Kyiv in time for Rosh Hashanah dinner (thank you to Naomi and Geoff, US diplomats, for graciously inviting me into their home for the occasion and for providing much-needed glasses of wine). I hardly spoke to anyone in Uman. I did not really get to the bottom of all of the questions I have. How does this pilgrimage impact the views local, non-Jewish residents of Uman have toward the Jewish people? Where does one draw the line between the necessary right for people to practice their religion or express their faith and providing basic needs for a community that does not participate in such a mass event? And so many other questions.

The answers, I know, are out there and likely very nuanced. I imagine there is a great amount of cooperation between the local administration and pilgrimage organizers to maintain the highest level of mutual respect between locals and visitors. There is also no doubt in my mind that my general distrust of organized religion has colored my opinion and perspective on what I saw that day. And that, perhaps, is unfair to the faithful.

No matter what, I am grateful that I was able to experience such a unique event. For better or worse, my own identity is bound to the Jews of Ukraine like the pilgrims flocking to Uman. At the end of the day, no one can take that away from any of us.

New Year 5777: Taking a Breath

Hi, everyone!

L’shanah tovah umetukah! Wishing you all a happy, sweet, healthy, and meaningful New Year this Rosh Hashanah 5777. Now’s a good a time as any for more reflection as we head full on into the High Holy Days.

I know it has been a while since I have updated the blog. I have been extremely busy the past week or so participating in commemorative events for the 75th anniversary of the Babyn Yar massacre, which I discussed in my previous post. For the most part, this included attending lectures, panel discussions, and cultural performances as part of a larger conference organized by the Canadian group Ukrainian Jewish Encounter. Participants came from all over the world – Canada, the United States, Ukraine, Germany, Israel, France, Russia, and a number of other countries. I felt like the program was comprehensive and it inspired difficult though thoughtful and productive discussion concerning the issues of Holocaust remembrance in Ukraine.

Professor of History at Yale and author of the bestselling title Bloodlands, Timothy Snyder gives the keynote address at the UJE Babyn Yar public symposium.

I also had the opportunity to cover many of the events for the Jewish Daily Forward with my Fulbright colleague Julie Seidman and wrote another piece for Foreign Policy’s Democracy Lab! The journalistic learning curve was incredibly steep and I had an enormous amount of help, not only from my co-writer and reporter Julie but from lots of other folks (shout out to Adam Whiteman and Peter Zalmayev) who helped us along the way. We had access to many high profile figures for interviews, including Volodymyr Viatroyvch (see the second link below), head of Ukraine’s controversial Institute of National Memory. I am grateful to these people and to our editors and I hope I’ll have the chance to do more work like this in the future. Here are the links if you haven’t been enticed by my barrage of social media posts:

On Babi Yar’s 75th Anniversary, a Jew Joins Forces With Ukraine’s Far Right

Ukraine’s Holocaust Dilemma: Nationalist Heroes Behaving Badly

Babi Yar at 75: How Will Changing Ukraine Remember Infamous Nazi Atrocity?

Israel’s President Confronts Ukrainians With Their Past

(This last piece got over 1,000 shares online! Woo!)

And another op-ed from another writer for the Forward that also captures the spirit and greater context of the week’s significance:

Look How Far Ukraine Has Come Since the Babi Yar Massacre

I won’t go into the nitty gritty about conference topics and the details of all the discussions that we had – but I will say a few words (okay many words, we all know I am verbose) about some of the films and cultural performances that we saw since these were not covered in my pieces. I will also say a bit on the official state commemoration, which I was able to attend unexpectedly (and am so glad I did).

In the evenings after long days of academic discussion on particularly difficult topics – and constant reminders that had my own family not left Ukraine before World War II, I probably wouldn’t exist – there were film screenings, often doubly difficult to get through. It’s easy enough to disengage from a long, winding speech or even an active panel discussion but watching a film is a different sensory experience.

One film that will stay with me forever is Boris Maftsir’s Guardians of Remembrance, a documentary film about the Holocaust in Belarus. Who talks about the Holocaust in Belarus? In my experience, not that many people. Like Ukraine, the Holocaust in Belarus is often characterized as the ‘Holocaust by bullets,’ where mobile killing units called the Einsatzgruppen traveled to towns and cities, rounded up the local Jews, and shot them all in pits (like Babyn Yar). Belarusian cities also had ghettos, there were also deportations, but for the most part, the narrative there contrasts with that of Auschwitz and Western Europe where the prevailing image is of packed rail cars and gas chambers. While a major part of the story, the concentration camp narrative is not the whole history of the Holocaust. The ability for the Nazis to kill industrially was developed on the foundation of the Holocaust by bullets and their subsequent realization that killing on such a scale was possible. They simply sought to make it more efficient. Maftsir’s interviews with Belarusian survivors tells stories that few, if any people, would hear otherwise. It was so hard to watch people, now frail from old age, recall such horrifying trauma. But it was also so important to take in. Maftsir elevated these stories in a deeply meaningful way and I hope this film will be shared widely with more and more people. Belarus is already misunderstood as a country today, closed off from the outside world by a government that parrots Soviet authoritarianism. Its history is likewise obscured and I am grateful to Maftsir (who joined us for the screening) for making this documentary.

Another film, Shoes, directed by Konstantin Fam, whose father is Vietnamese and whose mother is a Ukrainian Jew from Kharkiv, tells the story of a family in the Holocaust by only showing the shoes on their feet. In this way, inanimate objects become people and tell their tragic story with artful precision. I am not much of a film critic and do not have the vocabulary to be nit-picky about aesthetics or cinematography or the like. However, Fam’s film was incredibly, incredibly well done. For those who have visited the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC, you will remember the piles of shoes in the exhibit hall – everyday pieces of lives left behind in times of genocide. Every shoe had a living, breathing person inside of it. Fam builds on this idea. I highly recommend everyone to watch it if they can – it is a short film, only about 20 minutes, but incredibly powerful. Pain, loss, love, and so many other complex emotions have never been so well conveyed on screen without once showing a human face.

We also had the opportunity to attend an open rehearsal for a commemorative concert held at Kyiv’s National Opera House. The Hamburg Symphony orchestra collaborated with the Dumka choir (mentioned in the last blog post) to put on a performance that featured Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem. A-ha! I know that one! It is the last piece of music I played as a member of an orchestra, in April, with the Pomona College Orchestra and Choir. As second oboist, I have to say that I mostly disliked the piece at first. Frankly, it felt boring to me. But to see it restaged in a new and deeply meaningful context resonated with me. I could follow every note and accompanying swell of emotion and it reminded me of the power of music to communicate that which words cannot. I’ll never listen to this piece again without thinking about Babyn Yar and how special it was to know the music so well beforehand.

If you’ve made it this far, bless your soul. I promise it gets more interesting (well, I think so at least)!

Earlier last week, organizers of the conference I was attending invited participants to the invitation-only state commemoration ceremony to take place Thursday (Sept 29) evening in the park near what remains of the Babyn Yar ravine. I had gone the week before to do site photographs for the Forward and saw crews erecting the massive stage and stands for the event. I fully expected to sit this one out but when the opportunity arose to get the tickets, I couldn’t say no to this chance to be a part of something historic.

I left an hour and a half before the start time to get across the city in rush hour traffic and go through security (heavy security, I will add). Sometimes, things happen in Kyiv that defy logic – I ordered a cab and the driver managed to slog through gridlock across the city with his gas gauge on empty. I was white-knuckled, thinking I would have to sprint a kilometer or five in my suit to make it on time. Alas, our hero driver defied science and I made it. (I tipped generously, though hesitated at first when I realized he picked me up with no gas in his car.)

A new installation in the park, built especially for the commemoration, included information stands that shared step-by-step history of the tragedy and noted the particularity of targeting Jews, especially in the first chapter of Babyn Yar’s history as a killing site. Volunteers at the entrance to the venue handed out kippot, or traditional skullcaps, for all the men to wear.

There were at least 1,500 people in attendance, including President of Ukraine Petro Poroshenko, the German foreign minister, US secretary of commerce, other heads of state (including the President of Hungary Viktor Orban whose Jobbik party has been accused of anti-Semitism…interesting), and countless other dignitaries and figures from civil society organizations across the world. Moving speeches were made. President Poroshenko showed his unwavering commitment to the cause of remembering the Holocaust in Ukraine as both a Jewish tragedy and as an inseparable part of Ukrainian history. The National Philharmonic of Ukraine played the score from Schindler’s List followed by a performance of Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms. A little boy stood at the front of the stage and his innocent, soprano voice carrying the words of the 23rd Psalm in Hebrew brought everyone to tears. For the first time in a difficult week of confronting painful history, I sobbed uncontrollably. Later, Chief Rabbi of Ukraine Yaakov Bleikh led the crowd in Kaddish, or the Jewish prayer for the dead.

How does one say Kaddish for 33,771 souls (or 100,000 if we include all lives lost at Babyn Yar over the course of the war)? You could say Kaddish at Babyn Yar 50 times a day every day for 5 years and still not say it for every person who was killed there.

At the event’s conclusion, the President led a procession out of the arena to the edge of the ravine where the black menorah, erected in 1991, stands to commemorate Kyiv’s murdered Jews. Everyone was given a pre-lit candle to place at the menorah’s base and the entire monument was awash in flickering light.

I had felt it now and again over the course of the week, but looking at all the candles and all the people who had come to commemorate Babyn Yar, I felt a true, inspiring sense of hope for Ukraine. The country has a long way to go on so many fronts but the well-coordinated, government-supported memorial service shows just how far Ukraine has already come.

Next post to come later this week: a look at the Rosh Hashanah Hasidic pilgrimage to Uman. Also perhaps a word or two or 5,000 on the process of getting one’s visa registered with Ukrainian immigration services. And that, my friends, is another megillah entirely. Stay tuned.

A Time to Reflect: The Beginning of Babyn Yar Commemoration

Summer has faded into autumn here in Kyiv as daytime temperatures seldom push 60 and nighttime chill covers the city. Scarves are out, hats are on, and the leaves are beginning to turn. In many ways, this is my favorite time of year. Warm, cozy cafes beckon (Kyiv has no shortage) and — yes — it’s that time of year when I get to celebrate my birthday. Happy 23 to me!

It’s also around this time that the holiest days on the Jewish calendar are observed: Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year), Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), and a number of other festivals and celebrations. The time from Rosh Hashanah (which begins at sundown on October 2) to the end of Yom Kippur (ending at sundown on October 12) are known as the Days of Awe. It is a time for introspection. While we’re not officially there yet on the calendar, I think now’s a good time to start and with that, reflect not only on myself but on the place in which I find myself and what that means at this time of year.

What I’m thinking about right now is Babyn Yar (or Babi Yar as it is commonly known from the Russian transliteration). Less than two weeks after Nazi forces began their occupation of Kyiv on September 19, 1941, they rounded up the Jews that remained behind -as many as 100,000 are estimated to have fled before the German advance – and executed their plan to annihilate them. From September 29-30, 1941, the Nazis marched the Jews of Kyiv to the Babyn Yar ravine in the northwestern part of the city and shot them – 33,771 people were executed over the course of two days. It was the largest single massacre in the history of the Holocaust. Over the course of the war, up to 100,000 people would meet their untimely ends at the ravine, including other Jews, Roma, Soviet prisoners of war, people with disabilities, homosexuals, Catholics – anyone on the Nazi’s death list.

The site and the events that occurred there remain an integral part of the history of Ukraine and particularly of Ukrainian Jewry. Under the Soviet regime, commemoration of the events at Babyn Yar was not tolerated. Acknowledging the victimhood of Jews in Ukraine was essentially non-existent on an official level. In 1961, Yevgeny Yevtushenko wrote a poem about Babyn Yar on which Dmitri Shostakovich based his 13th symphony. Both faced severe criticism for their work. The graves of the tens of thousands of innocent murdered souls remained neglected both physically and in official discourse.

The ravine at Babyn Yar, 2013. Photo by the author.

Jewish Memorial at Babyn Yar, 2013. Photo by the author.

Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, access to archives, reports, and witness testimony have revealed more about Babyn Yar and public commemoration has become common practice in Ukraine. This year is the 75th anniversary and a number of events have been planned. On a side note, this is not to say that commemorations today are not controversial — they are, in fact, loaded with controversy, especially given Ukraine’s often confusing political dynamics. There are a number of stakeholders involved in discourse on Babyn Yar and World War II in general. Ukrainian nationalism and patriotism play large roles in this conversation of remembrance, often minimizing the impact of Nazi atrocities on Jewish people and instead universalizing events at Babyn Yar. In today’s Ukraine, a country at war with Russia and trying to hold on to its sovereignty in the face of an aggressive neighbor, many national heroes who fought for Ukrainian liberation from the Soviets are lauded. Many of these figures worked with the Nazis as a means of resisting Stalin. The history of Nazi-Ukrainian cooperation in the deaths of Jews is a difficult one to discuss but is one that must be discussed. Otherwise, the fact that Babyn Yar was a site for the killing of Jews, simply because they were Jewish is lost in a narrative that instead seeks to universalize their deaths, thus obscuring the identities of the victims.

The Soviet Memorial to Babyn Yar. It is in a park near the ravine but not in the right location. Photo by author, 2013.

The official inscription on this memorial tells us that 100,000 citizens of the city of Kyiv were killed here. There is no mention of Jewish victimization or specific victimization of other groups. Photo by author, 2013.

For now, back to the commemoration events: this past Sunday, the National Philharmonic hosted a concert to memorialize Babyn Yar. My academic advisor, the head of the Jewish Studies department at Kyiv-Mohyla, was kind enough to give me a ticket. The concert featured a number of moving pieces, including works by the Israeli composer Baruch Berliner. His music weaved the reading of Biblical texts (including the story of Cain and Abel) into a score for choir and orchestra. In many ways, Babyn Yar is so difficult to talk about, so difficult to comprehend, that music provides a new medium to convey thoughts and emotions in a way that words cannot. I felt incredibly fortunate to be there. Other events will include a large youth conference to begin tomorrow (Saturday) evening, lasting through next week. An official state commemoration with a number of Ukrainian and foreign dignitaries is to take place on the 29th. I will be covering much of these events along with my Fulbright colleague from Kharkiv, Julie Seidman. I look forward to sharing more about all of that with you very, very soon.

Baruch Berliner addressing the audience with the National Philharmonic of Kyiv and the National Academic Choir of Ukraine “Dumka.” The concert was sponsored by the Israeli Embassy in Ukraine; note the two flags at the top right of the photo.

And now, I am going to turn this around completely.

I voted today.

I voted today in the 2016 Election for President of the United States. I went to the Fulbright Office, printed out my ballot, scanned it in and emailed it to the election board in New Jersey. What a time to be alive, and I don’t just mean in terms of technology.

An illiterate, authoritarian racist could be our next president. And no. Their name is not Hillary Clinton. His name is Donald Trump. Every morning, I along with millions of other people wake up in countries that were irreparably changed by a man whose political force was brought to power on a populist wave. That election, by the way, was not rigged unlike Trump’s claims that our upcoming votes will be miscounted.

I am not nor am I likely to become a permanent citizen of Ukraine but this feeling still affects me deeply as the descendent of people who fled these lands because of anti-Semitism. (And yes, I think Trump is an anti-Semite, despite the disgraceful faux-reassurance of his cowardly, son-in-law. Read further: Donald Trump and the Jews.) I look out the window every morning and I am reminded that every inch of this city and country bears the memory of the evils of Nazism. I am reminded that if my family had not left when they did, I would likely not exist. This history is alive. It is real. I am not suggesting that Donald Trump has any grand designs to commit genocide – he does not. He is not a fascist. He is not going to declare World War III (though whether or not he’ll start one anyway seems to be up in the air, frankly). Unlike Hitler, I am not really sure Trump has any plan other than to come to power. The point is, he plays on real social and psychological forces that lead to mass atrocity and crimes against humanity through other-ing and scapegoating. Do I really need to elaborate? Do I really need to remind you of the things this man has said and done to stoke deeper hatred and division in our country?

Hillary Clinton isn’t a perfect candidate. By any means. And we can have a lengthy discussion about how she is an establishment candidate who will perpetuate the status quo: a country riddled with inequality and strife. I have woken up to news nearly every day this week about another innocent black body ruthlessly murdered by police. Do I think Clinton is going to put a stop to that? I hope she’ll try but I am sure it won’t be enough to stem the tide of racism in our country. If anything, I am fearful for what we will do with Trump supporters should she become president. They aren’t going to just go away, and they certainly aren’t interested in protecting black bodies, allowing black lives to thrive, to show that black lives matter.

But if the status quo is so bad, why should we vote to perpetuate it? Because if Donald Trump becomes president, the status quo could become incontrovertibly worse. If you think we are struggling now, just wait until he finishes his first term. Any voice we have as a society to speak out against current injustices will be met with legislation   that further disadvantages marginalized groups, especially black and Latinx people. Instead of being able to hold a left-of-center leader accountable to a progressive platform, we will have a right-wing crackpot for whom progressive politics are totally anathema. Hillary isn’t the world’s most progressive candidate but she is certainly more amenable to positive change than her counterpart. He has the power to undo every executive order President Obama has signed into law, and then some. Under Trump, a new status quo would be a massive leap backward that would exacerbate our social ills, entrench the barbarism of a racist and isolationist America, and drive our country on a path of imminent decline.

Tomorrow, I am going to Babyn Yar. And when I look into the ravine, at the final resting place of those who were othered in a genocide, I will be thinking about the Holocaust, I will be thinking about my ballot, and I will be thinking about our future.  While we should not universalize the identities of victims of Babyn Yar, there is a greater message to be taken for the present when we consider how Babyn Yar came to pass.

He cannot win. He simply cannot.

 

 

Kyiv Jewish Fest 2016

As I get settled in Kyiv and fall into a routine, I am constantly looking for ways to engage with various Jewish community organizations or the practice of Judaism. While walking to an appointment with the International Students Coordinator at my affiliated school, Kyiv-Mohyla (or Mohylyanka as it is affectionately called here), I stumbled upon a flyer for a Jewish Festival. Fortunately for me, I was just in the nick of time – three days later, and I would’ve missed the festival entirely. And that would’ve been a real shame as it was held in beautiful Mariinsky Park, a mere 10 minute walk from my apartment in Kyiv’s Pechersky neighborhood.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. After all, the event was to be held on a Saturday. A Jewish festival on the Sabbath? Really? As always, there was only one way to find out. So my friend Natasha and I headed to the park to see what it was all about.

Admission was free and included a bracelet as well as entry into a lottery with a grand prize of a free trip to Israel. I would’ve settled for a shot at a free meal at Tsimes, a restaurant serving Jewish cuisine in Kyiv’s Podil neighborhood (I recommend the cholent, just like bubbe’s), but I digress. Around the park, a number of different “zones” were set up to acquaint visitors with Jewish traditions and organizations and offer a variety of interactive activities (some of which were simply there for the sake of entertainment, like carnival games). For example, the stil’ zhizni or “Way of Life” zone offered presentations about Jewish holidays, with a special focus on the Sabbath and Rosh Hashanah, or Jewish New Year, which will be celebrated for two days beginning at sundown on October 2nd. A band played a number of songs and the emcees engaged in a round of Jewish holiday trivia as a means of teaching visitors about various religious practices. People genuinely seemed to be enjoying themselves. While there were plenty of folks in kippot, or traditional head coverings, indicating a strong showing on the part of Kyiv’s Jewish community, plenty in the audience appeared as though the festival was their first major interaction with Judaism.  I met lots of interesting people, including a woman from Kyiv whose father lives in Vineland, New Jersey. Go figure.

The backdrop in the above photograph is meant to represent a typical courtyard in Kyiv’s Podil neighborhood which was home to a large Jewish community before World War II. Now it is home to the Great Choral Synagogue, the Tsimes restaurant, and a number of other vestiges of Kyiv’s Jewish history. I spend a lot of time there as it’s where the university is located.

 A number of local Jewish organizations and clubs also used this part of the festival to advertise their various programs and activities. On the left, we have Beit Sefer, a group for studying Torah, and on the right, we have Moadim, a youth group that helps participants learn about Jewish holidays. In Ukraine, many people who are Jewish were not raised in religious homes. Freedom of religion did not exist in the Soviet Union and Soviet authorities frequently confiscated religious property as a means of discouraging worship and study. For example, Kyiv’s Brodsky Synagogue, located next to the Fulbright Office, was used as a puppet theater in the USSR.

A number of other booths and organizations advertised groups for people wishing to participate in a “couples course” on how to be a good Jewish husband or wife (note the clear gender binary). Oy! Pass. Another organization, Beit Yosef advertised itself as the perfect organization for “real men.” I was amused to wonder if I qualify or not, but I skipped it in any case.

For me, the real highlight of the festival was the Yiddishkeit concert.

Yiddishkeit is a word that describes something that is of a Jewish character or quality. This concert was no exception. The National Folk Orchestra of Ukraine (in Russian, Natsional’ny orkestr narodnykh instrumentov Ukrainy, literally: National Orchestra of Folk Instruments of Ukraine) played a number of traditional klezmer pieces. A female vocalist sang songs in both Hebrew and Yiddish, including some crowd pleasers like Hava Nagila. Did it feel kitschy? Sure. But the hundreds, if not thousands of people gathered at the outdoor amphitheater clapped and even sang along. A solo clarinetist and dance troupes dazzled. A bottle dance a la Fiddler on the Roof was a particular hit. So again, I stress that it was pretty kitschy but music provided an easy way for performers and festival-goers alike to celebrate Kyiv’s Jewish legacy.

One thing in particular stood out to me about this concert. The orchestra. The National Folk Orchestra of Ukraine. This is a musical group that exists to share and elevate Ukrainian culture. In the front row, you will note the use of the bandura, a large, lute-like stringed instrument that has been played in Ukraine for millennia. It is a distinctly Ukrainian symbol; I am not sure if it has ever been used in traditional Jewish music before. Perhaps it has. However, its immediate association is with Ukrainian culture. The same can be said about the outfits of the musicians. They are wearing vyshyvanky shirts, another distinct element of Ukrainian folk culture. And so it was that Ukrainian and Jewish culture joined hands on the stage Saturday afternoon. Musicians playing klezmer music on Ukrainian instruments. How about that?

So what’s the significance? I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps it is even insignificant. Regardless, I found it fascinating, even moving to see this blending of art forms. The coexistence of these cultures in Ukraine has gone on for centuries. Often, this coexistence has been fraught with tension and tragedy. This weekend, however, whether overdone or perfectly tasteful, Jewish and Ukrainian culture came together in perfect harmony at Kyiv Jewish Fest 2016.

 

****A note about the organization of this Festival****

Like an incompetent rookie, I failed to really delve into who was behind the organization of this festival. I did not see representatives of any of Kyiv’s main religious institutions present at the festival, though they may very well have been there. After all, I’ve barely been here two weeks and after my grant is over, who knows if I’ll have even scratched the surface of Kyiv’s (let alone Ukraine’s) Jewish groups. However, an article from last year named the organizers of 2015’s Jewish Fest as Kyiv’s Jewish Messianic Congregation and Jewish Voice Ministries International, another Messianic organization. I don’t know very much about Messianic Judaism but in short, Messianic Jews believe that Jesus is the Jewish Messiah. Hmmm. Apparently it is up for debate whether or not Messianic Judaism is a form of Christianity or Judaism. So was this a festival about Jews organized by Christians? Was it a Jewish festival organized by Jews who believe in Jesus? I’m not really sure. How does that complicate my observations about the interaction with Jewish and Ukrainian cultures? Is that interaction somehow tainted by this festival’s possible Messianic ties? How long has Messianic Judaism even been in Ukraine? These are questions I hope to be able to explore, perhaps later this year. It’s not something I was interested in researching before but could potentially be very interesting to investigate. In my own observation, however, I feel that the festival was a more or less positive experience from the standpoint of it being a form of engagement with Jewish culture and tradition for Jews and non-Jews alike. So it is in Ukraine. Clear as mud. Onward!