Monday, April 16, 2007
Lviv
This is posting 2 of 3 from our trip to Ukraine. Please also visit our complete photo album at princessandthegeek.shutterfly.com.
A little background: We are now in Lviv, about a three hour drive from Lutsk. We have met a new translator here named Veronika. Lviv was once a thriving Jewish community. It held the first Reform synagogue in Ukraine in the 1800's. As in other parts of Ukraine, the Jewish community today is a small fraction of what it once was, but it hold many remains of the former Jewish community. Today it is again becoming an active Jewish community and offers many Jewish organizations. In fact, our seder was smaller than predicted because another organization was holding their seder the same night. Lviv is where the famous author, Shalom Alechem, lived for a short time (he wrote the novel that became Fiddler on the Roof). Below you can see his house and some Yiddish signs left on the side of an old building.
This is a picture of a famous synagogue that was burned down and they are trying to raise money to rebuild.
And here is a picture of their gorgeous opera house. If you look closely, you can see Jamie standing where Lenin once stood:
Wednesday
Groggy, hungry and cold, we are taken for our first glimpses of Lviv. We begin with lunch and then head for the Jewish memorial. Here, in a small fenced in park, stands a man made of many large stones, lifting strongly up from the ground, raising his hands to the sky. Beneath him lies a small pit with rocks and boulders haphazardly stacked on each other. A few rocks have memorial plaques.
'97% of the Jewish population in Lviv was killed in WWII,' Veronika says with a straight face. The people here are so closely connected with the Holocaust. I have met survivors, I have visited camps in Poland, but they live in the city where their own people were massacred a half-century ago.
Later, we head over to the Jewish kindergarten where the class is doing a seder/play. Veronika’s mother runs this kindergarten. She tells the story of Passover and the children sing and nibble from their seder plates. We are continually ushered from memorials of death and destruction into places of life and vitality. Do Ukrainians experience this everyday? If they do, are they aware of their experience?
After the seder we are invited to sit down with the kindergarten staff and the rabbi for a grown-up seder meal. Veronika’s mother begins asking Jamie about his school, how many years is it? How will you afford it? She hears that he has borrowed money from the government and wants to know if foreigners can do the same. 'No,' he says carefully. 'I don’t think so.' She begins asking more questions about how a foreigner might be able to go to school in America. She is insistent and asks question after question. She has two daughters at the table and it is clear why she’s asking these questions. We don’t know, Jamie says. But we promise to send you any information we can find.
We have come to Ukraine to see how Jewish life is progressing. Here is an important leader of the Lviv community, teaching young children about their heritage, which their parents do not know because they lived under Soviet rule. But now she is a mother who will clearly do anything to make the best life for her daughters. Maybe that means she wants them to leave.
The rabbi asks us how we like Ukraine. ‘How is Lviv? Did you enjoy the kindergarten?’ We tell him that this a beautiful country and we have loved the people. ‘Don’t leave,’ he says. ‘Stay with us.’ He is not laughing. This is not a joke or a tease. ‘We need you,’ he says. ‘We don’t have many ordained rabbis. There is only one cantor in Ukraine. We need you. Please stay.’ I have spent a year in Israel, dying to return to the States, counting the seconds until my final flight. But now I am in no rush. I wish we had more time. We could do so much more. He turns his head back to this meal; he knows we will not stay.
We eat quietly for a while. Veronika’s mother comes back to our end of the table. She thanks us sweetly for joining them. She talks about how hard life is in Ukraine. She asks us to be their friends. We nod. Yes, of course we are friends. She is insistent. We need your help. You have come to visit us, but can we come to you? We need a sister congregation because we don’t have money. She speaks faster with more anxiety now. We are trying so hard and we have so little. Please do not forget us. Please be our friends.
It is a painful speech. I do not want to leave them. I want to give them everything. Will I remember this when we return to Israel? To America?
Thursday
The Progressive Community of Lviv is in an large old building. It was clearly once a beautiful building with intricate designs on the ceiling and stair railings. Today, however, they only have electricity in certain parts of the building, no heat, and much of the place is need of serious repair.
We climb the stairs to our seder. Maybe 40 people are in attendance, 6 are visiting from the catholic university. We go through the usual seder, skipping over many sections and begin eating. Quickly, people begin to asks Jamie to sing. ‘Yiddish. Please sing some Yiddish songs.’ Happy to begin singing, Jamie picks up his guitar and sings Ofn Prepichick. Goldman, the founder of this community, cannot contain his tears and wipes his eyes frequently with his napkin.
Jamie moves onto Tumbalalaika, an old classic. The whole room joins in for each round of the chorus. Although this is a smaller and older group than in Lutsk, they are much more excited to sing. Jamie is a hit.
The woman who sat in front of him tells us about her son who lives in Israel. Her granddaughter was born there. She tells Jamie she would like to sing to him now, a song about Jerusalem in Hebrew and Russian, composed by a Ukrainian. Although we don’t expect it, her voice is sweet and clear as she sings the song of longing and dreaming.
I look around the room. The people here have done more than welcome us into their seders. They have opened their hearts to us. Through broken bits of English and Hebrew and the great effort of our translators, they have told us a little of their struggles, but mostly told us their stories, about their families and have done everything they can to make us as comfortable as possible.
Suddenly, I feel ridiculous. I have come from American and Israel, two prosperous countries and what have I brought with me? A few simple gifts, just a little bit of money. Couldn’t we have done so much more? They didn’t need my help leading seders. They need to repair their building, they need Jewish supplies and they need more leadership. Are we so self-centered to believe that what they needed was us?
I take another look around the room. Most of these faces are smiling at us. Just happy to have these young, Jewish Americans here to visit. Perhaps we are what they needed. Just a little friendship from the other side of the world. It is a great joy to be with them. We feel free, on the other side of the Red Sea.
A little background: We are now in Lviv, about a three hour drive from Lutsk. We have met a new translator here named Veronika. Lviv was once a thriving Jewish community. It held the first Reform synagogue in Ukraine in the 1800's. As in other parts of Ukraine, the Jewish community today is a small fraction of what it once was, but it hold many remains of the former Jewish community. Today it is again becoming an active Jewish community and offers many Jewish organizations. In fact, our seder was smaller than predicted because another organization was holding their seder the same night. Lviv is where the famous author, Shalom Alechem, lived for a short time (he wrote the novel that became Fiddler on the Roof). Below you can see his house and some Yiddish signs left on the side of an old building.
This is a picture of a famous synagogue that was burned down and they are trying to raise money to rebuild.
And here is a picture of their gorgeous opera house. If you look closely, you can see Jamie standing where Lenin once stood:
Wednesday
Groggy, hungry and cold, we are taken for our first glimpses of Lviv. We begin with lunch and then head for the Jewish memorial. Here, in a small fenced in park, stands a man made of many large stones, lifting strongly up from the ground, raising his hands to the sky. Beneath him lies a small pit with rocks and boulders haphazardly stacked on each other. A few rocks have memorial plaques.'97% of the Jewish population in Lviv was killed in WWII,' Veronika says with a straight face. The people here are so closely connected with the Holocaust. I have met survivors, I have visited camps in Poland, but they live in the city where their own people were massacred a half-century ago.
Later, we head over to the Jewish kindergarten where the class is doing a seder/play. Veronika’s mother runs this kindergarten. She tells the story of Passover and the children sing and nibble from their seder plates. We are continually ushered from memorials of death and destruction into places of life and vitality. Do Ukrainians experience this everyday? If they do, are they aware of their experience?After the seder we are invited to sit down with the kindergarten staff and the rabbi for a grown-up seder meal. Veronika’s mother begins asking Jamie about his school, how many years is it? How will you afford it? She hears that he has borrowed money from the government and wants to know if foreigners can do the same. 'No,' he says carefully. 'I don’t think so.' She begins asking more questions about how a foreigner might be able to go to school in America. She is insistent and asks question after question. She has two daughters at the table and it is clear why she’s asking these questions. We don’t know, Jamie says. But we promise to send you any information we can find. We have come to Ukraine to see how Jewish life is progressing. Here is an important leader of the Lviv community, teaching young children about their heritage, which their parents do not know because they lived under Soviet rule. But now she is a mother who will clearly do anything to make the best life for her daughters. Maybe that means she wants them to leave.
The rabbi asks us how we like Ukraine. ‘How is Lviv? Did you enjoy the kindergarten?’ We tell him that this a beautiful country and we have loved the people. ‘Don’t leave,’ he says. ‘Stay with us.’ He is not laughing. This is not a joke or a tease. ‘We need you,’ he says. ‘We don’t have many ordained rabbis. There is only one cantor in Ukraine. We need you. Please stay.’ I have spent a year in Israel, dying to return to the States, counting the seconds until my final flight. But now I am in no rush. I wish we had more time. We could do so much more. He turns his head back to this meal; he knows we will not stay.
We eat quietly for a while. Veronika’s mother comes back to our end of the table. She thanks us sweetly for joining them. She talks about how hard life is in Ukraine. She asks us to be their friends. We nod. Yes, of course we are friends. She is insistent. We need your help. You have come to visit us, but can we come to you? We need a sister congregation because we don’t have money. She speaks faster with more anxiety now. We are trying so hard and we have so little. Please do not forget us. Please be our friends.It is a painful speech. I do not want to leave them. I want to give them everything. Will I remember this when we return to Israel? To America?
Thursday
The Progressive Community of Lviv is in an large old building. It was clearly once a beautiful building with intricate designs on the ceiling and stair railings. Today, however, they only have electricity in certain parts of the building, no heat, and much of the place is need of serious repair.
We climb the stairs to our seder. Maybe 40 people are in attendance, 6 are visiting from the catholic university. We go through the usual seder, skipping over many sections and begin eating. Quickly, people begin to asks Jamie to sing. ‘Yiddish. Please sing some Yiddish songs.’ Happy to begin singing, Jamie picks up his guitar and sings Ofn Prepichick. Goldman, the founder of this community, cannot contain his tears and wipes his eyes frequently with his napkin. Jamie moves onto Tumbalalaika, an old classic. The whole room joins in for each round of the chorus. Although this is a smaller and older group than in Lutsk, they are much more excited to sing. Jamie is a hit.The woman who sat in front of him tells us about her son who lives in Israel. Her granddaughter was born there. She tells Jamie she would like to sing to him now, a song about Jerusalem in Hebrew and Russian, composed by a Ukrainian. Although we don’t expect it, her voice is sweet and clear as she sings the song of longing and dreaming. I look around the room. The people here have done more than welcome us into their seders. They have opened their hearts to us. Through broken bits of English and Hebrew and the great effort of our translators, they have told us a little of their struggles, but mostly told us their stories, about their families and have done everything they can to make us as comfortable as possible. Suddenly, I feel ridiculous. I have come from American and Israel, two prosperous countries and what have I brought with me? A few simple gifts, just a little bit of money. Couldn’t we have done so much more? They didn’t need my help leading seders. They need to repair their building, they need Jewish supplies and they need more leadership. Are we so self-centered to believe that what they needed was us?
I take another look around the room. Most of these faces are smiling at us. Just happy to have these young, Jewish Americans here to visit. Perhaps we are what they needed. Just a little friendship from the other side of the world. It is a great joy to be with them. We feel free, on the other side of the Red Sea.
