Russian Jews Here Are Still Searching

by Sergey Kadinsky
Special To The Jewish Week

Since the great wave of Russian Jewish immigration began in the mid-1970s, the Russian-Jewish community in the United States has been struggling to find a clear identity. We are not Russian because we do not possess a Slavic ancestry and an Orthodox Christian tradition. At the same time, we can hardly find kinship with the American Jewish community, due to our lack of cultural connections and religious education.
Thirty years later, I can honestly write that Soviet-born Jews in America have proven their worth not only in commerce, education, and culture, but also within the local Jewish scene. Most Russian-born Jews live in, or in close proximity to, New York City, and look to the city as a center of Russian-Jewish culture.
In

the Soviet Union, a synagogue was seen as a throwback to the ghetto, not a place for a young, educated Soviet Jew. In New York, young educated Russian Jews are stepping up as Hillel leaders on local college campuses. They are promoting Israel advocacy, observance, and revival of Jewish learning. When I attended CCNY, I helped revive the Hillel chapter on my campus.
At the same time, we are a divided community. Within the Russian-speaking Jewish community, there are Ashkenazim, Georgian Jews, Mountain Jews, and Bukharian Jews. The only thing that puts them in the Russian category is the language and being born in the USSR. Otherwise, they have their own traditions and they often resent being labeled as Russians.
Our families have ties around the globe, with relatives in Russia, Germany, Israel, and a distant uncle or two isolated in Kamchatka. I only have only one brother, but I know who my fourth and fifth cousins are. They are the grandchildren of my grandparents’ cousins, who we treat with the same respect as uncles. These “uncles” lived in the same shtetl in Moldova as my grandparents. Since the Iron Curtain opened up, most of my relatives gradually made their way to New York, and we hardly have anyone left back in the old country, save for the memories, the graves, and some business ties.
We are divided in our observance. Some of us became baalei teshuva (returnees to the faith). We hold in high regard those rabbis who were active on behalf of Soviet Jews and who taught us Jewish traditions once we arrived here. “Let our people go” was transformed into “Let our people know.” A few of us even praise Meir Kahane, to the chagrin of mainstream American Jewish organizations. His uncompromising militancy stood in stark contrast to those who preferred a more gradual approach in opening the Iron Curtain. When I first met Brooklyn Assemblyman Dov Hikind while working in Albany, I thanked him personally for his efforts to open up the Soviet borders to Jewish emigration. Hikind can now count on the recently-elected Alec Brook-Krasny to gauge the pulse of the Russian-speaking community in Brooklyn.
Some of our parents approve of traditions being reclaimed; others disapprove the strictness of Torah observance. In fact, some Russian-Jewish parents feel more comfortable with having a Russian-speaking non-Jew than an American Jew as a daughter-in-law. Our parents don’t want us to forget the Russian language, Chekhov, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoy that we grew up with. Intermarriage is often accepted with few regrets. This is largely due to the Soviet upbringing which promoted internationalism and universal values. A few of us have strayed to other faiths as a result of missionaries; others have fallen to the sway of irresponsible materialism. Our parents are proud of our success; even if it included eschewing our Jewish roots.
We no longer reside exclusively in Brighton Beach or on Kings Highway; we moved on to Bensonhurst, Staten Island, New Jersey and points further west. You can now taste Bukharian-Jewish cuisine in Atlanta, Phoenix, and Denver. Our grandparents still speak Yiddish, Tat, and Farsi, and proudly display their Soviet war medals. Our grandchildren are in Little League, mathematics competitions, and karate clubs, blending perfectly with their neighbors. At home, however, the grandparents (read: unpaid baby sitters) try hard to instill some Russian and Jewish customs into the otherwise Americanized grandchild. Instead of distant nursing homes, our grandparents live close to us, and we take care of each other.
The Russian Jews do not have a clear identity in America. Some have kippot covering their heads, but others have tattoos covering their skin. We get together for some holidays and reminisce about why we left the USSR, why we are here, and where we are going in life. Nevertheless, we are highly individualized. One of my cousins is intermarried to a Russian-speaking gentile; another one covers her hair and keeps kosher. Her husband was born here and does not speak any Russian. Even my brother and I cannot agree on how much tradition we should observe and how much we want to blend in.
This is the state of Russian-born Jewry in New York in 2007. n
Sergey Kadinsky was born in Riga, Latvia, and arrived in New York at age 8. He recently graduated the City College of New York with a degree in journalism. His Web site is www.mazeartist.com.

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