East Meets West

I’m going to take a break from my travel diaries today and talk for a moment about why we went to Russia. We made the long trip between Los Angeles and Russia for three primary reasons. First, it was a trip home to the land from whence my father’s parents had fled. My grandparents died before it was possible to return to Russia from the States. They never again saw their Russian relatives after they made their way to America in the 1920s. Second, we had discovered in 2004 that my father’s 105 year-old Russian Aunt (his father’s sister) was alive. We made a miraculous journey to Rostock, Germany to meet her just days after learning of her existence (essays on that trip will appear on this blog in future months). We met one of her children and some of her grandchildren on that fateful trip to Germany. Her other child, a son, lived with his wife and daughters in St. Petersburg. These were the cousins, firsts and seconds, who joined us on many of our Russian adventures (more on them in a moment). So our trip to the former Soviet Union was more than a trip to Mother Russia, it was a trip to meet our immediate family – my father’s first cousin, his wife and children. Third, we, like many thousands of visitors, went to Russia to be tourists – to see the sights, to learn some history, and to better understand what it meant to be Russian. We’d spent a lifetime telling people that our ancestors were Russian, that our name was Russian, and yet – we had no first-hand experience of what that meant, until 2006.

On Shabbat of the week we spent in St. Petersburg our Russian family treated us to a remarkable Jewish meal at a restaurant near their home. Joining us that evening were my father’s first cousin, his wife, his two daughters (one married, one not), his son-in-law and the son-in-law’s parents as well. Including our hardy travelling group we were 14 in all. The table was set when we arrived with an astonishing array of salads. Gefilte fish, generally not a family favorite, had been pressed into a mold and sliced. It was excellent, so good in fact that my youngest managed to consume four servings. Other dishes included finely chopped herring that was served on small triangles of delicious dark bread, a chopped fresh vegetable plate, and a cooked carrot and raisin dish that looked a bit like chilled soup.

It was an extraordinary evening. We had theorized and hypothesized about our Russian family for decades. Like many descendents of immigrant Jews we knew little of the relatives who remained behind in the Soviet Union. My grandfather had not spoken of them much, except to tell occasional stories of a sister, a doctor, who lived in St. Petersburg. Because of the politics of the time through much of his life contact between East and West was impossible and even after it was possible it still posed dangers for those in the USSR. My father’s cousin, son to the doctor who had lived in St. Petersburg, was an Engineer, married to a doctor with two well-educated grown children. He was a soft-spoken man, kind and wise with a charming, witty wife whose eyes always sparkled. He made a point, that evening, of toasting us repeatedly. He noted that in Soviet times one could not speak of having relatives abroad but by 2006 it was a sign of prestige to have them. He graciously thanked us for making the long voyage to Russia. My father’s toast in return spoke of the power of a lasting relationship between a brother and sister that held on over a 70-year period, though neither had the possibility of visiting the other before their deaths. It was a delightful, emotional and fulfilling night.

The post-script to the story of our meeting in 2006 is that we have continued our friendship/relationship with these remarkable people. The children of my father’s cousins have become first cousins to me, to my sister and to my children and we have visited together in America, in London, and in Europe. It is evident that we are kin. The connection is so clearly one of blood, and blood does have a strange power. We are grateful that the times had changed and that we had the good fortune to reconnect. I believe my grandfather and great-aunt would have been quite pleased.