T’shuva, Tefillah and Tunes
It’s hard to believe that it’s October, which means that we’ve been here six weeks already. It’s nice to start to see familiar faces wherever we go. The names are still a bit of a Russian blur—Sasha, Elena, Misha, Tanya. But the feeling of belonging is growing slowly, bit by bit, a little more every day. The awesomeness of the High Holidays has helped cement in us a connection to the Jewish community, perhaps a bit more quickly than would have been the case, had we arrived in May, for example.
T’shuva (repentence) is a difficult thing to pull off when you’re so far away from those you may have hurt or the actions you may have committed with a hint of malevolence. For the most part, we have clean slates here, sparkling white with the anticipation of what we have to offer the community. To be honest, I am a bit overwhelmed by what is expected of us. Can I live up to what the community expects? Can we successfully inspire members of the community? Can we make Jewish life as appealing here as it is to us back in the States? These are tall orders.
Sunday night, we attended Kol Nidrei at the Choral Synagogue, again marveling at the beauty of the space and enjoying the somewhat familiar tunes of the choir, despite the shortages of machzorim. There, we met a handful of Americans, some passing through and others who live here, which we always enjoy.
Yesterday, we spent all day at Shaarei Shalom, where there is more of an expat community. During the afternoon lull between services, the rabbi asked us to forgo our annual Yom Kippur nap and instead lead an English-language discussion. Together, we put together a discussion based on excerpts from two Franz Kafka texts: The Trial and Letter to his Father. The discussion among the eight of us was lively; the two texts seemed to balance one another and give us insight into Kafka’s own Jewish experience. The text of The Trial is rather enigmatic, posing more questions than it answers. It concerns a man from the countryside who attempts to access the law through a doorway, but it is stopped by a gatekeeper when he asks for permission to enter. According to the rabbi, the problem with the man in the story is that he asks permission to enter. Had he simply walked through the doorway, he would have come closer to the law, his ultimate goal. But in the simple act of asking, he questions his own ability to advance his goals. It’s clear that we are our own gatekeepers sometimes, holding ourselves back. I try to keep this in mind as we face one obstacle after another here in St. Petersburg.
What kinds of obstacles, you ask? On Sunday, for instance, just before Yom Kippur started, we went to an opening session of EVA’s Sunday school. EVA (pronounced “yeva”), is a community-based organization that has been around since before the JDC was asked to return to the FSU. They specialize in training young people in Jewish culture (choir, dance and art), as well as providing for welfare services to over 8,000 elderly through day centers, in-home care, food packages and soup kitchens. They have asked us to teach English and Jewish tradition to six consecutive groups every Sunday, from 10:30am until 3:45pm. Matt and I quickly realized that we’d need to divide and conquer, so I’ll be teaching the younger groups in the morning and Matt will take the older groups in the afternoon. I have 5-8 year olds and 9-12 year olds, many of whom don’t speak a word of English. Not only am I supposed to teach them English, I’m also supposed share Jewish tradition with them. And for some of them, the 45 minutes we spend together each week is the only Jewish influence they get. While this is a bit daunting, I remind myself of the Kafka story and hope that I can power through my own anxieties and triumph in the end.
Fortunately, our sense of community here is starting to take hold. Obstacles are always easier to tackle when you have a strong support network nearby, something I’ve felt lost without these past few weeks. At Shaarei Shalom, we met two young American women who are living here temporarily. In a small world story, I heard about one of them from a mutual friend in DC over July 4th weekend and I remembered with crystal clarity. Needless to say, I am thrilled to have contemporaries who are experiencing similar trials and tribulations. We also spent some time with a US consular official and his young family whose paths we crossed back in DC. (Small world indeed.)
While the tunes we sang yesterday were not the clap-your-hands, Jeremy-Kadden-inspired tunes that we’ve grown accustomed to at the DC Minyan, the tunes were nonetheless touching and beautiful, especially the melody we used to draw the yom tov to a close over havdalah. At the end of the fast, we organized a small group of Anglos for break-the-fast next door at the Sbarro’s restaurant. It’s not quite like home—no bagels or kugel—but it did the trick just fine. It filled our bellies with pizza and our hearts with the warmth of being connected to others.
T’shuva (repentence) is a difficult thing to pull off when you’re so far away from those you may have hurt or the actions you may have committed with a hint of malevolence. For the most part, we have clean slates here, sparkling white with the anticipation of what we have to offer the community. To be honest, I am a bit overwhelmed by what is expected of us. Can I live up to what the community expects? Can we successfully inspire members of the community? Can we make Jewish life as appealing here as it is to us back in the States? These are tall orders.
Sunday night, we attended Kol Nidrei at the Choral Synagogue, again marveling at the beauty of the space and enjoying the somewhat familiar tunes of the choir, despite the shortages of machzorim. There, we met a handful of Americans, some passing through and others who live here, which we always enjoy.
Yesterday, we spent all day at Shaarei Shalom, where there is more of an expat community. During the afternoon lull between services, the rabbi asked us to forgo our annual Yom Kippur nap and instead lead an English-language discussion. Together, we put together a discussion based on excerpts from two Franz Kafka texts: The Trial and Letter to his Father. The discussion among the eight of us was lively; the two texts seemed to balance one another and give us insight into Kafka’s own Jewish experience. The text of The Trial is rather enigmatic, posing more questions than it answers. It concerns a man from the countryside who attempts to access the law through a doorway, but it is stopped by a gatekeeper when he asks for permission to enter. According to the rabbi, the problem with the man in the story is that he asks permission to enter. Had he simply walked through the doorway, he would have come closer to the law, his ultimate goal. But in the simple act of asking, he questions his own ability to advance his goals. It’s clear that we are our own gatekeepers sometimes, holding ourselves back. I try to keep this in mind as we face one obstacle after another here in St. Petersburg.
What kinds of obstacles, you ask? On Sunday, for instance, just before Yom Kippur started, we went to an opening session of EVA’s Sunday school. EVA (pronounced “yeva”), is a community-based organization that has been around since before the JDC was asked to return to the FSU. They specialize in training young people in Jewish culture (choir, dance and art), as well as providing for welfare services to over 8,000 elderly through day centers, in-home care, food packages and soup kitchens. They have asked us to teach English and Jewish tradition to six consecutive groups every Sunday, from 10:30am until 3:45pm. Matt and I quickly realized that we’d need to divide and conquer, so I’ll be teaching the younger groups in the morning and Matt will take the older groups in the afternoon. I have 5-8 year olds and 9-12 year olds, many of whom don’t speak a word of English. Not only am I supposed to teach them English, I’m also supposed share Jewish tradition with them. And for some of them, the 45 minutes we spend together each week is the only Jewish influence they get. While this is a bit daunting, I remind myself of the Kafka story and hope that I can power through my own anxieties and triumph in the end.
Fortunately, our sense of community here is starting to take hold. Obstacles are always easier to tackle when you have a strong support network nearby, something I’ve felt lost without these past few weeks. At Shaarei Shalom, we met two young American women who are living here temporarily. In a small world story, I heard about one of them from a mutual friend in DC over July 4th weekend and I remembered with crystal clarity. Needless to say, I am thrilled to have contemporaries who are experiencing similar trials and tribulations. We also spent some time with a US consular official and his young family whose paths we crossed back in DC. (Small world indeed.)
While the tunes we sang yesterday were not the clap-your-hands, Jeremy-Kadden-inspired tunes that we’ve grown accustomed to at the DC Minyan, the tunes were nonetheless touching and beautiful, especially the melody we used to draw the yom tov to a close over havdalah. At the end of the fast, we organized a small group of Anglos for break-the-fast next door at the Sbarro’s restaurant. It’s not quite like home—no bagels or kugel—but it did the trick just fine. It filled our bellies with pizza and our hearts with the warmth of being connected to others.
posted by Alyson Fieldman at 2:32 PM
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