"Chiste Yevrey" - A Pure Jew

The first time I heard it, I didn't understand it. The second time I heard it, and I thought about its literal meaning, I found it totally repulsive. And as the phrase continued to pop up in conversation--"Chiste Yevrey," a clean or pure Jew, something Russians say about themselves when they have purely Jewish roots--I struggled to understand what the heck the phrase really means. Why is this country so obsessed with the roots of its people? Why would anyone (other than a white supremacist) boast about their "pure" heritage? And what does this mean for people who aren't "chisti yevri" - are they somehow dirty?

Part of the answer might come from this anecdote, which our friend Veronica told us over Shabbat dinner at our apartment a couple weeks ago:

Veronica was in 3rd grade, and the teacher was talking about ethnic groups in Russia. He was going down the list of students, and pointing out what their last name said about their ethnic identity: "Andrei Pluschenko - that's Ukrainian. Vladimir Vukovich - that's a Russian last name." Belorussians, Poles, etc. - they were all present in the class. "Timor Jugashvili - that's a Georgian name." Finally, the teacher came to Veronica Zalmonovich, with her unmistakably Jewish last name. The teacher hesitated, knowing that pointing out Veronica's Jewish roots would mean social isolation and ostracism for the young girl. He continued, "Veronica - now that is clearly a French name!" So, for the rest of grade school, Veronica was French!

Veronica accompanied me on a Malachei Shabbat ("Angels of Shabbat") visit recently, bringing joy and warmth to Henrietta Popova. That's Alyson's challah on the lower left.

Another anecdote I heard recently came from Lubov Iosifovna Lebedeva, an 81-year-old Chesed client. I visited her in her apartment through the Malachei Shabbat program, with another young Russian Jewish woman named Liza. Lubov told us:

It was 1941. The Siege of Leningrad had just begun and, as a typical, able-bodied 15-year-old, Lubov was ordered to report for work in a factory that manufactured guns. Upon arriving at the factory, she was asked for her Komsomol card, proving that she was a member of the Communist Party's Youth Movement. She explained that she wasn't allowed to be a member of the Communist Party, because she was Jewish (even though she had no Jewish education or knowledge whatsoever). She was told she couldn't work in the factory because she wasn't a member of the Komsomol, and was dejectedly sent home.

Sharing a laugh with Lubov in her tiny one-bedroom apartment.

Being a devoted citizen of Leningrad, she returned the next day to beg the plant's director for a job. After much convincing, he allowed her to work in the factory, even though she was Jewish. However, he couldn't put her on the "payroll" -- meaning that she would work as a volunteer and receive no credit for the 10-hour shifts she worked 6 days per week. Because she was not considered a worker by the Soviet regime, she was not entitled to a worker's extra rations. Despite selflessly contributing three full years of her life to the Soviet effort to defeat the Nazis, over the course of the 900-day Siege, she nearly starved to death on several occasions. Of course, as soon as the Siege ended, her Jewish roots were publicized and she was expelled from the factory.

As I've come to realize from stories like these--and many more that I've heard over the past 9 months--being a "chiste yevrey" is a badge of honor. These people have not only Jewish relatives, they have been branded with Jewish names, making them the subject of ridicule, threats, and discrimination. Though they have little or no Jewish education, they are proud of who they are and will never return to second-class citizens. They live in the constant shadow of anti-Semitism; if they were not overtly persecuted like Lubov's generation was, then Veronica and her peers fear social rejection by their non-Jewish peers. But they remain undaunted--what was once a curse has become a point of pride and, while I still cringe every time I hear the phrase "chiste yevrey," I have finally begun to understand what it means to the Russian Jewish community around me.