Our Mother

Here is a photo of our Mother taken when she was around 9 or 10 years old. It was a gift from our cousin Tonya from Belarus. We had never seen this photo before. It was taken by our Grandfather. The doll she posed with was her favorite. She called it "Kukla".

Churches

Volodymyr the Great instated Orthodox Christianity as the state religion of the Keivan Rus in 988 AD. After generations of Soviet persecution, the Orthodox church is once again flourishing in Ukraine.

Currently, three major Ukrainian Orthodox Churches coexist, and often compete in the country: the  Ukrainian Orthodox Church- Kiev Patriarchate, the  Ukrainian Orthodox Church-Moscow Patriarchate and the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church.
                                                                    

Western Christian traditions such as Roman Catholicism and Protestantism have had a very limited presence in Ukraine since at least the 16th century. Worshipers of these traditions remain a relatively small minority in today's Ukraine, despite the efforts of Western Missionaries. Today you can see stunningly beautiful examples of these churches throughout the country. One afternoon Dima and I went for a long walk through the forest. Along the way I cut through the woods to a vast field of watermelons and came across this breathtaking recreation of a medieval Orthodox Church, constructed entirely of wood. As we approached, the rich smell of the fresh cut timber filled the air. It was a truly awe-inspiring sight.

Shashlik!

Early one sleepy hot afternoon we sat around the table in Lucy's apartment in Kramatorsk eating арбуз (Kusna! Kusna!) and waiting for Irina and Dima who had gone to the grocery store for supplies. These supplies included a dozen plastic 2-liter bottles of Russian beer (Piva), meat, onions, charcoal, tomatoes, chips, bread, and 5 liters of vodka and klukva. These provisions were for an experience we won't forget if we live another century, a real Ukrainian barbecue known as "Shashlik". Here is how this long afternoon went.......The car you see below is a Lada. The Lada (which shares it's name with a type of Russian cheese) is the definitive Russian automobile, and has been the standard Soviet export since 1970. Ladas can be found throughout  Russia and other eastern European countries and are a symbol of city life from Prague to Havana. This Lada's proud owner is our cousin Dima.

Once all the provisions were loaded into the Lada, all that was left was to get all 6 of us in there with them. The Lada comfortably seats 4, so this would prove to be an adventure in itself.

How do you get 6 adults into a 4 seat Lada? It goes something like this....Dima drives, his Mom Irina sits in the front passenger seat, the 3 Americans sit in back, and the babushka lies down across their laps horizontally. I swear to Trotsky I'm not making this up. Seatbelts are not a Ukrainian custom. Lucy thought it was big fun and laughed all the way out of town, till she finally fell asleep, her head on my lap, her hips on Liz's lap and Zach holding her feet. The drive to the forest lasted about 2 hours, Here is a sample of some of the scenery we saw along the way.

After scouting the countryside for the perfect forest, Dima finally pulled off the road for the drive to the right spot for our Shashlik. He had us get out of the car and left us to wander around while he drove off into the woods till we could no longer see the Lada. While we waited, unsure of where he went or when he would be back, we walked around taking in our surroundings in the dry heat of the Ukrainian pine forest. Here we are waiting. And waiting and waiting.

Here is an old picture tube we found in the grass in this pretty little meadow. Unfortunately litter like this was very common.

Lucy and Irina started to lose their patience with Dima and began calling his name. We joined in and the silence of the forest was shattered by the 5 of us crying out "Dima"! "Dima!" DIMAAAAAA!!!!!. As his name echoed from the tall pines, we could hear the Lada approaching. With the return of our boy scout, we all piled back in for the drive to the spot. I didn't see the written rulebook for Shashlik, but apparently it must be done as far back into the woods as you can get a vehicle, and Dima was not one to break the rules.

About a mile and a half later we arrived at the perfect location for Shashlik. Dima got the grill ready while Liz and Lucy spread out the blankets.

                                                         Here is Irina skewering the meat

              The Piva was wrapped in plastic to keep it cool. Ice is also not a Ukrainian custom.

                                                      Pretty soon the Shashlik was on!

                                             You can't have Shashlik without vodka!

                                                             Dima pours another one

Here I am with Cousin Lucy hoisting a lukewarm Piva

 After all was said and done, this was indeed a great afternoon.

The shots of Klukva were sweet

Our afternoon in the forest came to an end with sundown. I will say this...Not only is the Ukrainian forest quiet, at night it's darkest place I have ever been. After making jokes about bears and wild boars, Dima broke down the grill, we packed up our gear, piled back into the Lada and drove back to the road for the long dark ride back to Kramatorsk. As Lucy sang along with Depeche Mode on Dima's car stereo " Perrrsonall Jeeeesus!", I wondered what tomorrow would bring.
                                                         

Reds

When we were growing up during the Cold War years, we were taught to fear the Soviet Union. It was pretty much a standard belief that that part of the world was a scary and forbidding place to be. A cold and grey place where unlike America, people were not "free", and lived bleak and fearful lives in the shadow of the enormous and powerful Communist government. As a child I was told that it was far better to be dead than red, and in my child's mind the people who occupied that world were either evil or very very unfortunate to have been placed there by fate. Strange by their very nature, and speaking an alien language with a weird backward alphabet in an alien culture, these poor people whom we were told waited in long lines in the bitter cold for a mere crust of bread, or a pickle, or some porridge, must have been cursed by a very powerful force to be where they were. These hapless souls, we were led to believe, worshipped not God, but a symbol called the "Hammer and Sickle".

Like the dreaded Swastika, or the Pentagram, the Hammer and Sickle was an avatar of a special kind of evil. In a place and time where all information was strictly controlled and disseminated in the form of communist propaganda, I can only imagine that these folks over here had a similarly misinformed  impression of us and our world too. Since Ukraine was an integral and important part of the Soviet Union, these symbols exist wherever you look today.

The Soviets, much like the Egyptian pharaohs, left behind them grandiose monuments to the power of their state. Even after many of the Lenin statues have been torn down, the number of solemn oversized monuments in Ukraine is impressive. They are especially noticeable in small towns here in the east where nothing seems to be happening. These imposing cement and metal monuments were and still are a constant reminder of the grandeur of the Soviet empire and the littleness of its citizens.

Although some things about the Soviet Union were oppressive and unpleasant to think about, at the same time the Soviet Union was a land of opportunity for many. It was a great place to be a scientist, for example. It was possible to travel all over the USSR (half of Asia and Europe!) for free to attend conferences, seminars, and participate in research and expeditions. Travel was inexpensive and very many ordinary people crisscrossed Eurasia on ordinary business and travel. Today's taxi driver in Sevastopol used to drive trucks through the Siberian tundra in the wintertime. Today's housewife in Kyiv grew up on Sakhalin Island next to Japan. The fine arts were well-developed and well-funded. Living in the Soviet Union gave you the chance to be a part of something big. As a well-known Soviet-era song goes:

My address is not a house nor a street,
My address is "the Soviet Union"

Family house

In our mother's book, "Secret Holocaust Diaries", she wrote fondly of the family house in Konstantinovka. Just minutes from the train station, this house has been in our family for about 100 years. It was first the home of our great grandfather Yakov and great grandmother Fiodosia. Here is a picture of Liz, Zach and myself with (from right to left) Mom's first cousins Lucy and Lydia, Lydia's granddaughter Yulia, and our second cousin Tonya from Minsk, Belarus.

Being here was a moving emotional experience. When we were kids, Mom told us stories of her happy childhood spent at this old house. It seemed smaller than the house she told us about, but as a child it must have seemed enormous to her. And here we were all these years later and half a world away, walking in her footsteps.

The yard was exactly as she described it, with the big cherry trees from which her grandmother picked the fruit used to make her home-made wine.

It's a Ukrainian custom to remove your shoes before entering someones's home.

Here is the kitchen.

And the livingroom where my grandparents would gather with friends and family

This house also saw much sorrow. If you read Mom's book, you recall that her father and our grandfather Yvgeny, hid from the Germans in the cellar behind the house. He was discovered by some soldiers looking for food, and was severely beaten. He died soon afterward from the wounds he suffered at the hands of these young Germans. Here is a photo of me at the entrance to that cellar. It was hard to be there.

This is the bedroom of our Grandparents Yvgeny and Anna. Through the door you can see Mother's bedroom

 Mother passed through this very door every day

Our apartment

We have arrived at our apartment. Our generous hosts made sure we had premium accommodations. Only 3 flights of stairs, then a huge and heavy steel door activated by a skeleton key turned 4 times to release 4 deadbolts. Then the heavy steel re-enforced wooden door to be opened with another key turned twice, with two more deadbolts inside once you were locked in tight. I wondered if the stories of kidnapping I read about were true, and was thankful to be in such an impenetrable abode. We lived in Pod 8 apartment 630 in a sturdy old Soviet building on this little street.

By Ukrainian standards we were living large. Our apartment was spacious and clean with hot water, air conditioning (a BIG luxury in Ukraine), a piano, and a very nice kitchen. Here are some pictures of our home in Kramatorsk.

Mishka, the hairless cat

Irina has a fascination with all things Egyptian. Apparently, she has a good friend who has traveled there and returned home with stories and gifts. An interesting observation about Irina was that she loved to read the same books over and over, and she would bring them out either before or after dinner, and while sitting in her favorite chair, entertain herself. One of these was a book about Egypt, the sort of book that might have been part of one of those "Time-Life" series that one could buy through a late-night infomercial (maybe still can, I don't do television these days).

Meet Mishka, Irina's hairless Egyptian cat. If you don't know me well, I will first share that I love cats, everything about them. The Ukrainian people seem to be very protective of and caring about their pets, although it is strictly taboo to touch any stray that crosses one's path. I was informed that this mostly has to do with concern of illness, and I can imagine that veterinary care for animals is very limited. Mishka was the first hairless cat that I had ever met, and she was my saving grace during some of the times when we were confined to Lucy's apartment for one reason or another, someone I could interact with without the language barrier. Mishka was extremely vocal and strangely affectionate. Holding her was like holding a heating pad; her skin was that warm. You might have guessed by now that I fell in love with Mishka. Irina recognized that and offered to help me find my own "Mishka" to take home with me. Sadly, the laws governing bringing animals into the States prohibited even considering that, but it was such a sweet gesture on her part. Mishka, if you can hear me, I look forward to seeing you again next year.