They came rushing in. Escaping the ghost of Gorbachev’s glasnost, those of Jewish decent simply couldn’t wait for perestroika and post soviet society to right itself. They made the decision to take the open door of immigration.
It was 1990. More than one million Russian speaking Jews hurried towards Israel. The struggle of the Soviet Jewry was real. Jews (and Christians) shared persecution from the U.S.S.R.’s Communists.
The Russians who came here had good but secular educations. They were beautifully proficient in the arts too. But they are said to have, “possessed the least amount of Jewish knowledge than any other Israeli immigration wave.”
We once lived in Moscow. When our Benjamin was six and Daniel was four. It was not a good experience for us. After less than one year of calling Leninsky Prospekt home, we fled in the dead of night and at threat of violence. Our year amongst the Russians resulted in failure. That season felt wasted.
Fast-forward thirty years and we find ourselves in Israel. And what language fills our ears? You guessed it, Russian. We are with the same group - yet again. Our love for them bubbled to the surface quite easily. They are a most marvelously passionate people. And fun!
Last night at a small Gadera gathering, we tasted the familiar. It was the sweetness of Russian fellowship. Imagining that our tears and hard work and perceived failure, of those many years ago, had blossomed and fruited. What a bountiful experience.
Life is good.
A big thank you to Martin Clark who joined us 10 busy days of this
Music Is Medicine tour.
You know who your friends are on gigs like this!
Share this post