Have you ever read any books that perfectly articulate how you see the world?  Books that you can show to your friends when you don’t feel like explaining your life view and say, “Here, read this, and you will understand me?”  Shush, A Memoir-Growing up Jewish under Stalin by Emil Draitser, is such a book for me.

There are a couple of books that really explain what being Russian/Jewish is all about:  From Lenin to Lennon, Sashenka, and  The Russian Debutante’s Handbook, which is written by one of the writers that I deeply look up to and plagiarize try to imitate in writing style, Gary Shteyngart.

They all have slightly different takes on growing up Jewish in the Soviet Union.  This one is the closest to what my grandpa has so far told me of life back then. It also explains several questions people often have about Russian Jews:  Why are we not religious?  Why don’t we have Russian names?  How were we mercilessly targeted by the Soviet authorities?  And how are Russian Jews different from Russians?

This book explores all of those themes, particularly the dichotomy of “us” and “them.”  The overarching theme of this book is how Emil (nee Samuil) Draitser grew up imbued with Soviet propaganda and a constant fear of  anti-Semitism that distanced him from his Jewish relatives.  He only discovered the positive aspects of being Jewish after he immigrated to America when he was 37.  He first noticed and started exploring this topic when an academic friend of his mentioned that he spoke at a lower volume whenever he said the word “Jew.”

This piece of information is hardly surprising to anyone growing up in the Soviet Union and even Russia today.  As a Jew, you were constantly put on alert and denigrated in ways that are hard to imagine living in America.  “The Jewish problem” was mulled over both by Soviet officials and the common drunkard at bars.

As Draitser writes, it was so bad that he was constantly looking over his shoulder and disassociated with any Jews in his family, changing his name from Samuil to Emil to seem more Russian.  This was a common phenomenon.  In this same way, my grandfather Zalman became Evgeniy and my grandmother Sarra became Soniya.  Their last name of Gorivodsky was still suspect, but not as bad as, say, Rabinovich, who is the archetypal but of all Russian jokes against Jews.

It’s so bad that even I, brought up mostly in America, still have a stigma about saying the word Jewish to non-Jewish Russians.  For example, if I’m meeting someone Russian I don’t know, I’ll never bring up that I’m Jewish unless it’s mentioned.  I’m not embarrassed to be Jewish in America, but with Russians, it always seems different.  Like I’m afraid they’re going to pogrom me in five minutes. Or offer me a deal on an illegal Chinese cell phone at the very least.

There is always the mentality among Russian Jews that anyone seen doing anything distinctly Jewish is a sucker. Obviously this has faded with life in America, but I was surprised while reading this book at how many of these feelings are still active in me and how they have been developed over several generations.

Even if you’re not a Russian-born Jew raised on dranniki (latkes), pogroms, and Mikhoels, I think you’ll enjoy this book to get a perspective at a unique time in history (Odessa during Stalinism) and someone who maps out very well how he finally reconciles his identity. Draitser really strives and succeeds in recreating the Odessa of his childhood for you and along the way traces the steps of how he is slowly indoctrinated into a Soviet viewpoint, and how he slowly , with help from his family, regains his Jewish heritage. [Insert pithy post-WWII Yiddish phrase here to end the review.]

Frustrated by the sense of isolation from the Jewish community in Washington DC and also because I was jealous of the Tel Aviv Beer-Up, I decided to see if there was interest in having a Jewish tweetup around here.  @Awapy felt exactly the same, and, being in marketing, went to work. Whereas I had the vision, she created a bunch of press releases and tirelessly reached out to Jewish organizations.  She was the Weizmann to my Herzl.

@Awapy decided to put the hashtag on her back…in case anyone got lost.

Hooray, it’s some ladies from @the RAC, one of whom is @KatyComeTrue.

And @aimster215.  She regaled us with her tales of Tokyo.

Oh my.  It’s Mr. B and @Awapy.  Mr. B is not on Twitter.  Yet.   We’ll grind him down.  Eventually.

And then @HeebinDc and his friend, Kel-Kel came by.   She’s not on Twitter, either.  Yet.

@Awapy and @16thstreetj.  He had free swag, so we liked him right away.

And then @JulieMinevich showed up.  She is a social media goddess.  I tried to ger her to tell me her trade secrets, but then got distracted.  With a rum and Coke.

And then, all of a sudden, @BuberZionist showed up.  He’s a pretty nice guy. We didn’t talk a lot about politics, surprisingly.  Also, by this time, I was well into my first drink.

@Awapy seems to be in a lot of these pictures.  Hmmm.  But here’s @jfoodgeek, the craziest Arjewtinian I’ve met (also the only one) and @RobinYasinow, who has her own business.  I asked her a ton of questions about it.  I hope I didn’t scare her.

Yay.  It’s @chavalahh, who has a sweet editorial gig.  And a lady whose name I completely forget (Susan,I think) who is not on Twitter, but everyone told her she should be.

And then there’s @peelapom.  She incorporates elements of paganism and Wiccan tradition into Judaism.  She is cool.

We look like we’re having a pretty ok time.

Oh yeah, then there was that.  It says We Love Jewlicious.  But not because we’re suckups or anything.

Happy Mother’s Day! Don’t forget to wish your mom, mam,mother, imma, or mamka a good day for making the time to introduce you to the world  in an extremely unpleasant manner for her. Below, the author with her imma and grandma, and Mr. B, with his mom.

World War II is kind of a Big Deal for Russians. As much as the Americans helped, we like to say that “Russia threw bodies at Hitler,” and that’s how we won.  By just burying him in bodies.   Also, we probably started making German soldiers drink moonshine vodka (that would be vodka made out of cleaning alcohols.)  That would be the other point of victory.

We celebrate it on May 9, which is Victory Day and a HUGE deal in Russia.   The way we remember it best is with the lentochka Svetova Georgiya (St. George ribbon), which commemorates the enormous sacrifices that ordinary Russians made to win against the Nazis.

Within my own family, these stories aren’t too hard to find.  Many, many Russians on my dad’s side were conscripted to serve.  Many never came back.  One did.  My great-aunt Masha (Maria.)  When I last saw her, she was about 85 years old.  She still walks and she walks with a chest full of medals given to her by the Soviet government for bravery.  She served on the front, in the Baltic countries, as a radio transmitter, and as a woman.  I can’t say how proud this makes me of my family.

While my Russian side of the family was serving, my Russian Jewish side of the family, my mom’s side was busy serving AND escaping the Nazi tidal wave.  My grandpa’s father and two brothers went to serve.  Two were killed and one came back severely injured, leaving my great-grandma with my grandpa and his sisters.  They began the long evacuation from Belarussia, to Uzbekistan because living in the Asian republics was safter.  Those who didn’t were murdered by Nazis that had advanced.

Life was tough in Uzbekistan, too.  My grandpa told me a story that I will never forget.  I was about eight years old, and he was putting me to bed because my parents were out for some reason.  “Tell me a story,” I begged him.

“There was a little boy who lived in Uzbekistan.  He evacuated there with his mother, and times were hard.  There wasn’t a lot of food; sometimes, they got some from working, some from potatoes, other times from scavaging.  One night when he was awake from hunger, he heard a noise by the side of his mattress on the floor.  He realized that it was a mouse, who was just as hungry as he was.  So he started saving his food and feeding it to the mouse so the mouse could feel better.”

“Stop,” I begged my grandpa, crying.  I couldn’t handle the story anymore.

“It’s just a story!  It’s fine,” he said.

But I couldn’t calm down and spent the rest of the night crying, picturing the little boy giving the mouse food.

I never realized whether this was a true story or not.  Maybe not.  My grandpa likes to make stuff up a lot, one of my favorite traits about him.  But today, I realize that the story could have come out of something that he faced when he was in evacuation.

So, while I don’t always wear the lentochka, I always remember.

All of my life, I was taught NEVER to buy retail pricing.  Not so much taught not to buy, as we just never did it.  We just went right back to the sales racks.  Pants for $48?  That’s ridiculous, when last season’s pants were $20.  In fact, up until I was 18, I don’t think I bought a single piece of clothing over $40.

Even now, it is unnatural for me to buy something full-price.  Which is why I knew I had to have this sweater from Old Navy:

But in blue.  It was exactly my style.  But it was $25.  I agonized over this decision for two weeks.  I even left a comment on the blog where I found this sweater.    I went to the store, I thought about it.  I thought about how much utility I would get out of this sweater.  Then, I bought it.  I cried the whole way home.  They were tears of Jews past who had not bought retail.

“You’re assimilating,” they cried.

But that sweater was AMAZING.  And I’ve been wearing it once a week for the past oh, 6 weeks, coming out to, so far, $4.17 a week.  It would be one thing if I hadn’t ever worn it.  But I’ve been wearing that sucker.

That’s why I cried today when I saw it on sale at Old Navy for $11.50.

What do you think? Should I have waited, or was it worth buying it?

By the way, I’m currently stalking a $50 trench coat.  Yes, I know I’m crazy.  It’s my lot in life.