Russian to the Catskills
Jewish immigrants from Russia come to the Catskills. From the Times Herald-Record:
August 21, 2005 A world away, right next door Russians find 'good air, good price' in Sullivan You hear the strong accents of Russia wherever you go this Sullivan County summer. In the still, gray mist of dawn, Russian men fish for pickerel and chatter about their catches. At a bright Sunday-afternoon farmers' market, Russian women bargain for the beets they turn into borscht. Today, more Russians than ever are calling Sullivan home. They're buying cedar-sided houses and building $400,000 lakeside condos. But as they settle here, they face a new challenge one they never imagined back in the U.S.S.R. To understand it, you first have to know about a Russian immigrant named Peter Rey.
The nuclear disaster in Chernobyl? The Jews started it, say the Jew-haters in Russia. The war in Iraq? The Jews started that, too, say the Russian anti-Semites. A Russian submarine sinks? Of course, it had to be the Jews. "No matter what happens, they blame it on the Jews," says Russian-American Jew Peter Rey. Rey is one of the tens of thousands of Russian Jews who grew sick and tired of that racism, sick and tired of seeing books blaming everything on the Jews, sick and tired of hearing his kids yelled at on the playground because they were Jews. All this in a country where the 1,000 rubles that once bought him a nice "datcha," or summer home, came to be worth so little, they could only buy a couple of packs of cigarettes. So, like the 51,000 Russian Jews who immigrated to America in 1979 during President Jimmy Carter's human rights campaign, Rey packed his suitcase to the maximum 40 pounds allowed by the Soviet authorities. He chose the five grams worth of jewelry he was permitted to carry from his country. Then he and his family flew to New York City. But the man who now wears Calvin Klein stars-and-stripes shorts couldn't leave his Russian traditions behind. So he did what so many Russians did in their native land left the steamy summer city for the cool mountains of the country. Rey discovered the leafy paradise that another wave of Russian immigrants had discovered decades before the Sullivan County Catskills. He rents a bungalow for $2,400 for the summer. "Good air, good price," he says. REY HAS PLENTY of company. In front of him, lining a winding, tree-lined street, stand about five Russian bungalow colonies with walls of peeling paint. Across the lake sit two housing developments with some 50 homes owned by Russians. On a hill above them stands a co-op bungalow colony with 52 neat, white buildings, all owned by Russians. On the other side of the lake, a luxury town house development is rising, owned by the son of Russian immigrants. In this world, many Russian adults carry on their old traditions drinking buttermilk in the morning, sipping tea sweetened with strawberry jelly in the afternoon, swimming in big, blue White Lake for its reputed healing powers. Some older men even use the lake's mud to ease aches and pains. But while Russians like Rey now own New York City taxi cabs instead of driving them and their children build $750,000 homes instead of renting two- room bungalows, they must confront a challenge that means so much more than money: stepping into a new future of freedom, while preserving what makes them who they are. "In Russia, we are Jews," says 30-year-old Tanya Burt, who rents a bungalow in the Eilat colony in Kauneonga Lake. "But in America, we are Russians who want to be Americans." THAT IS THE dilemma of this summer world. Older Russian men wake before dawn and cast a line into misty Lake Superior, hoping to land a pickerel. Their grandchildren stay up past dawn and speed over to the same lake to blast boom boxes and throw a party for a friend who's heading to college in Colorado. The grandparents at the Carpatian Homes co-op in White Lake eat borscht and salinka (a meat stew) and speak Russian, while their grandchildren only speak English and crave burgers, fries and baked ziti. "And that's all they'll eat," says 32-year-old Victoria Kogut, who was born in Russia and has streaked blond hair, pink toenails and an SUV with Jersey vanity plates. The adults see entertainers like "famous Russian vocalist" Marina Bukhina in a casino with vinyl tablecloths and chandeliers. Several of them at the co-op did something that would have been impossible in their homeland they built a new synagogue. But their kids, with names like Vlad, Nikita and Alla, call themselves the "Russian posse." They hang out at an ice cream stand and flirt much to the chagrin of older Russians who long for at least a part of their past. "They talk back to adults, they watch TV all day and the girls and boys kiss on the street, or worse," says Klara Kuchment, 73, surrounded by Russian books and videos at the Campbell Inn in Roscoe, where about 80 Russians rent rooms and cottages. ALL OF WHICH is bad enough for these Russians. They may have heard taunts of "Jew, Jew, Jew" at home, but they managed to teach their children about their religion, about their past, about how they must stay together as Russian Jews to survive. Here, in their new land, it is different. "They are not interested in our traditions," Kuchment says as she walks past Russian kids who don't speak Russian and wear tank tops and torn jeans. "They are interested in becoming American."
How important is Shuvu and its like! We wish them well.
August 21, 2005 A world away, right next door Russians find 'good air, good price' in Sullivan You hear the strong accents of Russia wherever you go this Sullivan County summer. In the still, gray mist of dawn, Russian men fish for pickerel and chatter about their catches. At a bright Sunday-afternoon farmers' market, Russian women bargain for the beets they turn into borscht. Today, more Russians than ever are calling Sullivan home. They're buying cedar-sided houses and building $400,000 lakeside condos. But as they settle here, they face a new challenge one they never imagined back in the U.S.S.R. To understand it, you first have to know about a Russian immigrant named Peter Rey.
The nuclear disaster in Chernobyl? The Jews started it, say the Jew-haters in Russia. The war in Iraq? The Jews started that, too, say the Russian anti-Semites. A Russian submarine sinks? Of course, it had to be the Jews. "No matter what happens, they blame it on the Jews," says Russian-American Jew Peter Rey. Rey is one of the tens of thousands of Russian Jews who grew sick and tired of that racism, sick and tired of seeing books blaming everything on the Jews, sick and tired of hearing his kids yelled at on the playground because they were Jews. All this in a country where the 1,000 rubles that once bought him a nice "datcha," or summer home, came to be worth so little, they could only buy a couple of packs of cigarettes. So, like the 51,000 Russian Jews who immigrated to America in 1979 during President Jimmy Carter's human rights campaign, Rey packed his suitcase to the maximum 40 pounds allowed by the Soviet authorities. He chose the five grams worth of jewelry he was permitted to carry from his country. Then he and his family flew to New York City. But the man who now wears Calvin Klein stars-and-stripes shorts couldn't leave his Russian traditions behind. So he did what so many Russians did in their native land left the steamy summer city for the cool mountains of the country. Rey discovered the leafy paradise that another wave of Russian immigrants had discovered decades before the Sullivan County Catskills. He rents a bungalow for $2,400 for the summer. "Good air, good price," he says. REY HAS PLENTY of company. In front of him, lining a winding, tree-lined street, stand about five Russian bungalow colonies with walls of peeling paint. Across the lake sit two housing developments with some 50 homes owned by Russians. On a hill above them stands a co-op bungalow colony with 52 neat, white buildings, all owned by Russians. On the other side of the lake, a luxury town house development is rising, owned by the son of Russian immigrants. In this world, many Russian adults carry on their old traditions drinking buttermilk in the morning, sipping tea sweetened with strawberry jelly in the afternoon, swimming in big, blue White Lake for its reputed healing powers. Some older men even use the lake's mud to ease aches and pains. But while Russians like Rey now own New York City taxi cabs instead of driving them and their children build $750,000 homes instead of renting two- room bungalows, they must confront a challenge that means so much more than money: stepping into a new future of freedom, while preserving what makes them who they are. "In Russia, we are Jews," says 30-year-old Tanya Burt, who rents a bungalow in the Eilat colony in Kauneonga Lake. "But in America, we are Russians who want to be Americans." THAT IS THE dilemma of this summer world. Older Russian men wake before dawn and cast a line into misty Lake Superior, hoping to land a pickerel. Their grandchildren stay up past dawn and speed over to the same lake to blast boom boxes and throw a party for a friend who's heading to college in Colorado. The grandparents at the Carpatian Homes co-op in White Lake eat borscht and salinka (a meat stew) and speak Russian, while their grandchildren only speak English and crave burgers, fries and baked ziti. "And that's all they'll eat," says 32-year-old Victoria Kogut, who was born in Russia and has streaked blond hair, pink toenails and an SUV with Jersey vanity plates. The adults see entertainers like "famous Russian vocalist" Marina Bukhina in a casino with vinyl tablecloths and chandeliers. Several of them at the co-op did something that would have been impossible in their homeland they built a new synagogue. But their kids, with names like Vlad, Nikita and Alla, call themselves the "Russian posse." They hang out at an ice cream stand and flirt much to the chagrin of older Russians who long for at least a part of their past. "They talk back to adults, they watch TV all day and the girls and boys kiss on the street, or worse," says Klara Kuchment, 73, surrounded by Russian books and videos at the Campbell Inn in Roscoe, where about 80 Russians rent rooms and cottages. ALL OF WHICH is bad enough for these Russians. They may have heard taunts of "Jew, Jew, Jew" at home, but they managed to teach their children about their religion, about their past, about how they must stay together as Russian Jews to survive. Here, in their new land, it is different. "They are not interested in our traditions," Kuchment says as she walks past Russian kids who don't speak Russian and wear tank tops and torn jeans. "They are interested in becoming American."
How important is Shuvu and its like! We wish them well.
posted by Yeshiva Orthodoxy
at 7:21 PM
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