This country knows how to kick your butt

Living in Ukraine is not easy. Meredith Dalton puts it well in her book Culture Shock: Ukraine (one of my favorites), “Ukraine is not for the meek.” I do not consider myself to be meek, but rather a strong, capable person. There are days here, however, where my own strength and capabilities are no match for Ukraine. There are days when I feel like this place has blind folded me and made me run backwards up a hill for hours. There are days when I literally do not understand anything that is going on, and no one understands me…this is partially due to a battery of cultural clashes and partially do the fact that I speak broken Russian…Those days usually end with me coming home to find I have no running water at my apartment. Awesome.

There is one thing, however, that cheers me up and restores my faith in myself and my work and in humanity (people here can be downright MEAN sometimes…yesterday a woman literally pushed me from behind and muttered something rude about me cutting her off getting onto the escalator at the metro…something it is impossible not to do given the number of people and lack of space…I stared at her with my jaw dropped until she went on her way). That thing is my Warm Homes. I have written about them before, and described them to some of you in greater detail, but in the simplest terms, visiting a Warm Home means having tea and tasty treats and chatting with sweet old ladies (and the occasional man).

Getting to the Warm Homes is a harrowing experience. After riding to the end of the earth on the metro, I am deposited in the middle of an enormous bustling out-door market. I have to ask several people where the bus stop I need is, once on the bus I ask to be told when my stop is, once at the stop I ask a stranger or 5 to point me in the direction of the address I am looking for. On more than one occasion I have followed a kind stranger through snowy yards while they ask other strangers for directions on my behalf…

An hour or so after leaving my warm, cozy apartment, I arrive. I climb up several flights of crumbling, unlit stairs and ring the bell. I am greeted every time by a lovely babushka who is overjoyed to see me. “Oh Mollechka I am so happy to see you! I told everyone you were coming! They are so excited! Come in, come in, take off your boots, here are some tapochki (slippers).” I oblige (you must always do as the babushky say because they WILL NOT EVER take no for an answer), ask if I can help (they never let me), and sit down at the table that is laid with cups and saucers and piles of cookies and candy and home-baked treats like ruglach and bliny. Heaven. The apartments are old and unrenovated (like mine). You would never know that it is 2007…things look as if they have been untouched since 1970…this is usually actually the case.

The group trickles in and settles around the table, chatting the whole time about Polina’s new hat, or the upcoming trip to the Hesed Day Center, handing each other books, newspaper articles and clean empty glass jars. I usually sit quietly and grin, so tickled by these adorable old women, until they notice me and chirp, “Mollechka! Kotik (kitten)! How nice to see you! How are you doing? Are you keeping warm enough?...” After we have established that I am indeed keeping warm enough, that yes I do miss my family and friends, but I am quite happy here in Kiev, we begin with the “cultural” part of the visit. The past couple of Warm Homes I have gone to I have brought my computer and a DVD about Svetlana Portyanskaya to watch. Svetlana Portyanskaya is a Jewish singer from Russia who now lives in L.A, and has traveled the world singing Jewish and Russian songs. She is really quite good. I have seen the DVD three times…The women have been very pleased with this film, commenting throughout on Svetlana’s strong, soulful voice.

After the film, the tea and cookies portion of the visit really gets underway. In some cases we drink tea while watching the film…The conversation moves easily from the film, to how someone’s grandson is doing, to swapping home remedies for “old people moles” (sometimes we all get to see the moles…), to Yiddish sing-a-longs. At every Warm Home I attend I am told what a wonderful, beautiful girl I am, how much they love this program, how lucky they are to have Hesed to help them. Sometimes they cry a little as they tell me how grateful they are for Hesed’s help…which makes me cry too.

When it is time to leave, despite my protesting, a bag of cookies and candy is forced into my hands (I have taken to giving these bags to beggars I pass on my way home). I always feel re-invigorated enough for the long trek home, and ready to face another day in Ukraine.