blogs/rabbi-joshua-hoffman

"There is nothing in me that shall ever forget" The great Russian poet, Yevtushenko, penned these words in his moving treatment of the massacres at Babi Yar in September 1941.  The poem was recited during our memorial ceremony at the Babi Yar site. These words framed the days' experiences and have become a call to action as our group prepares to leave for Israel in the morning.

I have to share one more snapshot of the emergent Jewish life in Ukraine. Lila was our translator on our home visits yesterday.  She is an energetic, driven young Ukrainian Jewish woman.  At 23, she has already completed her Masters degree in media communications, finished a short stint in the news and entertainment world, and is now working as a translator and youth programmer for the JDC.  Lila works with teens and young adults to develop the concept of philanthropy by helping them raise money and allocate it according to individual need.  She helped her group of teens collect $5000 for a hearing device for an elderly member of the community.   She represents the first sparks of Jewish life in this community bursting forth from the clouds of Soviet communism and its subsequent downfall.  She knows nothing of that past, her parents provided a Jewish life for her where Judaism and Jewish life was a gift and she has come to realize in her own maturity that she can share that gift with others.  As valuable was the opportunity for us to share our experiences in the homes yesterday with her capable and talented translations, I shared with her a bit of America by giving her one of my Starbucks Via instant coffee! There are still some things that can surprise our friends in remote places in the world, even though she will probably go and order a box for herself on her iPhone! 

We begin our morning at the Choral Synagogue, one of the two historic Jewish sites in Kiev. (the other is the Brodsky Synagogue, where we didn't formally visit, but ate in the fancy King David kosher restaurant attached to the building.   Built in 1895, the Choral synagogue has the impressive main sanctuary space, with the pulpit in the middle of the room, gilden and ornate ark in the front.  We are welcomed by the rabbi of the synagogue and de facto chief rabbi of the community, Rabbi Yaakov Dov Bleich.  Trained in the Orthodox and Hasidic Karlin-Stoliner tradition, his thick Brooklyn accent was fully expressed as he proudly recounted his 20 years of dedicated effort to build a vibrant Jewish community in Kiev.  Indeed, he has single-handedly built a sustainable organization, including a Matzah factory.  He humorously noted, "Someone is a Jew if she or he eats matzah," when asked how he identified his superficial pluralism effectively draws Jews close to him, and the facility he has built is by far the most sophisticated in the city.  In addition to his matzah Judaism, he made an interesting statement.  He noted, "Reform Judaism may be authentic, but if no one is out there pushing the message, then there is no way to grow the idea."  While not explicit, we feel a tension among religious denominations, often tied to internal recognition by the state - there isn't a separation between church and state here and limited funding resources become a source of contention and political maneuvering.  It was hard to sustain any focus on this difficult dynamic when our journey today would lead us through the valley of Babi Yar.

One of our colleagues, Rabbi Tina Grimberg shared a very moving story of her childhood on our way from the synagogue to Babi Yar.  We were able to stop in the neighborhood where her parents met.  She shared her story of her grandparents and the people who died at Babi Yar. Among her very touching and personal reflections she challenged us to consider something profound.  Of all the fears that come with an experience like the massacres of 1941, the existential crisis of thinking the Jewish future ends with you, the individual simply touches to the core.  We survive because we believe the future is better than the present, that tomorrow is better than today.  Being forced to consider anything to the contrary captures the horror of that time in history, and for us, we are profoundly grateful that we are living testaments that the Jewish future is indeed secure.

Babi Yar -translates to mean  "Old Lady Valley"  Babi - is like a Bubbie. How tragic something that represents love and security and comfort has taken on the meaning of tragedy and death.  In September 1941 the Nazis invaded the region.  Within days, the Nazis posted notes demanding that the Jews meet at a busy street corner.  From there they were marched a couple of miles of of the city (now a part of the sprawling urban center that is modern day Kiev).  The Nazi plan was shrouded in secrecy, the Jews were not the first groups to be lead into this hell pit.  Disabled people, then the gypsies, then the Jews, then Russian soldiers, then more Jews...one gigantic mass grave.

We participated in a brief memorial ceremony, including the reading of personal testimonials, poetry, and memorial prayers.  Each of us was invited to light a candle and lay a red carnation upon the snow blanketed ground in the steep valley below.  The group broke out into spontaneous song, Am Yisrael Chai, Oseh Shalom, culminating in Psalm 23 in the Carlbach melody.  Our hearts were pouring out through song and truly brought a little healing to this site - our presence a testimony that the gross inhumanity of the Nazi regime can be healed with open hearts and full humanity.  For me, I was not overcome with emotion as I was in Hungary last year.  I remain resolved to live Yevtushenko's words, "There is nothing in me that shall ever forget."  Every fiber of my being, every bone and every thought is always connected to this deep truth - We have the responsibility to sing for those whose voices were silenced.