{"id":12829,"date":"2009-08-12T18:58:33","date_gmt":"2009-08-12T18:58:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/production.ou.org\/life\/other\/debra_darvick_russian_roots\/"},"modified":"2015-11-01T07:50:13","modified_gmt":"2015-11-01T12:50:13","slug":"debra_darvick_russian_roots","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/debra_darvick_russian_roots\/","title":{"rendered":"Russian Roots"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"image\"<\/div>\n

I grew up with vastly conflicting images of Russia. It was the place my maternal grandfather fled to avoid conscription into the Czar\u2019s army. A czar whom my paternal great-grandparents mourned because, my grandfather once told me, \u201cthey looked to him as a father.\u201d<\/p>\n

Russia was a place of poverty and hunger. \u201cLes gayn mein pulke!\u201d was one of those childhood phrases repeated by my mother and her sisters like the punchline to a joke they knew and I didn\u2019t. I assumed it was what kids shouted to each other in the Old Country when they played tag. The real story I learned in adulthood. \u201cLet go of my thigh!\u201d my grandfather hissed when someone tried to grab the chicken leg he was eating.<\/p>\n

Russia was also a place of great delicacy. My paternal grandfather\u2019s only memory of his mother was that she owned a \u201cgreat silver samovar\u201d and drank her tea through a sugar cube held between her front teeth.<\/p>\n

Russia was dangerous — Cossacks threatened to kill babies (Great Uncle Izzy) with their bayonets. And Russia was magnificent — the Hermitage, all that gorgeous (and of course confiscated) art. Russia was romantic — Ingrid Bergman and\u00a0Yul Brynner\u00a0in the movie classic Anastasia. And Russia was tragic \u2013 the true story of the Romanovs.<\/p>\n

When my husband and I visited Russia last summer I wasn\u2019t sure what to expect. I read Land of the Firebird, Suzanne Massie\u2019s cultural history of Russia. I learned the Cyrillic alphabet so I could get us around on the Moscow subway and read the street signs. I studied our itinerary, packed minimal clothes and maximal rolls of travel toilet paper. Just in case. And then off we went to this faraway foreign land.<\/p>\n

Only it wasn\u2019t so foreign. Day after day I was struck by how familiar this faraway country felt. Riding the subway, walking through Red Square, buying pickles in a market, I saw face after face that reminded me of friends and relatives back home. The woman making blinis had the long sloped nose of a writer buddy of mine. The nurse who cared for dying soldiers in the Great Patriotic War (WWII to us) looked exactly like my husband\u2019s Aunt Gerry, right down to her smile.<\/p>\n

I saw people who could have shared ancestors with several of my friends and glimpsed other someones who shared my grandfather\u2019s full mouth, my daughter\u2019s dark eyes.<\/p>\n

The touchpoints went well beyond physical features of strangers. Part of our tour included a home visit with an elderly Russian woman. She was delightful, eager to\u00a0learn about us and just as eager to answer our questions about her life. It was eerie to walk into her tiny apartment and feel completely at home. We recognized the tablecloth and her housecoat. The tchotchkes arranged in her breakfront had their counterparts in an apartment in Brooklyn, that of my husband\u2019s elderly Polish cousins. I don’t remember the\u00a0Russian words for the foods she served us but growing up we called them kichel, kreplach and thumbprint cookies. I hadn\u2019t thought I was going on a \u201croots\u201d kind of trip but everywhere I turned I stumbled across branches of a family tree I had never considered mine to claim.<\/p>\n

One day on the boat the crew taught us a Russian dance and lullaby. The steps came so easily to me. Why shouldn\u2019t they? I had danced similar patterns at summer camp. Only we called it Israeli dancing. Violetta, one of our program directors, taught us the \u201clullaby every Russian mother sings to her child.\u201d Looli looli looooo li she began. Looli looli loooo li we repeated. Inside my head it was my mother\u2019s voice singing to me, Ah loo loo loo-loo baybeee. A loo-loo loo-loo baybee. The cadences were identical, the final\u00a0notes of each mother’s rendition ended on the same note. I was on a boat on the Volga in 2008 and could have just as well been in the one room house with the dirt floor and thatched roof my grandfather left behind when he came to America.<\/p>\n

But the strangest connection occurred one evening at dinner. One of our tablemates wanted more of the delicious dark bread that we had been served; all that was left in the basket was rye. \u201cDark bread,\u201d she said pointing to the basket. \u201cDark bread.\u201d The\u00a0waitress had no idea what she meant. Speaking loudly and slowly does not a translation make.<\/p>\n

\u201cChornea!\u201d I said without even thinking. How many times had my mother sung to me \u201cDark Eyes\u201d the Russian song that begins something like \u201cAh char charnea.\u201d The waitress smiled and moments later returned with a basket full of pumpernickel. Everyone at the table thought I was a genius. I knew better. The Russian part of me I never thought to claim had instead just staked a claim to me.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a9 Debra Darvick 2008. Debra Darvick’s most recent work is This Jewish Life: Stories of Discovery, Connection and Joy. The book may be ordered on amazon.com or by calling the publisher at 800.880.8642. To read personal reflections, musing on the writing life, excerpts from her novel and book reviews, check out Debra’s new blog at debradarvick.wordpress.com<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I grew up with vastly conflicting images of Russia. It was the place my maternal grandfather fled to avoid conscription into the Czar\u2019s army. A czar whom my paternal great-grandparents mourned because, my grandfather once told me, \u201cthey looked to him as a father.\u201d Russia was a place of poverty and hunger. \u201cLes gayn mein<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":144,"featured_media":46467,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_cloudinary_featured_overwrite":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[85,163],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12829","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-inspiration","category-travel"],"yoast_head":"\nRussian Roots - OU Life<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Day after day I was struck by how familiar this faraway country felt. 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