Jewfriends

I first met Stephanie in that mecca of American Jewish geography that is the string of American-targeted bars lining downtown Jerusalem. I was sitting with a beer, talking with my sister, Abby, and my friend and fellow PCV, Stephanie Somerman. I noticed at an outdoor table not far away a girl whom I recognized from college, Laura. After a couple of awkward “hey, we weren’t really friends in college but we ran in the same crowds and now we’re in the middle of Jerusalem so maybe we should say something” glances, I walked over to say hi.

It turns out Laura was working for the American Joint Distribution Committee as a Jewish Service Corps Volunteer. The JDC is an organization that supports Jewish communities around the globe, not to mention other worldwide humanitarian efforts. Laura was serving her one year term in Jerusalem, but other volunteers were serving around the world. Including, as it turned out, in Kiev, Ukraine. For sure I’ll put you in touch with them, she said.

Five minutes later, she reappeared, Kiev-based volunteer in tow. Stephanie, meet Jeremy. Jeremy, meet Stephanie.

I was ecstatic. I had also been drinking (it was my vacation!) She told me that she lived in Kiev with her husband, Arieh. She also told me that she had running hot water and that she had yet to poop in a hole. We are living in two different countries, I thought.

I told her I would be in Kiev in about a week, that I landed late on a Thursday night. She insisted I spent the Shabbos, the Jewish Sabbath, with her and Arieh. I gave her my phone number in Ukraine. Lo and behold, she called.

Coming back from Israel was a tough moment for me. As I was sitting on the tarmac, I couldn’t help but think to myself: Damn. Its not that I don’t enjoy my time in Ukraine. Its that in Israel I was one among many. In Ukraine, I am one and one alone.

Its hard to explain the chemistry the three of us had when we sat down in a room together that first time. I think, perhaps, it was a reminder of how much we really missed our homes. Because for the first time in a long time we were around people who were alot like us, someone who was normal and cool and english-speaking but also able to make a reference to a deceased famous Rabbi that the others present found hilarious.

I returned to their place a few weeks later, this time with my friend Avital. I’ve known Avital probably 15 years, but we didn’t have our first conversation (that I remember) until perhaps 7 or 8 months ago. She sent me a facebook message, telling me she had just gotten accepted to the Peace Corps and was headed to Ukraine. I told her that it was the best decision she would ever make. You’d have to call her to check the veracity of the statement.

Avital and I were both a little Jew-starved. Avital lives in a big city with a huge Jewish community, but it just wasn’t the same as back home. I live in a small village, and I am Jewless.
Friday night, we headed to the house of Raphael and Devorah Rutman, a British-American-Chabad couple who live in Kiev. Their apartment is absolutely stunning; I felt as if I had momentarily left Ukraine and stepped into Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The spread was possibly more stunning. The next five hours I was imbued with course after course, stuffed to my hearts content. The Rutman’s and their guests were a bit intrigued by me, by my story. Not a lot of nice Jewish Rabbis sons from New Jersey have ended up in small Ukrainian villages, I suppose. So we talked about toilets and we talked about Torah and we talked about what it means to be a Jew. And as I was talking, I felt at home.

The next day, as the Sabbath was reaching its close, Avital, Stephanie, Arieh and I were just sitting around their kitchen table, relaxing, waiting, talking. We could have been anywhere in the world. We were in Ukraine, of course. But we could have been anywhere.


Stephanie is 22, and Arieh is 24. I haven’t spent time around a lot of married couples my age. Thats probably because most of my friends aren’t married. But if their marriage is any indication of what its like to be young and wed, then just tell me where to sign on. They are so in love, that sometimes the unintentional mushiness has to be broken with an awkward joke. There are moments when they remind me of my parents---her criticism, his ignorance---that are exactly the sort of moments you wish you could freeze frame, to remember why you fell in love in the first place.

Avital and I returned soon afterwards. As I was packing my bag the night before, Stephanie sent me a very important text message: “BRING LAUNDRY.” By this point, we had almost developed a routine. I would arrive at their place and set aside my dirty clothes, which Stephanie and Arieh would at some point lovingly launder. I would then step into the shower and remove the mildew that had been growing for the past few weeks. They didn’t make me feel like I was intruding. They didn’t make me feel like I didn’t belong. Quite the opposite, in fact. Make yourself at home, Mi Casa Es Su Casa, Moya Xata Tboya Xata. Habayit Sheli zeh habayit shelcha.

Avital and I had returned for the Jewish holiday of Purim. The Rutmans’ were having their annual party, which takes place at the Kiev Hyatt, George Dubbya’s hotel of choice. The four of us dressed up as dominos, where all black with white circles denoting our respective numbers. It really wasn’t that funny. But we thought it was hilarious.

Theres a problem, though. Because now I’ve developed this crutch to my Peace Corps experience, this small little enclave that although obviously not quite the same feel disturbingly close to the home I always knew. Arieh and Stephanie simply understand me, they understand where I come from. And, after a visit to my village where they used the outhouse and milked a cow, they understand a bit of what I’m going through. Yet every time I go to their place, I’m already planning the next time I can come back. Its bad, in some ways. I really want to devote as much of myself to my site as I possibly can. But sometimes, my head isn’t wholly there.

This past weekend, my cousin, Sam Tallman, came to visit for a weekend as a respite from his current journey in Prague studying abroad. I was going to get a hostel, but Stephanie and Arieh were aghast. No hostel. No way. Your staying with us.

Sam and I had the best time. We went to Babi Yar, the site of the mass execution of Kiev’s Jews, and we went to the World War II museum, which was an architectural site to see. We went to the Pecherska Lavra, where monks lay entombed underground, and we went to Independence Square, where Ukrainians stood draped in Orange just a few short years ago. We also had a Friday night dinner at Arieh and Stephanie’s, and stopped by the Rutmans’ for dessert on Saturday. In true style, Raphael Rutman asked Sam what he was doing for the Jewish students in Prague. After an interesting back and forth, Sam ended up bringing back a huge box of Shmura (hand made) Matzah to celebrate the Passover feast.

I came back to my site on Sunday, and I got straight to work. I’ve got about five projects in the works right now. I also have to move, because my landlord is coming back. Time to breathe is scarce. But I’ve been strangely productive this week, imbued with this injection of energy that I can’t exactly describe. I know where it came from.

Because I know I’ll return for the Passover feast and I’ll yet again feel that energy and vibe and homeliness. I’ll take a shower and do my laundry and eat some Matzah and talk about famous dead Rabbis. And then I’ll come back to the village and repeat the whole cycle again. When all the village offers is more work on the horizon, when the breadth of my task seems to daunting, its nice to have a bit of an escape, a dose of home. And I just want to thank Stephanie and Arieh for allowing me to be a part of theirs.