Lex Libertas

There is no way to convey the enormity of these apartment buildings. You have to see them in person to really understand.

As always, click on the picture for a bigger version.

Last Friday a friend invited me to a Jewish summer camp in a resort town on the Gulf of Finland. The camp had brought an Israeli professor over to give some lectures, and she was working as their Hebrew to Russian translator. There were about 80 kids ranging in age from 17 to 25. The Russian Jewry is one of the most secular in the world, and this camp is an attempt to get Russian Jews to know a bit more about Judaism and Israel. In the Soviet days you wanted to seem as un-Jewish as possible. In fact, most Jews didn’t (don’t) get circumcised or have Bar/Bat Mitzvahs (celebrating 13th birthday), and giving your child a Jewish name guaranteed he wouldn’t rise in the system. Glass was never broken at a marriage, and the word “Torah” brought to mind a bull fight more than a book.

Back at UCLA, I was very involved in campus politics, especially fighting the anti-Israeli bias of academia and my fellow students. Most of the people I spent time with were Jewish. I even went to Shabbat services on occasion. Shabbat (Hebrew) or Shabbis (Yiddish) is the Sabbath (English) - it’s from sundown on Friday evening to sundown Saturday. On Friday evening there is a ceremony, and depending on how religious you are the following 24 hours are spent anywhere between asetic relaxation or hedonistic partying at the discotheque.

Spending the day at the camp made me realize how much I enjoy Jewish culture - it’s amazing how little it changes across country lines. For many non-Jews, it’s difficult to understand how “Jewish” is at the same time a culture, an ethnicity, and a religion. It was difficult for me to comprehend until I had spent considerable time around Jews. Though in many ways, Catholicism has become the same, a culture, ethnicity, and a religion. It being quite possible to be culturally Catholic without believing the religion at all.

Shabbat was pretty much the same as back home, only in Russian/Hebrew instead of English/Hebrew. Before dinner, the kids divided up into their groups and each performed a skit. As was expected, the staples of Jewish culture were there. Plenty of circumcision and Jewish mother jokes. The two most memorable skits were:

1. Godzilla trys to ruin Shabbat: Enter a bunch of happy Jews celebrating Shabbat, along comes Godzilla trying to wreak havoc (rather well acted). One ingenious boy decides to pull Godzilla’s tail between his legs and snips off the tip, then smacks a Yarmulke his head. Pacified, Godzilla join the Shabbat.

2. Jews at the Olypmics: The Jewish competitor has made it to a medal round in boxing, when he starts to get demolished by the opponent. Suddenly his mother comes out into the ring, beating on the opponent, all the while chiding him for picking on her son. Another Jew is competing in weightlifting. Originally, he’s slated to lift 40 kilograms, but he bargains the referee down to 20kg.

Sitting there watching these skits, at Shabbat, or listening to lectures on Israeli art, I felt more of a cultural connection than I have with any other group here in Russia. We shared certain reference points - I got the jokes, and understood the art. I guess that makes me a Jewphile.

When I left here in June, I made sure that I was set up to come back to this dorm. It is by far the best of SPBGU’s (St. Petersburg State University) dorms. I was assured and reassured that there were no problems and I would return here. However, in July, when I was corresponding with my faculty, then informed me that I would have to live in “Korable” (the second best dormitory, but a major step down nonetheless). Well, I didn’t particularly want to live there (although there are some pluses about it, most notably a better location). I argued for four or five emails, and finally let it go, figuring that as long as I had a place to stay, I could sort the situation out once I got to the city.

Enter the lost luggage. I don’t go to the dorm, because I needed the address for delivery. When I get to my friend’s place I’m informed that a power struggle has been taking place over the dormitories, and that’s why I wasn’t to be allowed back into Shevchenko. Apparently everyone who asked about it was being told that there was absolutely no room at all, and we should be ashamed for asking. However, he was also going to try to get back into Shev (that would make four of us all trying together). Fortunately, he knew the administrators of our dorm and was very well liked. So we go and ask one of them what we can do to get into Shevchenko and she tells us that all we need is a letter requesting it from our respective faculties.

To cut to the chase, it takes a total of four days to get the letter and return it to the proper location. Four days of constant motion between faculties, dorms, and dorm coordinators all in different parts of the city. We literaly went from point A to B to C to B to C to A to D to A. None of the steps were guaranteed to work, and if any one of them fell the chain would be broken and we couldn’t get into Shev. For example, my faculty didn’t want to give me the letter because they thought there were no rooms and I wasn’t allowed in. It took my all to convince them that I had received special permission from the Commandant, and that all they had to do was give me the letter.

It will be interesting to see who’s living in Shev this year. I’m hoping that it’s more biased towards Russian students than it was last year. The less foreigners around me the better for my language.

This picture explains what we were feeling better than I can. It’s the friend who was letting me stay at his place, upon learning that once again we would have to go somewhere else, and come back the next day.

It’s now Saturday, a week from when I left the States, and I’m only just getting settled in my dorm room.

Everything was deceptively simple leaving Los Angeles. I had my bags all packed several hours in advance (a triumph for me), and we got to the airport with enough time to spare that my family and I had lunch together. The only downside being that I was in an aisle and not a window seat as I prefer. But at least my seat was the aisle in a row with only two seats, the middle coulumn had 5 seats, a nightmare.

The flight landed in Munich on time, and there was a flight attendant waiting at the gate to usher me and another passenger to our departing gate. After checking our baggage info and radioing it in, we left for the plane, which was delightfully empty. I had an entire three seats to myself, on which I promptly stretched out and fell asleep. I found out that the other person flying LA to Peter (St. Petersburg) on this route was a UCLA Law student (Anya) the exact same age as me, funny coincidence. She grew up in St. Petersburg and left 11 years ago, but she comes back every summer to visit family.

After passing through passport control, we waited patiently for our bags. Since I always seem to get mine last, I wasn’t particularly concerned when everyone else got theirs and started for customs. Then the conveyor belt stopped. My Russian is still horrible, so I was very happy to have a native speaker with me to navigate the next few steps. We were directed to the lost baggage office, but before that we both took a quick step into the lobby to contact our respective rides. Hers was there, mine wasn’t. Fortunately, I already knew my way back to the dorm where I was assigned.

After a bit, the baggage attendant tells us that our bags have been found, and will be flown in later that evening. At around 11, someone from the airport would bring them to our apartments. Problem, I don’t know the address of the dorm where I was supposed to live, and (stupidly) my cell phone was in my bag. Though even if I did know the address, I wouldn’t trust the dorm staff to do anything but send the man back to the airport. I thus decided it would be better to crash that evening at a friend’s place, and have the bags delievered there. Fortunately, instead of having to take a bus to the metro, Anya offered to have her ride give me a lift.

My plane got into Peter at 6:15, and about 9 I’m finally at my friend’s apartment. By this point I had been awake approximately 60 hours (I have a habit of staying up the night before I leave to pack), and on average I only got four hours of sleep each night over the previous week. Before I leave, I always get antsy, difficult to sleep. Needless to say, I was conducting my own little experiment in sleep deprivation. I was jittery, my hands were shaking far more than normal, I couldn’t concentrate at all, and when I tried to read my eyes would shift in and out of focus. Not a pleasant experience.

My friend told me to go to bed and he’d get my bags when they came. The airport knew that I had two bags, I described as much on the customs forms. However, that night, the driver only brought one. I was asleep when he came, so I didn’t catch the error until the next morning. I called up the luggage office, and the women assured me that both bags had arrived and been sent out with the driver. I told her one was missing, and she said she’d call me when she was able to talk with the driver. Any hope of retrieving my bags fadded with each hour that passed from 9am when I called till about 9pm when she responded that they found it, and would get it to me that night.

So in the end, the lost luggage worked out all right. Except for the fact I was wearing the same exact clothes for three days in a row.

A combination of jet lag and a ten hour day of walking has left me rather exhausted. To give you a brief taste of what you’ll see when I actually have time to write:

1. Lufthansa lost my luggage.
2. The driver wasn’t waiting for me at the airport.
3. I’m staying at a friend’s place until Wednesday when I find out if I can get a room in the nice dorm.
4. Lufthansa lost my luggage!!!

This is my last week of vacation in America. I leave Los Angeles on Saturday, and I arrive in Saint Petersburg on Sunday. Fortunately, this time there’s no forced stay over in London. Thank G-d for Lufthansa, I go straight to Munich, then on to St. Pete’s.