3rd Letter from Crimea

B”H

Chabad of the Crimea
Mironova 24
Simferopol, Crimea 95001 Ukraine
Tel/fax: 380–652–510–773
e-mail chabadcrimea@cris.crimea.ua

Tishrei 24, 5756
October 18, 1995

Dear Everyone, a”mush,

Zdrastvitsya (hi) again! A "gut yahr" to you all. Sukkos is over, and I must say that I'm glad to be able to breathe again after the rush of the yomim tovim.

When Itchie went to America last time, we had just decided to make a day camp. Being that he, not I has always been the camper in the family, he considerately hired one of the university girls to organize it, so that I wouldn’t have to do it, and left. After a week of running around with her everywhere, showing her what to do, she called me up late one night to inform me that there was an emergency in her family and she was leaving Simferopol in two hours. That left the camp in my lap. (Itchie says I should thank G-d that something came along to take up "all my free time" so I wouldn't get bored.) I did thank G-d that Yuda Holtzberg, our bochur-in-residence, came back just then, and was able to help me make the arrangements for camp, since he is already fluent in Rusky yazik while I am considerably more adept in Anglisky. We placed ads in papers, on the radio, and on TV. By the way, prices here are the opposite of American prices, TV ads being the cheapest. Vitaly, our driver, laughed. "Everyone turns the TV off when the ads come on — you're wasting your money." We prayed that we'd have enough kids to make the camp. Two of the old men in the minyan signed up their grandchildren. After a few days we had all of four kids enrolled. I thought “Rebbe, please, we need more kids! We have a one to one camper/counselor ratio!” Suddenly, things began snowballing, with ten or so campers registering daily. Soon there were 50 campers signed up. Yuda said that I'd better stop registering kids because there wasn't going to be room for them in the camp "stolovaya" (dining room). I said, "Well, let's go to 60," figuring they'd stop coming by then. Meanwhile there was a second problem. Before organizing the camp, I had checked with other shluchim if it was alright to have the girls and boys together, and the consensus of opinion was that there was no problem under the age of bar mitzvah. However the girls in NY who would be coming as counselors called me to say that they felt that boys over nine years old should be separate. I wrote a letter to the Rebbe, and when I placed it into an Igros Kodesh at random, (a volume of printed answers to people from the Rebbe,) it opened to the following letter. "I was pleased to get your letter about how many boys and how many girls you have, and I'm sure that it will be just as good in quality as in quantity," and the Rebbe concluded with a brocha. There was our answer to both questions! We needed quality – Jewish quality (as the Rebbe had listed the girls and boys separately, and quantity. We drafted the bochurim, who had come to tutor our children, and made separate boys' division for boys 11 and older in the shul, while the rest of the camp was in the Abshiner Kultur (Jewish Cultural Organization) building, several blocks away. We registered 87 campers, most of whom had seen the ad on TV. So we ended up giving the Rebbe nachas with both quality and quantity!

In my past two letters I may have insinuated that the entire Ukraine seems to be more than 50 years behind the free world. I owe my new home an apology. There are areas in which they are in fact much more advanced, and truly excel. One of those areas is in the development of Murphy's laws. Whereas, in America Murphy's law tells us, "Whatever can go wrong will," here Murphy's law assures us that "Whatever can't go wrong, will also go wrong!" For several months I begged the parties involved, twice daily, to clear the debris from the yard where we would be making the camp, clean up, install doors and locks, buy kitchen appliances, and relocate plumbing (a job that in America would have taken all of several days.) Twice daily I was assured that everything possible was being done, and it will just be a few days until the mission will be accomplished. "The doors were already made and were ready to hang." By the week before camp, a light dusting of the windowsills was all that had been done. I ran to get stoves and a refrigerator. The stoves came without oven racks, but that really didn't matter, since the ovens don't work anyway, only the burners do. The refrigerator was delivered to the street in front of the building. I didn't really expect the old man on the motorcycle, who shlepped it behind him, to get it upstairs, did I?! It worked for one week. But not to worry, it's under warranty. They finally came to fix it erev Sukkos! The pipes were finally "installed," in full view (as is customary here – all pipes are exposed,) in the room that was to become our kitchen, and three small sinks were suspended from the wall. Each of the three drainpipes was inserted into a rusty old pipe that seemed to be laying there from the time of Czar Nikolai the First. Note: I said "inserted," not "connected." Every time the dishwater is let down the drain, the water floods out onto the floor. This is how they seem to do it here. They did the same thing in my kitchen. That was even better. Everything backed up into the bathtub, which became defunct. They glued the pipes together with cement and stuffed in shmattes. The pipe sprung two more leaks! Pleased with their masterpiece, they couldn't fathom why we didn't appreciate their most efficient manner of washing the floors, without having to fill up buckets and shlepping them from room to room. After three visits from these so-called plumbers and "spetzialisti," we disconnected the pipe and keep a bucket under the sink to collect the water, which has to be shlepped to the street to be dumped at regular intervals! The plumbers now think that they finally figured out these "crazy" Americans who seem to like to exercise by shlepping around buckets of water. Always an enterprising people, our last plumber wants to market this new "one method ultimate plumbing system." For the Crimean, “the Bucket" will be a more efficient method of overflow for washing the floor, while for the American it will be the ultimate in exercising. Just remember, when this newest craze hits America, it was your friend Leah who invented it. (You should see how much weight Itchie has lost already!)

But back to the saga of the "lager" (camp). The doors were never installed, so all of our supplies had to be kept in the office of the Abshiner Kultur, which was the only room with a door. We checked out the three local swimming pools and confirmed prices, but as it got closer and closer to camp, one by one they all broke down. We hastily substituted judo classes for the boys and acrobatics for the girls. We never did get to use the large yard. The day the counselors arrived, they asked to see it, figuring they'd help move the bricks lying around there. There was a major lack of communication. Since the people in the offices downstairs didn't appear too helpful, one counselor climbed out a low open window to the yard. Shoshana started collecting bricks and passed them in to Dini, so we could build shelves with them. The next thing I knew, the girls told me that the secretary had locked poor Shoshana out in the yard. We found a minute when the secretary wasn't watching, and were able to rescue her, or so we thought. When she climbed in, it was straight into the welcoming arms of the waiting police, who were there to arrest her for "breaking into a government warehouse"! Thank G-d Yuda was found and the "militzia" was convinced to leave. The nice Jewish cook we hired didn't show up, and we found out he was a "shikkur." So, besides everything else, I now had to shop and cook for the first week and a half of camp, until we found a replacement. (Itchie couldn't understand why I was complaining, since I was "hired" as chief cook and bottle washer, and it was about time that I got around to doing my job!) As soon as we found a new cook, our mashgiach quit. Here they have a refined method of quitting in order to avoid uncomfortable scenes, or having to embarrass you by seeing you get down on your knees to beg. Even worse, to have you get a feeling of frustration when you argue about responsibility until you're "blue in the face" without getting results. So here they've come up with a way that prevents all of the above — they just don't show up any more! A good clean break! We conscripted our 14-year old son Mendy, dubbing him the new mashgiach.

But camp was absolutely amazing! You should have heard all the kids, at line-up time, in the street in front of the building, singing loudly, in Russian, "How happy I am to be a Jew", and saying the Shema ("Sloosha Izrail.") They learned Aleph Bais, and the twelve pesukim, and about Shabbos, holidays, and kashrus. They made “tzedakah boxes," went on exciting trips to amusement parks and the Ice Caves, had a kosher barbecue and Shabbatons. The girls were given Hebrew names at the Torah and, with the help of G-d, we are now arranging for the boys to have "obrizanya" (brissim.) Several campers are now enrolled in yeshiva in Moldavia. (Itchie is being bombarded with requests to open a yeshiva, but we simply don't have enough money yet.) The day the counselors left, a group of campers went to see them off at the vagzal (train station). Can you imagine, these kids went walking through the town in yarmulkas, and wearing tzitzis on top of their shirts! They're truly proud of their Judaism! And the parents thanked us for teaching their children what being a Jew entails, since they were unable to do it themselves. (Special thanks to the Fellig family for supplying the tzitzis in memory of "Uncle Nussy.") Many of the kids come to shul every Shabbos now (with their parents in tow.) One camper recently said he didn't want to eat the chicken I had prepared for yomtov. I asked him why, didn't he like chicken? He said yes, he does. “You aren’t hungry?” I queried. “Yes I am,” he replied. “Oh,” I kidded him, “you just don’t like my cooking?” He looked at me in amazement and said “Mrs. Lipszyc, I’m going to have a glass of milk before I go to sleep – don’t you know I have to wait six hours between meat and milk?!" Ah, what nachas for the Rebbe!

But I have to tell you what life is like for most of these kids. Stas is a very bright, happy-go-lucky ten year old who always has a smile on his face and sings "Yechi" and all the other songs more lustily than anyone else. His father disappeared before he was born. He lives in one dilapidated room with his mother and two older siblings. They have no heat, water, toilet, or stove. When his father died, his mother sold her jewelry and furniture to feed them. She has severe asthma and is therefore considered an invalid, and is unable to work. Since there is no father, they get a "pension" of two and a half-dollars a month to live on! The older brother had a job as a metal worker for $25 a month until he injured his hand on the job. Then he was told to go to the street (to beg) to get money! The mother wore old torn shoes, and kept sewing up her hose until I gave her new things. She can't even afford to buy potatoes! She is my age, but could easily pass for my mother; after all she's been through. After Rosh Hashana, Stas' communist teacher told his mother that if she would continue to bring him to synagogue he couldn’t come back to school! His 17-year-old sister only completed eighth grade. She is "handicapped" because she has astigmatism and can't afford to buy eyeglasses! She goes to a Jewish school now, and they are hoping to make aliyah, "because there is no hope for a life here."

We are hoping to build a mikvah here soon. Plans are drawn up. We have the property. All we need is $40,000 to build it. (That includes building the structure to house it.) So what do we do meanwhile? It is a four-hour drive to the nearest mikvah. Our driver, like everyone else here, speeds down the road, turning around to talk, and driving up hills in the left lane to avoid potholes in the right lane. Besides this, there is the slight problem of privacy a trip to the mikvah requires. The first time we went, he got a run-down on the mikvah from the guard there. He promptly came back to Simferopol and, with all the gusto of a shliach spreading mivtzah Taharas Hamishpacha, told everyone exactly where I'd been and why. So we decided to go by train the next time. Only the train wouldn't get us there until too late. So we'd take a bus, and return by train. We couldn't get tickets, but we already had a connection to the head "natchalnik" who brought us two front seat tickets. Our bus was scheduled to leave at 11:20 AM, and was only delayed by 20 minutes. But as soon as we were out of "city limits" the bus broke down. The driver called the terminal, and they said they would soon be sending a replacement bus. We ended up standing in the sweltering heat, by the side of the road, for over two hours. Finally a contraption came along that looked like a cross between a tank and a school bus. It had a huge pipe sticking out the back that somehow was eventually attached to the front of our bus. We all got aboard again, and our bus was towed by this other vehicle. There was no fresh air, and all the exhaust from the machine came into the bus. We, of course, having gotten "first class tickets" at the front of the bus, received the first and "choicest" of the fumes. People started shedding layers of clothing and coughing. I was nauseous from the fumes. After fifteen minutes I said, "I don't think I can take any more of this.” Suddenly the bus stopped. Had we broken down again? Everyone filed off. Behind us was another bus, this one with a totally smashed windshield. "Uh oh," I thought. "He must also drive uphill in the left lane." Onto the next bus. Well, we continued on our way without incident until we were about an hour away from our destination. It was evening already. We had long since finished our meager snacks. We were in a bus station and I needed to use the "facilities." I saw a sign, but the place seemed to have been closed for repairs. "Go in the street," I was told! I returned to the bus to hear a commotion going on. The driver was saying, "What do you think I am, a taxi? You're all ‘duraki' (idiots). I'm not going any farther for only three passengers!" The other person went to complain to the station manager, who sided with the driver. We sat on the bus, trying to get him to move, but it was futile. On the other hand, we refused to get off the bus, so he couldn't leave either. Finally, another bus, jam packed from one end to the other, came by. Our driver waved him down and convinced him to change his route and take on three extra passengers. So we were squeezed into the back of the bus with the baggage and finally, at 9:30 PM, we reached our destination, mission accomplished. Thankfully, the train ride back was less eventful. We recently met our friend, the helpful "natchalnik" at a Rosh Hashana concert, held on the Fast of Gedalya. Everyone was eating apples dipped in honey, while we and our translator were fasting. Our friend asked us to please come up to his apartment after the concert. Not wanting to seem ungrateful for his help, we accepted. Vladimir is quite a genial and insistent host, and had a very hard time understanding why we couldn't eat his wife's homemade goodies. Even though they eat pork, she's Jewish, so that surely must make everything kosher, he felt! He started to pour vodka for Itchie. The cup wasn't kosher, so Itchie told him that at friendly farbrengens, Chassidim toast each other from the bottle caps. Well, that posed no problem for Vladimir – he stood on a chair and reached up for a brand new decanter with an 8-oz. cap! Poor Itchie! This was after a fast, and the only food he had eaten beforehand was a few grapes! Four big drinks later, we finally escaped. Now the problem still remains -- how can we get to the mikvah next time?!

My Russian is improving considerably, but I have to be careful about words that are almost the same. Sta-ka-ni are beverage glasses, but sta-ka-ni are drunkards. On Yom Kippur, during the break, I was sitting in my kitchen with several other women. They asked me to look up their Hebrew birthdays, which I did. Then one of them said something that sounded like the Russian word for "writing". I figured she wanted to write down her Hebrew birthday, so I told her, "Nyet, posli pradznik" (No, after the holiday.) Everyone burst out laughing. I hadn't seen her two year old son enter the room asking to use the bathroom, a word that in Russian is similar to "writing", and there I was telling her to wait until after yomtov!

We are in the process of converting the former "chometzdika-Pesach-matzah-bakery” in the shul to a women's section. People used to bring their own flour to make matzah, and bake it while dropping crumbs from their treife sandwiches into the works. The minyan-aires, particularly the Rosh Hakahal, kept promising to move out the machinery so we could do the renovations. And then they would claim that they never said that. "Anyway, what do we need it for? We won't ever have more than a total of 50 people." We finally bought the machinery off them, and paid someone to do the absolute minimum possible, so that we could have a place to daven on time for Yom Tov. Some machinery was moved out and some moved over. A door was broken through and the floor was painted all one color — sort of. Benches were brought over from the camp. We still have most of the renovations to do, but at least there's place now. Sefarim were always kept under lock and key, and you had to beg to get a siddur or a Chumash. As a result, the women usually stood outside during "molitva" (prayers.) Now the sefarim are beautifully lined up on the shelves, though there is a very big shortage of them, and it worsens daily.

Rosh Hashana there was standing room only, 150 people, in both sections and the entrance room. There was no advertising. By next year there will probably be several times this many people. The women are inside now, constantly looking to me for the page and if they should sit or stand. They are praying from siddurim now, most of them for the first time in their lives. Elderly Devoyra davens every word in Hebrew, but the rest use the Russian translation until they learn to read Hebrew. Some women don't have glasses with which to read, and I help them say yizkor word by word. Merkos Gutnik sent bochurim from their yeshiva in Yerushalayim, and we made services for the holidays in Yalta and Sevastopol as well. Both were very successful. Yalta had around 100 attendees and Sevastopol 120. Then we received a call from Yevpetoria, a seaside town over 2,000 years old. They just got back their old shul, and invited us to come see it. It is a big beautiful complex, but in total disrepair. We noticed a door leading to an underground storage room and immediately suspected that it may have once been a mikvah. We climbed down a steep ladder to find several tiled rooms. The mikvah itself had been filled in. This community asked us to help them rebuild their community and the shul. So far there are four communities that have asked us to send them a rabbi — Yalta, Sevastopol, Yevpetoria, and Feodosia. Classes are now in the planning stage for these four places. One week Sunday morning in Yalta, evening in Sevastopol, and the following week, morning in Yevpetoria, and evening in Feodosia.

When Itchie returned from America last time, he started classes. Monday nights he teaches about our prayers; Tuesdays, Chumash; Wednesdays Talmud; and Thursdays Tanya. Sunday afternoons he gives classes on the upcoming holidays, and Shabbos afternoon he gives a class on the Torah portion of the week, followed by shalosh seudos. Before Yom Kippur I made the first challah baking class, which will now I”YH become a regular class on Jewish cookery. I also hope to make a crafts program for children, and tomorrow night I start teaching the laws of kashrus and Shabbos. Thank G-d there is now a demand for this. Whatever few books we have in Russian are constantly being lent out, though we need many more. We also distribute 300 "Yeladim," Russian Tzivos Hashem magazines for children, on a regular basis.

For Sukkos we built a large sukkah in the dvor (courtyard,) but we couldn't get s'chach to place on top. It is illegal to cut trees and, if one is caught doing it, there’s a punishment of five years in jail. On Sunday, erev Sukkos, Itchie paid someone $50 to drive around the streets and pick up fallen branches. Although we were worried for a while, in the end we had a beautiful kosher sukkah. It was packed with people throughout yomtov. On Simchas Torah, we had over a hundred people, despite it being a secular work day.

After five months of constant effort, and tons of red tape, we finally got onto the internet, and got e-mail. The very next night our computer was stolen! The kids and I were in the kitchen. The bochurim were across the yard in the shul. Itchie (who works about 20 hours a day) was cat-napping in our room. Someone walked in right under our noses, stole the computer six feet away from where Itchie was sleeping, and walked right out! Speak about chutzpah! End of e-mail!

I want to thank the people who wrote to us. Please keep the letters coming. It means a lot to us. Sometimes I look up at the sky. It's the same sky that you have. Then I look at this old world around me and wonder if it really exists. I mean, I never dreamt that anything like this existed since hundreds of years ago — but it does. So we go on with our work.

Be well! Hope to see you soon — in Yerushalayim!

Leah Lipszyc & Company

P.S. You can write us at: Mironova, 24 Simferopol, Crimea 333001 Ukraina

The post office will translate it for the mail lady. A regular letter takes two or three weeks. A package — forever, if it gets here at all. (Actually, yes, they do eventually arrive.)

P.P.S. Some of the women have been coming to help me prepare for Shabbos. It's very interesting to watch them watch me. A Russian word for magic, is "focus pocus." They watch me quickly put together a few ingredients to concoct something — something that would take them much longer due to lack of modern conveniences, and they say, "Aha — Leah — focus pocus!" Now if I could just use this "focus pocus" to transport us all into geulah!