Wonder-Chanuka

It feels like Chanukah was just a while ago and the calendar tells me it's been a year, I don't believe that.
Ezra's almost 20 months, I am almost 29 (years) and it's Chanukah already. Why is life so crazy? It's rhetorical question obviously.

I would've said that many things have changed since last Chanukah, but then I'd have to talk about those changes, which I don't want to. I am terrible when it comes to talk about myself. I mean, what kind of a blogger I am then, but you know what I mean (do we? :P), being Jewish Orthodox is not easy, you can't talk about everything, you should be humble and reserved, and serious and super intelligent, shouldn't you? At least that's what I think I am (humble... ;) ).

Now seriously, I am fine.
I've been making cottage cheese pancakes called "syrniki" in Russian lately, which translates as "cheesy" :D but in English "cheesy" probably doesn't explain those pancakes' existential meaning. Anyway, Ezra loves them, even my husband can eat them, so I am happy. I need very little to be happy, you know, just couple of "cheesy" pancakes and hot lemon tea.
But this post is not about syrniki naturally, even though you fry them in lots of oil as anything else for Chanuka - oil, oil, oil everywhere.

How am I prepared for Chanuka?
I am not physically and "kitchenly", but mentally I am into it already: I see and feel miracles everywhere, just everywhere.
I remember last year talking to a friend and telling that miracle doesn't have to be exactly as divine as it originally was at the time of the Second Temple (when very little oil was left in the Menorah, but it still burnt for 8 full days), but in small things, that happen to regular people like me. For example I found a long forgotten 20 Euro bill in my old bag when I needed so badly, then I received some discount coupons for a washing machine conditioner, that I had run out and didn't want to spend much anymore, then I got couple of nice e-mails from nice people and what else do I need.
You know these type of miracles that every woman appreciates.

Chanukah 5774/2013 - give it up for Mama Sophie's Sufganiyot/doughnuts

Anyway, I still mustered Sufganiyot for Chanuka yesterday, because what kind of Chanuka would that be? Everyone loved them so far and I even dare to say I get better and better Yiddishe mame year by year :) 

Have a bright Chanukah, full of wonders and love!!!

Post Soviet Kitsch Again

I used to quote Regina Spektor's lyrics, but lately I have kind of forgotten her. The other day I found a new video of her show in Moscow and was very excited to watch and listen, but was quite disappointed. Because I did not see or hear same Regina - emotional, excited and happy like we all remember her at Lollapalooza 2007. I know people change, time changes and older you get, more money you need, but I didn't like that show, just being honest.
I expected something different, with more quality; one more thing that annoyed me was that she sat or stood too far from public which made the atmosphere not Reginalike at all. I believe when you are a live musician and performer who usually communicates with people, you should be closer with them and make them feel comfortable.
Maybe not for Moscow public but for me it is very important - to have communication with artist, that's why I usually go to shows or watch videos. I need to be close to people to feel them, if you know what I mean, for that people should let you closer and not sit away.

Regina Spektor is one of very few artists who had extraordinary life, emigrating from Soviet Union to America, going through problems that many of my friends have gone and found herself in music which has always been her passion and she's definitely great at.
She's one of those people you would like to be friends and go out for a walk. One that doesn't need to talk much, but look at you with her deep and clear blue eyes and make your day.
I've always liked her, perhaps because I've kind of associated myself with her - also loving Russian poetry and having this post soviet trauma that nobody will be able to overcome.

Mentioning this trauma, who knows, maybe it was all about Moscow and her childhood demons, that she couldn't open up and be the Regina we've all known. These demons are larger than life, I know that and don't judge anyone, I just wanted to see and enjoy my favourite artist who is like nobody else in this business of cheap and shallow.

Childhood friend

Под копни волос проникнет ли удар?
Мысль
одна под волосища вложена:
"Причесиваться? Зачем же?!
На время не стоит труда,
а вечно
причесанным быть
невозможно".

I wish I could translate this poem of Vladimir Mayakovsky in English. I used to translate some of his lyrics in Georgian when I was sophomore at university. Maybe I will one day. This one is about why combing one's hair when you can't remain combed forever... it is all about you, what's in your head. At least that's what I think Mayakovsky meant.

I have been connected to Mayakovsky since childhood - the office where my mother worked was facing his huge monument. He was standing there in the rain and sunshine with his strict face, big feet and with the cloud in his pants I guess (облако в штанах). And I was walking by him everyday after school, thinking whether it was his hat around his head or his hair. Now I believe it was the hat.
There is nothing like childhood memories, is there? Probably that's when my love to Russian poetry began and I was meant to live this life of wanderer, searching for the truth. What else is poetry than searching on and on.

Mayakovsky was born in Georgia indeed. I guess that's why he had got this bold attitude. Ok, I have this little nationalist thing about my country, but face it - Georgia is this tiny winy country caught in the middle between huge Russia and Turkey, and still lots of famous and talented people were born there, who excelled in arts, politics and etc. So there is something about the land even if you were just born there you have got passion and attitude in your bones.
If so, one may ask, why did Mayakovsky and I leave that country in the end? Perhaps we wanted to miss it more, to feel it more and to dream of it in our violet dreams.

Honestly, life is very prosaic as my mother loved to say when I was younger, and I never understood it. Life is what you make it. Life is yours, only yours. It is not about poetry or proses, it is about individuals - sunshine and thunder.
My life is not that. It is a movie :)

Baltics

Мы эмигранты
И грустны и странны
Наша дорога бесконечна
Найти и снова
потерять
Наша дорога бесконечна

My teenage friend Rebekka just shared Alina Orlova's videos. She is so cute. I mean Rebekka, and Alina too. They are both from Lithuania :) have curly hair, beautiful eyes and free spirit. I don't know there is something about Baltic people. They have this unexplainable melancholy mixed with cold beauty that makes you fall for them. And actually they both, Rebekka and Alina, have this funny accent in Russian. I never thought I would say this because my accent is not less funny, especially the way I pronounce some specific letters.

It's also funny I have never mentioned before on my blogs that my grandmother from father's side was Estonian. I have never met her for she died while giving birth to my father. Yep. My father has been in trouble since he was born. Trouble man. It must be terrible if you realize that your mother died having you, no?
Although I have always imagined her, the grandmother I've never met, as tall, skinny woman with big green eyes, blonde or reddish hair, wearing vintage dress and walking on the sun... her face glowing and eyes dreaming about seeing me - her granddaughter she never really saw. It's funny, I suppose I've been imagining her as the young and lovely woman, why would she dream about me anyway? I think every girl has thought about her grandchildren even once in a lifetime. We all would like to imagine having grandchildren one day who will look like us a little, who will remember us, who will dream of us and say sweet things about us. I cannot say if I look like my grandmother, even though I used to have strawberry blonde hair as a child.

Life is just as that song of Alina's - "emigrants". So realistic. Sometimes I feel like I am this eternal wanderer - dwelling here and there, looking for a place and space to find serenity.

Tanks in Tears

By Meir Levin (Translation: Shaul Gorgel)

Our girl school had an outing on the Golan Hights. That way The Israeli Ministry of Education had decided to make "Russian" children over into one hundred percent Israelis. Me and my wife travelled together with the school. Well experienced tour guides were called into action, complete with university degrees and broad smiles. Specially fitted tour programme that included motion pictures was meant to spark off some patriotic sentiment. So the trip was over, what was told there safely forgotten, but one story remains in my memory. It haunts me no less than the account of Metzudah defenders. Because I have returned to Israel, not just came here.

War crashes into our lives and homes in an unnoticeable kind of way and always at a wrong time. All of a sudden it turns out that someone didn't have the time to write up a letter to his mother. That a bride expects over her groom in a six hours time as he hopes finally to get a long awaited "yes".

Soldiers were asleep, as young men could be following excruciating military exercises. Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement got in, a festival of fasting that brings together almost all of the Jews. There's even a sad joke, "Yom Kippur Jews". Anyways, the boys were fast asleep. Because their commanders kept saying to them that if the enemy dares to... we'll... And that the border is well guarded. And that "The Gardian of Israel doesn't sleep, nor does He drowse". Strong and reliable is battle-tried Israeli military.

The war tore up the quietude of the festival. Syrian tanks rolled into The Valley of Tears. The most advanced at the time T-55 tanks, complete with night vision gear. The latest of Soviet military hardware was always tested in real combat conditions. So the volley was set ablaze.

Khani really meant to say yes to her Beni. It's just that she wanted to lead him on a little more. She'd hate herself for that for many years to come. But in vain.

The fighting over the volley has been on for 2 days now. Less and less tanks respond to the vehicle in command. Communications with the head quarters are out. However, one thing is for sure, the reinforcement is coming. It can't be otherwise. The squad commander, Yig'al Baum receives the same response all over again to all his check-ins: "No ammunition. We're pulling back, back, back".

How difficult it is to take responsibility for someone else's life. The boys haven't lived it up yet. Some don't even know the taste of the first kiss. But what's there to do? The Syrians can't be let past - whatever the price. There comes through a unique order in the history of warfare: "All tanks follow me. The enemy doesn't realise we're disarmed".

But war is no game. You can't just bluff - lives are at stake. Ten tanks started slowly going uphill. Without firing, simply burning away the remaining fuel.

Unrestrained valour sometimes frightens more than the most heavy shelling there is. The Syrians suddenly began to retreat. By the time they figured out that the unfiring tanks aren't some kind of secret Israeli military ploy, the reinforcement moved in.

There are a lot of flowers in the Golan Hights. The flowers grown in the Volley of Tears will never wither. For the memory of the fallen soldiers cannot disappear. So forever will blossom the flowers on the ground drenched with our blood and tears.

Мне ничего не надо...

I wish you could love Sergei Esenin as I do.
One has to read his lyrics and poems in original russian for sure. But if you ever try I'm sure you may find that fair curly boy in other languages too.

"Золото холодное луны,
Запах олеандра и левкоя.
Хорошо бродить среди покоя
Голубой и ласковой страны."

Here you can see the video from the Tv film 'Esenin' - amazing Sergei Bezrukov playing russian poet. I love them both.