Let's see if you know the correct answer to this question
- in 1910, a certain man was injured in a car accident in
which a Rolls-Royce was involved. He sued, and won. Ten
years later, the victim owned two Rolls-Royces, as well
as several very expensive French cars. Where is this man
buried? Do you know?
His grave is in Red Square in Moscow, and his name is Vladimir
Ilyich Lenin.
That is one of the easier questions in the game "What,
Where, When" that has topped the ratings on Russian
television for 27 years - a kind of tribal camp-fire left
over from the Soviet era that is still broadcast live and
attracts millions of viewers.
Since the collapse of the Soviet Union and the proliferation
of television channels, another six similar games have been
added to the broadcast schedule. "What, Where, When"
remains the most popular and prestigious of them all. The
contestants are divided into groups of six, each one an
expert in a different field, and they have a minute to formulate
a correct answer.
It's not "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," for
the prizes are small and inconsequential. What was important
was knowledge for its own sake, and the feeling of togetherness
in a society that forbade civil assembly. Jan Privorotsky,
who has a master's degree in history, was one of the regular
participants. He survived for 15 years in the complicated
game and it turned him into a well-known star.
Ten months ago, Privorotsky immigrated to Israel, and since
then he has been moderating groups of immigrants all over
the country, who are reviving the old game in their new
surroundings. He earns his living as a guard in a Jerusalem
clothing store, and during his free time, he is writing
a book on the history of the Jews of Kiev.
Thousands of new immigrants are involved in some way in
various trivia games in their home towns , and occasionally
travel to other cities to attend competitions. About 500
people are organized into "What, Where, When"
groups, which are divided into bottom and top leagues. The
lower league is composed of students who are just starting
to study. The top league includes famous professors and
scientists.
The Israeli group is a member of the international association
of "What, Where, When," which operates among Russian-speaking
communities worldwide, and is centered in Moscow. Just recently,
the Haifa group won fifth place in an intercity competition.
We're on the map.
They come to play not for money, nor for the worthless prizes,
but only for the knowledge and the competition itself. "Israelis
have an American orientation of `What's in it for us,'"
says Haim Neimark, a student who moderates the game on Jewish
subjects, in describing the cultural differences. "The
Russians come from a culture of knowledge for its own sake,
and they like competition and victory." Information
about these groups is passed by word of mouth in the immigrant
community, and the demand is growing.
The people at Midreshet Jerusalem operate in the context
of the Shechter Institute of Jewish Studies, whose goal
is to bring the immigrants from the CIS closer to Judaism.
They have understood the phenomenon and the force behind
it. The link between the immigrants' thirst for knowledge
and the mission of the Midrasha [study institute] has given
rise to an interesting deal - in exchange for assistance
to the trivia groups, the Midrasha includes a few questions
on Jewish subjects in every series of questions. At the
moment, the Midrasha is active in three cities - Jerusalem,
Rishon Letzion and Ashdod. Their goal is to broaden the
geographic distribution and to attain a level of 40 percent
of questions on Jewish subjects.
The immigrants, it should be said, don't object and don't
feel they are being exposed to missionary activity - Judaism
just becomes another field of knowledge. Just as they are
expected to know the name of the Italian wine-maker who
created a wine for his beloved, and even came to Russia
to promote the product bearing his name (Campari, named
after David Campari), they are expected to answer the question:
"During which month was [Biblical] Esther taken to
Ahashverosh" (In the Hebrew month of Tevet).
This last question was included in the list of questions
presented to contestants all over the country, who came
to the Midrasha in Jerusalem for a special evening of competition
last Purim. Old and young, soldiers in uniform and students
who are in Israel as part of the Na'aleh project [an acronym
for youth who immigrate to Israel as high school students,
without their parents], some who grew up on the television
game in Russia, and others who have become part of the experience
in Israel.
"It's a contest of minds," happily declared Alex
Trotsky, 25, who immigrated to Israel eight years ago. "Aristotle
and Kant defined man's humanity in terms of his intelligence
- and this competition is one of intelligence. If by chance
you win as well, you have a sense of victory, which is always
attractive. Trotsky tries to get to the competitions every
week, and is pleased with the introduction of questions
about Judaism. "It's a question like any other, and
no less important than questions about the history of science,
of which there are a great many," he says. "I
have been exposed to missionary activity in Israel but that
is certainly not the approach here."
Around one of the tables at the Midrasha in Jerusalem was
a group of young people aged 23-30, who have been living
in Israel between one to 10 years. All are students or have
a university education, in subjects ranging from computers
to archaeology and are in the stage of forming an organic
group that will enter national competitions. They were completely
absorbed in the game, with terrific concentration, to the
point where it was hard to steal a moment from them so they
could explain their attraction to it. When they had a moment
of time, they were critical of Israeli culture. "A
real intellectual game wouldn't do Israel any harm,"
they said. "`Who Wants to be a Millionaire,' on the
other hand, does cause harm. That is exactly how one develops
a consumer culture, with the aid of the mass media. It's
a culture that creates atrophy."
There was a measure of arrogance in this discussion, and
a note of challenge. "The Soviets created two good
things - intellectual clubs and humor clubs," says
Dr. Eli Ratner, an expert in biophysics and neurobiology,
who immigrated to Israel a year ago, and is president of
the immigrants' intellectual clubs in Israel. "Life
under the Soviet regime caused thinking people to unite.
What is happening here is part of Russian culture, very
different from an individual game. From six individual `don't-knowers,'
one common `knower' is created."
But this commonality is for Russian speakers only - in their
language, according to the models with which they are familiar
from Russia - and out of a sense of harmless isolation.
But they don't really have time to explain all this, because
the next question is already on its way, with an intricate
and confusing formulation. The answer was "Nick Hilton,"
Elizabeth Taylor's husband.
The intellectual clubs, or the trivia groups, are only one
product of the leisure time culture of the Russian-speaking
community. There are many similar groups - for music, political
poetry, the theater of humor and satire - which are growing
alongside the "mainstream" of Israeli culture,
but not really within it.
An in-depth study of immigrants from the CIS, conducted
by the department of planning and research of the Absorption
Ministry, reveals a surprising difference between the immigrants
who came in 1991 and those who came in 1995. There is a
clear slowing down in the processes of linguistic, cultural
and social absorption on the part of the later immigrants.
The groups that were studied express a strong loyalty to
Russian language and culture. Most of the interviewees answered
in the affirmative to the questions: "Should children
of immigrants from the former Soviet Union speak Russian
even in Israel?" and "Should children of immigrants
from the FSU be familiar with Russian literature in the
original, even in Israel?"
The researchers claim that the increase in social and linguistic
seclusion does not bring with it a decrease in satisfaction
with social and cultural life in Israel. Occasionally, this
satisfaction increases with time. A certain explanation
for this, say the researchers, can be seen in the immigrants'
high level of commitment to their original culture and language,
which does not decrease over time. This commitment creates
a group that is proud of its language and culture, and which
keeps itself apart from the absorbing society.
Powerful President
Young Vladimir Putin was a handsome guy, of the type who
could have starred in the Soviet version of Zionist propaganda
films - blond, thin, with fire in his eyes. Many such pictures
of him adorn the walls of the Jerusalem pub that bears his
name, which is located, needless to say, in the capital's
Russian Compound. There's Putin bare-chested as a new recruit
in the army; Putin in a sailor's shirt, with horizontal
stripes; Putin in later years, before he became president.
It's a kind of shtick to name a club for young people after
the Russian president - their parents' generation would
probably have name it "Rasputin." But the immigrant
students who fill the pub are already a different generation,
and Putin is definitely a popular figure for them. They
feel respect and admiration for him, and are surprisingly
knowledgeable about the details of his life and his travels
all over the world.
"Putin is considered a president who brings pride to
his people, instead of all those past presidents whom we
were embarrassed to see on television," says Yevgeny
Wiener, 24, who is studying economics and international
relations at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Roman Kogan,
a 23-year-old student of international relations and communications
at the same university, agrees. "He is a young president
who broadcasts power." A short time ago, the Russian
television network NTV (which Putin has since shut down)
gave extensive coverage to the explosion of a booby-trapped
car near a Jerusalem pub named after Putin, which is popular
among Russian youth.
Wiener and Kogan came to Israel in 1991, when they were
still children. They live together in student dormitories,
and explain that they were automatically assigned to the
same room because they are both "Russian." Both
completed high school and army service here - Wiener in
the liaison office at the Erez checkpoint in northern Gaza,
Kogan as a squad commander for new recruits and as a counselor
in a course for squad commanders.
Experiencing the melting pot of the IDF (Israel Defense
Forces) did not prevent their immediate return to the Russian-speaking
scene after their discharge. The two, like their other friends
from the university and the pub, do not need learned studies
to understand the cultural complexity of their immigration.
They have their own books, their own music, their own social
circle, and of course their own pub. But they don't see
any of these as a problem or as a contradiction to their
Israeli identity. On the contrary, they consider it only
an advantage of someone with an additional culture, in many
ways superior to Israeli culture.
Wiener's sister, who is eight years younger than him, came
to Israel at the age of six. She was already in Israel when
she started first grade. Now aged 16, she is learning to
read Russian, and is interested in Russian music and literature.
That's how it is, and they are really not interested in
searching for an explanation for this common phenomenon.
They consider moving between the two worlds very natural,
to the point where it doesn't require in-depth study and
analysis.
"I have an explanation," says Kogan, as we continue
to investigate the subject. "It's an expression of
the immigrant's self confidence. At first, the immigrant
wants to fit in at any price, to absorb the new culture.
It is when he feels sufficiently integrated that he can
return to his roots. I myself learned Hebrew very quickly,
I had Israeli girlfriends, and now I can enjoy both worlds;
one identity does not contradict the other. I really don't
feel like an outsider who belongs only to the Russian community."
Wiener has an additional explanation: "We are one million
people who came to a community of five million Israelis.
That's a percentage that provides power. Now Israeli society
is integrating into us - there has to be mutuality."
Kogan says that this can be called post-Modernism, or multiculturalism,
to which the Russians have contributed significantly.
"Israelis have something to learn from the Russians
as well," he says. "We thought we were coming
to a country with a superior Western culture. Only here
did we discover that it's not like that at all." Yes,
they have read Israeli writers Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua,
and were not impressed. In their opinion, Russian literature
is superior to Israeli literature, and they prefer to read
even translated literature in Russian rather than the Hebrew
translation.
In Russia, they say, there is a tradition of good translation.
The quality of translation in Israel is not so good. Even
Sartre and Camus sound better in Russian. Wiener also prefers
Russian rock. "It's because of the words," he
says, "mainly because of the words."
Both say they were forced to leave material assets behind
the moment they immigrated to Israel, but at least they
brought with them spiritual assets, and nobody can take
those away from them. At the same time, they have no nationalist
feelings toward Russia, their nationalist commitment is
to Israel. "The news here is an opinion, a stand, a
subject of debate - the news there is just an interesting
anecdote for us," is how Wiener sees their national
orientation.
But this serious discussion is forgotten the moment we enter
the Putin Pub, where the young people recently celebrated
the end of the exam period at the university. Modern Russian
music plays loudly in the background. Everyone is familiar
with the tune, the words, the singers. There is an atmosphere
of youthful joy in the place. They all know each other,
they all speak Russian, a closed circle with no place for
a stranger. They don't serve nuts or olives with the beer
(there is Russian beer, too). Sticking with Russian custom,
they peel small dried fish that are great with beer. You
only have to know how to peel off the thin skin, and here
everyone does it with great skill. When asked if ordinary
young Israelis who are not Russian revelers says: "It
happens. We also go to a Mexican restaurant speakers ever
come in by mistake, one of the sometimes."
The Russian Jewish Encyclopedia
"There can be differences of opinion as to the material
included in the short Jewish encyclopedia, but it must be
emphasized that this is a Jewish encyclopedia published
in a Zionist country. In any case, its appearance is without
a doubt an important event in the book world."
Important? It depends to whom. Apparently to Russian nationalists,
from whose newspaper, Slovo, this quote has been taken.
It's less important to the Israeli cultural establishment,
which is ignoring the project with remarkable concentration.
In a number of simple rooms opposite the President's House
in Jerusalem, for almost 30 years a very diligent and committed
group has been working on the publication of the Jewish
Encyclopedia in Russian, for the first time in almost 100
years. Its very outdated predecessor was published in St.
Petersburg at the beginning of the 20th century.
Its official name - the "Shorter Jewish Encyclopedia"
- doesn't do justice to the dozens of large, closely written
volumes, of the Russian-language Jewish encyclopedia. The
name "shorter" is a remainder from the early days,
when the entire project was supposed to include only two
volumes based on the English-language Encyclopedia Judaica.
But those engaged in the work foresaw the wave of aliyah
(immigration) and the need for an encyclopedia that would
be a source of reliable information for speakers of Russian
who lack a background in Jewish and Israeli history. Today
the volumes of the encyclopedia enjoy a place of honor in
every research institute in the CIS. Only in Israel is it
still outside the mainstream.
In truth, almost every one of those involved in the work
could have been an entry in the Russian-language Jewish
encyclopedia. For example, there is the veteran head of
the editorial board, Ella Slivkin, a linguist by profession.
In 1941, her family was exiled from Riga to Siberia after
being declared a "dangerous social element." Slivkin,
then Kogan, fled from Siberia, studied at the University
of Latvia (long before it became an Israeli joke as a diploma
mill for Israeli civil servants), married a "Zionist
from birth," as she puts it, and immigrated to Israel
with him in 1966.
The editor of the encyclopedia, Naftali Prat, could have
figured prominently in an entry on Jewish dissidents. While
still a student in Kiev, he took part in underground Jewish
activity. In 1956, he was sentenced to six years in prison,
which he spent in the infamous work camp in Mordovia. He
managed to immigrate to Israel in 1971, did a doctorate
in general philosophy, and became part of the staff of the
encyclopedia, until he became one of its two chief editors.
Eliahu Valk, director of the Institute for Diaspora Research
which is producing the encyclopedia, could have been a paragraph
in the entry devoted to the struggle of the Soviet Jews.
From the age of 18 he has been involved, as he puts in,
in disseminating information about the State of Israel.
He was first in the Riga underground, later in the context
of Netiv, a clandestine organization that served as a liaison
bureau between the Israeli government and the former Soviet
Union, to promote the emigration of Soviet Jews. Now he
continues to disseminate this knowledge via the encyclopedia.
The tools have changed, the goal has not.
The 10 volumes already published (the Index is now being
edited), include Jewish history from the biblical period
until the present. Presumably, the basic structure of any
encyclopedia. But how, for example, does one write an entry
about the State of Israel, which has fluid borders, in a
region where an enemy becomes a friend and once again becomes
an enemy, and whose politics produce and kill off heroes
at a dizzying pace?
But all this is nothing compared to the difficulty presented
by the encounter between Russian culture and Jewish culture
in Israel. The names of people and places from the Bible
are familiar to Soviet Jews and to researchers in their
Russian version, which are based on the Septuagint [the
translation of the Bible into Greek, which dates from the
Second Temple period]. For example, "Be'er Sheva"
is known as "Virsavia," Bethlehem is "Vifleem"
and Isaac is "Isaak."
"We discovered we have no terminology in modern Russian,"
recalls Slivkin. "It was the beginning of a real war.
Those who are committed to the Russian tradition insisted
that we stick to it; those who were already here and knew
Hebrew, understood that in planning for the future, one
cannot tread water. We then told Prof. Shmuel Ettinger,
who was the chair of the encyclopedia, that we were bringing
about a revolution in honor of the Jews still to arrive,
and we made a decision to use a transliteration from Hebrew
in most cases." Now they boast that their transliteration
has become the accepted version for everyone, including
Middle East experts in Russia. A few names, such as "Abraam,"
"Moisei" and "Yerusalim," have been
preserved in their Russian version.
But what does one do with phrases like "Kupat Holim"
[Health Maintenance Organization] and "Bituah Leumi"
[National Insurance] that have become an inseparable part
of the new state, but have no meaning for Russians? And
how does one say "Bagatz" [High Court of Justice]
in Russian? "We discussed the problem, and in most
cases we used the Israeli expression with an explanation
of its meaning," says Valk. "We invented an entire
world of concepts that is accepted today by state institutions
and the Russian-language media."
Valk and his colleagues invented not only a world of concepts,
but original ways of disseminating them as well. During
the days of the Iron Curtain, which now have a romantic
aura, the members of Netiv used to sneak the first volumes
of the encyclopedia into the Soviet Union illegally. Jewish
activists would photograph individual pages with a copier
and pass them along to each other.
Nowadays, there are schools and Jewish centers that buy
the volumes for the community. The average Jew in Russia
cannot afford to buy the set (about NIS 1,200) - also true
of the average immigrant, for whom the encyclopedia is a
way of connecting to the nation and the country. The calendar
produced at the same time as the encyclopedia is very symbolic
- it shows the Hebrew calendar alongside the Gregorian calendar
for the years 1948-2048. This is for the benefit of those
people who are still living in two parallel time periods.
These do not always meet in the Israeli reality.
