The beguiling city of Odesa

Marla here:

Of the three of us, I think I arrived in Odesa with the greatest sense of excitement. My grandmother Dora Krafchek Waltman called Odesa, a city where she and her siblings spent a great deal of time in their youth, the Paris of the Russian Empire. She was right.

Odesa, at least in its city centre, feels a lot like Europe. In fact, walking down some of the streets, one could be in Paris (if you ignore all of the signs in Cyrillic text). There are many European and international brand stores lining its streets, and the architecture is a mix of 19th century apartments (many of them crumbling), restored 19th century public buildings, city and small neighbourhood parks with outdoor cafes, late 19th/early 20th century Art Nouveau concrete buildings, and modern glass-covered shopping centres.

This arcade was finished in 1899, the same year Alfred Dreyfus is pardoned in France, and the Second Boer War started. "The More You Know!"

You can almost hear a city official inside Odesa City Hall getting ready to draft an anti-bike bylaw

In search of old Odesa, one only has to walk down some of its back streets. My grandmother used to talk about a common Odesan architectural element, namely the arches off main streets that lead to central courtyards and apartments. Sitting in front of the archways then, and sometimes even now, one found a 'babushka', usually an older woman acting as a concierge, gossip, and general know-it-all, guarding the gateway.

The fee for entry? (I would assume) 100 UAH or a good bowl of borscht

Often these courtyards are now filled with cars, as well as being lined with offices or stores, but they give the residents a place to chat, play, or get some air.

Two slightly shady characters caught mid-transaction by the camera's unblinking eye

 Above the courtyards live the residents of downtown Odesa in a multitude of different types of apartments; many appear to be in very bad shape, at least externally.  Even so, one gets a sense of the types of residences where my family spent time during their many visits to Odesa before and during World War One.

We visited some of the extraordinarily beautiful 19th century buildings that house some of the most important sites in Odesa. The Opera House is world famous and deservedly so; unfortunately, the only performance during our stay was the night we arrived and its production of  'Romeo and Julietta' was sold out.

What you don't see in this picture is that there are several monuments to the glorious war dead of the Soviet Union opposite the Opera House,

Near the Opera House were other beautiful buildings, courtyards, and parks.

The aforementioned park

So beautiful, so full of life

If you lived in this apartment building, you'd be home by now... and forever serenaded by Ukrainian and Russian opera.

Another unpretentious apartment block

When we were in Pervomaisk, a powerful storm ripped across Ukraine. While Pervomaisk was only hit by minor damage and a short blackout, Odesa got hit much worse. We saw on the news that there was flooding and major damage. While driving into Odesa a couple days later we witnessed this damage first-hand. Large branches were torn off trees and roadside were crumpled over like pieces of paper. In the city centre, the damage was equally severe.

Going to Odesa? Good luck reading the signs.

Don't say I didn't tell you so

Those are branches not bushes. The canopy of the park now has huge holes in it.

In the famous Odesa City Park, they are in the process of cutting down large old-growth trees, which, luckily, missed the bandstand when they fell. Even more fortunately, there seemed to be minimal damage to the city's historical buildings and monuments.

I'm not sure what's of greatest concern: the size of the tree that fell from the storm or the fact that child is about to be swallowed by said tree.

While walking along the Bul Prymorsky (Prymorsky Boulevard, a tree-lined pedestrian zone above the harbour) you often hear snippets of conversations in French, German, Turkish, and English as well as Ukrainian and Russian.

Beret optional, and more accurately, highly discouraged.

One of the places I had hoped to see when we planned our trip to Odesa was the house of the Ephrussi family, made famous by the extraordinary book entitled "The Hare with the Amber Eyes".  However, just as we learned that our family homes in Kryzhopil and Zhabokrich no longer exist, we had a similar disappointment with the house of the Ephrussi family. Located in a prime location on the Bul Prymorsky, just opposite the Pushkin monument, we found that the house was heavily under wraps.  In fact, it appears that under the wrapping, the house is in an advanced state of decay and disrepair.  A real loss of what was once a beautiful house.

Wait, I think I can make out a decorative column in... no, nevermind, that's just scaffolding

What is unlike Paris, Prague, or London, however, is that every so often, through the trees, you can see large freighters filling the waterfront.

Its products could be manufactured in China, but they could very well be shipped from Ukraine.

While the city core is a safe haven for tourists, Odesa is also a hard-working industrial port, surrounded by factories and refineries that ship all over the Black Sea and the Mediterranean.

Smell that fabulous Black Sea air... and smoke and gasoline.

One cannot visit Odesa without climbing the Potemkin Steps, made famous by the movie "Battleship Potemkin". As they are just around the corner from our hotel, we took the challenge, taking the steps down and then climbing back up, while trying to avoid the hustlers who wanted us to pay for photos with monkeys, hawks, and owls. (Oh my).

Also skimpy dresses and acrobats. You know, your average Monday in Odesa.

As well as spending our days walking through Odesa streets on our own, photographing buildings and streetscapes, we also took a private guided tour of Jewish Odesa. It was a fascinating introduction to the history of Jews in Odesa from a religious, political, historical, and artistic perspective.

We learned, for example, that six Jewish families lived in the Turkish town of Khadjibey, which became the city of  Odesa in 1794. While Jews lived across Ukraine in the Pale of Settlement, Odesa was the first native city for Jews. It was an open city and contained multiple ethnic and religious groups. As the population grew, Jews felt comfortable living anywhere in Odesa as the city never contained a ghetto. Before the Revolution, 70 prayer houses and synagogues could be found in the city, with different professions, such as tailors, furniture makers, sellers of lemons, kosher butchers, etc. each developing their own shul.

The Odesa Lubavichter Synagogue was open for photographs :)

Jews from the small settlements, such as my great-grandparents, would travel to Odesa and be thrilled and perhaps shocked by the city. I remember thinking how my relatives would have been overwhelmed with Toronto or Pittsburgh when they emigrated from Ukraine. After having learned about how cosmopolitan Odesa was in the 19th and 20th centuries, I realize now that our North American cities were pretty small potatoes compared what they experienced in Odesa!

Just a bit different from the streets in the shtetl, don't you think?

A nice unpretentious house in Odesa

Among other things, our tour showed us active synagogues, the Jewish Hospital (where my grandmother Dora and some of her siblings stayed when they suffered from cholera during the Revolution) and the locations of homes of well-known writers and political organizers such as Shalom Aleichem, Lev Jabotinsky, Mendele Sforim, Chaim Bialik, and Issak Babel. Odesa was a magnet for Ukrainian Jews and, in the words of Issak Babel, the city was a 'beckoning star'.

The plaque at the house where Simon Dubnov once lived. Afterwards, he moved to Lithuania, which proved to be a poor decision.

The house of some guy named Sholom Aleichem. The text in the upper plaque is actually Yiddish not Hebrew.

In fact, at one point over one-third of Odesa's population was Jewish, numbering about 300,000. That would change of course, after pogroms, emigration, World War Two, Stalin, Communism, and then the final emigration of Jews to Israel and other parts of the world after the fall of the Soviet Union. The city's Jewish population now sits at about 40,000.

One of the monuments commemorating the Shoah and Holocaust in Odesa.

There is much more to say about Odesa, both from what we learned through the tour, and our own exploration, but stop we must. Let's just say that our introduction to Odesa was just that. I'll have to return to Odesa in order to learn more of its secrets.

A series of fortunate events

Today, I'll play catch-up as we haven't had an Internet connection that would allow us to work on the blog for days. Tomorrow, Yuri & Lev will write about our enjoyable visit to Pervomaysk with family, while I will try to capture some of our experiences in Zhabokrich.

The thriving metropolis that is Zhabokrich

On Friday, Alex Dunai, our guide, drove us from our hotel in Tulchin (ending up at that hotel is another story in itself... but I digress) to Kryzhopil, and then the eleven kilometers to Zhabokrich. I was eager to follow the same road between the towns that family members would have used as they made the regular trip between the two villages. As my Bubi Dora once told me, there was (and still is) a forest standing along part of the trip. She recounted how the wooded area was scarier when they traveled at night as there was always the possibility of people hiding in the woods who could attack their carts without warning. Most of the other roads in Podolia, the region where the two towns are located, run through huge farm fields rather than woods.

The spooky, scary woods know all of your secrets and disapprove.

Fun fact: Zhabokrich (or Zhabokritch as some Jews spell it), means frog's croak and, unbeknown to me, is pronounced like Zhabo-krich, with the sound Zh like in Doctor Zhivago. Who knew?

The stereotypical Ukrainian villager on the sign represents the rich Jewish history of Zhabokrich

Zhabokrich was the village where my grandparents Leib Spektor and Dora Krafchek were born. In later years both the Spektor and Krafchek families would move to Kryzhopil, because the town provided greater opportunities for employment and easier access to the relatively new railroad that could take them to Odesa. But Zhabokrich was the town that my Bubi remembered fondly for its pond (where the frogs croaked), for its hills, for their house with its fruit-bearing trees that they used to make jams, and for the village square where there was a busy market every second Sunday.

We did not hear a single frog. Unfortunately, there were no refunds forthcoming.

Much of Zhabokrich has changed. The market square now contains a small restaurant and small stores, but many buildings remain from early in the last century. When we first arrived we didn't know the location of the old Jewish area of town or the Jewish cemetery. Once again a series of fortuitous events (and some serious sleuthing on the part of Alex) gave us information that we had not had prior to this visit.

Panoramic view of Zhabokrich (former) market square

First off, Lev saw a large menorah at a distance when we were in the 'centre' of town; it turned out to be the site of one of two monuments to the mass killings in Zhabokrich in July 1941 and in 1944. We visited both sites and said Kaddish.

The memorial plaque for the mass grave in the former market square

Another mass grave memorial, another large menorah, another sad reminder of what once was

Afterwards, Alex spoke to some people who were walking in town and learned that there was an elderly Ukrainian woman still lived in town who used to work for a Jewish families. We went in search of her and after some door-knocking met her daughter. While her mother could no longer remember much, the daughter was able to recollect some of the things her mother had told her. She pointed out where many of the Jews had lived, and where some had died in WWII, and in some cases even remembered their family names!

Pictured: Not the house they live in. This is/was probably an old Jewish house from the 19th century

We were also surprised, and thrilled, when she pointed out that a brick synagogue built in the early 1900s was still standing. It isn't used anymore, given that there are no Jews still living in Zhabokrich, but the fact that it is still standing (although somewhat hidden by additional structures) was a wonderful sight!

It was probably used by the Soviets as a garage for servicing machinery

As we prepared to leave to look for the Jewish cemetery, our friend came back out of her house and told us that she remembered where the Carpenter's house had been. That house was the one where the Spektor family lived in Zhabokrich. The Krafchek's lived next door (which side we are not sure).  Imagine our excitement! Then, to our dismay, once again,we learned that the house had been demolished in the 1980s. It seems we have been doomed to see only empty lots. Apparently, however, the house had a beautiful big porch and was well-known in the community.

The ostentatious gate, I am happy to say, is probably not original

The house (chata) stood across the street from the shul, proving that the Spektor's were probably that one annoying "holier-than-thou" family everyone in the village hated. ;)

Our final search was for the Jewish cemetery. Many conversations with many town-folk sent us on car trips up into the hills over Zhabokrich, through meadows, into an overgrown Catholic cemetery, and over a muddy track.

Overgrown is a mild understatement

Finally, in frustration, Alex convinced another man who was walking by to lead us to the cemetery, which was tucked in behind a grove of trees and over a small stream. 

I'd love to say the clouds parted and a sunbeam shone down upon it, but in reality, it was looking like it may rain.

 It was mostly overgrown, with many toppled headstones and very hard to read stones (I really must improve my Hebrew). But amazingly we uncovered the grave with the name Вельтман (Veltman), my paternal great-grandmother Masha's maiden name! We're not sure how the person is related to our family yet but in such a small town, s/he must be! There is much research to be done.

If anyone knows what the Hebrew inscription says, please leave it in the comments below

Many more interesting events took place that day but they are too numerous, and I am too tired, to recount them all.  Another day, another post :)

The Long (and Pot-holed) Road Home

I feel a need to start this blog update with some photos of the ubiquitous pot-holes on all of the roads we taken on this trip. I don't think any of us have ever driven through so many kilometres of pot-holed roads in our lives. Driving (thank goodness, our driver Alex was at the wheel
and not ourselves) requires dexterity, control, and nerves of steel to handle the swerving, deking, and weaving to get around potholes and cars approaching in the wrong lane. I sat in the front too!

The potholes of Ukraine are deep and plentiful

What I believe to be the only road crew in Ukraine. This is the only way to explain the roads.

The past two days have been quite phenomenal. After years of listening to my Bubi (Dora) Krafchek Waltman talk about Zhabokrich and Kryzhopil, we have finally been there! Actually, we haven't visited Zhabokrich yet, which is on the agenda for tomorrow. But so far we have been to three family towns, namely Shpykiv, Kniaze (now called Radyanske), and Kryzhopil. Family members from the Begler, Krafchek, Spektor, and Weltman families were born or were raised in at least one of these towns. It was exciting to walk down the streets where they lived, and to see the types of homes they would have lived in.

This is one of the kinds of house Jews in Kryzhopil lived in. See if you can find the robot face.

Bubi Dora used to always talk about the Kryzhopil railway station, which was the centre of town when the families lived there. They often took the train to Odessa and back, and many family stories centred around the train.

The train station of Kryzhopil, with a suprising number of trains running past it.

When trying to enter or leave Kryzhopil, you WILL have to stop let a train cross. Guaranteed.

What was also wonderful to see were the beautiful green fields that spread out before us over the kilometres as we drove from Shpykiv, past Kniaze, and then down south to Kryzhopil. It is still early in the season so most of the time we saw young fields of corn, potatoes, wheat, and other grains, as well as the occasional bright red poppies.  I understand now why my grandmother would sometimes talk about the beauty of Ukraine and the lands near her home, and how she missed them, despite loving her life in Toronto.
   

Fullsize image available for desktop images and art galleries upon request

One of the tasks I set out for myself on this trip was to find the house that my great-grandfather Levi-Bentzion Spektor built in Kryzhopil at the turn of the last century with the help of his sons. Sadly, we didn't have an address or a photograph to go on. So, at first we were content to just find where Jews lived in Kryzhopil in the pre-war years. Alex took us to the City Hall where were met some very helpful staff who tracked down one of the remaining Jews in the town. We met and spent some time with Nicholai Jacobovich Drubetsky, a remarkably agile 86, who walked us up and down a number of streets near the market and showed us Jewish homes that were still standing.  He was a lovely man and we enjoyed meeting him very much. I taped some of his conversations with us.

He is remarkably quick on his feet and in his speech. Our translator and guide, Alex, had a real workout keeping up!

Alex told us that he thought it would be very difficult to find the house but when we realized that I knew a relative had lived in the house until she died in 1974, we realized that we had a clue. We went to the local archives, which still holds recent records, and found a staff member willing to help us. She went into the stacks, within minutes brought out a handwritten death register for 1974, opened it and, low and behold, the record for Etlja Melman Spektor was on the first page! It was a remarkable series of coincidences (we think it was beshert) that we were able to then find the address of the Spektor house, which was, unbelievably, across the street from the archives.

Literally the easiest genealogy search ever.

We went to the address immediately and were greatly disappointed to discover that the house was no longer there! A small portion of the house seems to be part of another house built on the property and the rest of the land now stands vacant. *sad face*  According to neighbours who came out to speak to us, they remembered Etlja Spektor and her son Boris and wife Betya. Apparently another family lived in the house from 1975 to around 1998 or so when  they left. Then the house was torn down and not replaced.

The disappointment is palpable in this image of an empty lot.

After that exciting but disappointing experience we went to the Kryhopil cemetery. Yesterday and today we spent considerable time walking through and photographing many of the gravestones in both cemeteries at Shpykiv and Kryzhopil.  The first was completely overgrown and on a hillside, which made walking extremely difficult. Much of the Kryzhopil cemetery was in better shape but still there are many tombstones that were hard to read or were broken. We were frustrated that we were unable to find the graves of Levi Bentzion Spektor and Sosya Begler, which I was told were in Kryzhopil. We did take photos of some Spektor, Weltman, one Krafcik, and a Mellman graves that I hope to translate after the trip. The gravestones were in Hebrew, Ukrainian or Russian or a combination.

While the cemetery may look nice here, try wading around in knee-high grass and brambles trying to read faded tombstones. It 's more fun than it sounds.

There is of course much more to say about this, and all the other parts of the trip, but this will have to do for now.  Tomorrow we visit another storied family village --- Zhabokrich --- which we are eager to see!