Small Ukrainian City Braces Itself for Influx

September 12, 2012

Cnaan Liphshiz

Jewish Telegraphic Agency

UMAN, Ukraine

Balancing her voluptuous figure on high heels, Alexandra Rostov boards a minibus at Kyiv’s Moskovskyi bus station, setting down her zebra-patterned bag as the driver starts the Soviet-era clunker.

Like thousands of Ukrainians, Rostov is heading to Uman, a city of some 85,000 in central Ukraine, to find work during the annual pilgrimage of more than 25,000 Jews to Uman.

Ukrainian employees of Uman’s Hospitality Hall prepare a holiday feast.
Photo by Cnaan Liphshiz

The visitors — mostly men, almost all from overseas — come to celebrate Rosh Hashanah at the grave of Rav Nachman of Bres­lav, the founding and only rebbe of Breslaver Chasidim (also known as Bratslavers). Nachman died here in 1810 at the age of 38.

The Chasidic presence in Uman, sustained during the year by hundreds of Chasidim visiting the sacred grave­site every week, has spawned numerous businesses and charitable projects here. Hundreds of Jews own housing units in Uman’s Pushkina neighborhood, many of which become hostels for rent during Rosh Hashanah and on many Sabbaths during the year.

The visible Jewish presence in this town also has sparked a good deal of tension between two incongruous groups: Chasidic foreigners and Ukrainian locals.

“Jewish money stays in Jewish hands,” said Yuri Botner, the district director of the nationalist Svoboda Party. “They don’t eat our food; they are no tourists.”

Haim Cheshin, an Israeli businessman who moved here 24 years ago and owns several properties, says, “Local anti-Semites are mounting a hate campaign against Chasidim.”

Among other things, he cited discriminative attention to illegal construction by Jews.

But with so many logistics to take care of before the holiday, the Jews and Ukrainians also work side by side.

Chasidic and Ukrainian laborers set up tents and schlep quantities of food and drink while Ukrainian pop tunes from stereo sets mix with Chasidic music blasting from speakers. Less than a week before Rosh Hashanah, 50 Ukrainian women wait for jobs outside the gate of Heichal Hachnasat Orchim (Hebrew for “Hospitality Hall”), a three-acre catering compound that is the city’s largest Chasidic eatery and will produce 15,000 meals over the two-day holiday.

To achieve this, Hospitality Hall’s staff has stocked up on tons of bread, rice, vegetables, fruit and plastic cutlery, as well as nearly 20 tons of meat and 13,800 whole chickens. The birds were slaughtered in Ukraine in recent weeks by ritual slaughterers imported from Israel. By holiday’s end, some 192,000 challah rolls will have been baked in the compound’s ovens.

In charge of this mega-eatery is Charles Rubinfeld, an American Jew who oversees the frantic preparations with calm.

While visitors must buy tickets to some meals, much of the holiday food and drinks are provided free. Meal ticket sales do not begin to cover expenses, Rubinfeld says. Hospitality Hall is kept running by a number of donors who also bought the land on which it operates.

Rubinfeld says he tries to employ as many local Ukrainians as possible and avoid “things that look bad.”

Some 165 Ukrainians working here earn the equivalent of $1 an hour, according to Irena, a cook. She said she and a few colleagues return every year for the work and that the bosses are fair and friendly.

But outside Hospitality Hall, relations are less cordial. Over the holiday, some 3,000 of the pilgrims will sleep in a tent city being erected nearby. “The Chasidim bring no income but many problems,” said Deputy Mayor Peter Payevsky. “Many of the people employed by the Chasidim come from outside Uman.”

Uman only has the capacity to absorb 5,000 visitors at once, and overpopulation creates bitterness, he said. The mayor said he’s trying to capitalize on the pilgrimage by introducing new property taxes, but the government in Kyiv is opposed.

Violence between Chasidim and locals is common, he said, as is drug use among the Chasidim. “Many of these people who come are reformed criminals seeking comfort and mental health,” he said. “But they don’t stop being criminals when they come here.”

The Breslaver Chasidic sect has a strong presence in Israel’s prisons, where it does outreach work aimed at getting inmates to become more observant. Bres­lavers also work with poor Israelis. In many Israeli neighborhoods, Breslav Chasidim drive around in vans plastered with stickers about the late rebbe and blasting music.

When the Chasidim come to Uman, apparently there is some backsliding into less-than-religious ways. A local taxi driver, Andrei Slovodan, said he sometimes is asked by the Chasidim where they can “meet a girl.”

Eduard Leonov, a member of the nationalist Svoboda Party who’s launched a campaign for a “Chasid-free Uman,” said 200 female sex workers arrive in Uman every year for the work they’re able to get during the pilgrimage. “The prostitutes arrive just before Rosh Hashanah, but police keep them out so they work the highway,” Leonov said.

No prostitutes were visible on a ride into Uman a week before the holiday.

“The Chasidim are aggressive, provocative and disrespectful,” said Jenia L., a 32-year-old teach­er who was born and raised in Uman. “They do not behave like religious people. They are all over the city, like bugs.”

Cheshin, the Israeli businessman, said he fears tensions will lead to a “mass riot” soon.