“Russia is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma…” Winston Churchill, in his famous 1939 radio address, understood that if you want to understand Russia, the first thing to understand is that you will never understand it.

Its mysteriousness, though, is what makes Russia such a wellspring of rich and varied stories. So when Marcia mentioned that she’d like to write a profile of “Babba Ida,” a kindhearted Russian Jewish grandmother who’d babysat for her daughter, it didn’t take more than a few moments for Emmy Leah and Miriam to find their own Russian connections.

Russians are famous for their wooden dolls. Open the beautifully decorated doll and find… a smaller, beautifully decorated doll concealed within. Open that, and find a still smaller doll.

Like those “matryoshka dolls” (bet you didn’t know they had a name), our Schmoozes also uncover hidden secrets: the heroism of an “ordinary” Russian Jew; the long-buried terror of Russian aggression; a “gam zu l’tovah” that took decades to reveal itself.

Fasten your fur hat earflaps, slip your hands into a cozy muff, and wrap your babushka around your head as the Sisters travel to the icy land of the Russian bear.

Marcia recounts the journey of “Babba Ida” bas Aharon a”h…

A Tale of Candles, Kasha, and Borscht

1997, a typical day after work. I arrive at the tiny garden apartment where three-year-old Leah has spent a happy afternoon after preschool with her babysitter Babba Ida (pronounced Eda). I kiss and hug my girl, listen to her day’s adventures. Then Babba sits me down and insists I eat her tasty borscht. After a stressful day at work, it’s nice to feel mothered.

We converse in Yinglish — a combination of Babba’s poor English and our mutual childhood Yiddish — mine quite rusty, hers totally tzebrochen (fractured). It starts with the details of Leah’s day. “She no like the kasha, so I make her potatoes.” “She play outside with neighbor’s girl.” “She color picture.” “She listen to Russian news.”

“You like my borscht?” she asks. “Just like my mama made.” She then starts to reminisce…

***

1941, Ida is 16 when the Nazis invade the Soviet Union. She, her parents, and her ten-year-old sister decide to outrun them. Many Jews in their small Ukrainian village refuse to leave, denying the imminent danger. But Ida’s parents believe the rumors. (Years later, they learn that everyone who stayed behind vanished.)

They head east. At one point, they’re on a steamboat. It’s Friday night, and Ida is worried. Her mother, who’s always lit Shabbos candles in secret, is determined to bentsh licht on the boat. But the boat is overflowing with refugees from all over Europe. No cabins. Everyone on deck, sleeping in the open. What if there are spies among the wretched crowd? Undeterred, her mother finds a corner in which to light.

Suddenly, Ida spots three young men approaching. She trembles…

The three men turn out to be Polish Jews, brothers, drawn to this brave Russian woman taking a big risk in her public display of religion. From that point on, the two families are inseparable.

They continue eastward. Next stop: a small town where they all toil in government fields, sleep in government-assigned homes, stretch out meager government rations — sometimes just a slice of bread.

Finally, they reach their destination: Kyrgyzstan, part of the Soviet Union.

***