Savoring a Taste of Freedom : Immigrants Gather for Passover Matzo

Alexander Gelman knows a lot about waiting in line. He spent most of his 71 years in the Soviet Union, where waiting in long lines for basic goods is--like freeway driving in Los Angeles--unpleasant but unavoidable.

So it did not bother him Sunday that 500 people were queued up in front of him to receive free matzo bread in West Hollywood.

“In America the lines are like freeways,” he said through an interpreter. “They’re crowded but everyone moves so fast.”

Gelman and his wife, Tsilya--who 25 minutes after getting in line held packages of matzo--were among the estimated 4,000 recent Russian immigrants, most between 50 and their mid-70s, to receive 15,000 pounds of free Passover matzo at Plummer Park on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Last year, they were in cities such as Odessa, Tashkent, Vilnius, Kiev and Moscow. This year, they were in West Hollywood. For many immigrants, Friday will be the first chance to celebrate Passover in the United States and the first time they feel they can practice their religion without fear.

“Today, I am finally free,” said Chava Manischevitz, 70, who arrived from Vilnius, Lithuania, on Tuesday. “This is the first week I am free to be a Jew.”

Manischevitz, who spent three years in a Nazi concentration camp, said she and several family members left Vilnius with nothing but the clothes they were wearing, fearing that anti-Semitism would increase in newly independent Lithuania.

“America makes me so happy,” she said, holding a box of matzos in each hand. “It’s like a new start.”

Standing next to Manischevitz was her grandson, Nathan, 11, who looked very Southern Californian in his blue Jimmy Z T-shirt, surfer shorts and new high-top sneakers.

“It’s different than Vilnius,” said Nathan, whose broken English and wide-open eyes gave away his recent arrival. “There’s a lot to learn here.”

The great matzo giveaway was sponsored by the Chabad Russian Immigrant Synagogue of Los Angeles as a way to help newly arrived Jews practice--or in many cases learn about--their religion in America.

The flat unleavened bread is used to commemorate the Jewish liberation from slavery in Egypt more than 3,300 years ago. Chabad, a branch of Orthodox Judaism, held a similar but much smaller event last year, said Rabbi Naftoli Estulin.

“The free matzo is not about money,” said Leonid Glossman, 45, who left Russia in 1974 and helps new immigrants. “It’s a symbol of freedom here.”

Because all religion was discouraged for 70 years under communism, many Russian Jews know very little about their faith and culture, Estulin said. In addition to giving out matzo, Chabad volunteers helped newcomers pray Tfillim, a set of prayers performed daily by Orthodox men.

Gyorgy Perelrozn, 58, who came here from Odessa, Ukraine, last month, sheepishly went through the prayers with a young boy.

“This is my first Tfillim,” he said afterward through an interpreter. “I’ve never prayed very much.” But Perelrozn said he was inspired to learn more about his faith since moving to America and had recently begun attending services each day.

“It’s not too late to learn,” he said.

Perelrozn was typical of many of emigres here, said Chabad volunteer Michael Fuksman, 44, who immigrated from the Soviet Union in 1975.

“Some Jews are like candles, their faith is just waiting to be lit,” Fuksman said. “Other Jews are like fireplaces, who can light the candles and give warmth to others.”

But Russian Jews, he said, are like flint.

“Their faith seems like nothing,” Fuksman said. “But if you touch them the right way, you can start a fire.”