So, I Drank the Kool-Aid

Life in Ukraine is becoming increasingly natural for me as everyday routines are established and mature. Strange, n’est pas? I live in Ukraine and it feels normal. Allow me to illustrate a few standards that are no longer remarkable for me:

• Toilet paper is BYO
• Postcards are not sold anywhere in Dnepropetrovsk
• A thong leotard is acceptable at the gym & preferred in animal print
• Queuing-up in a mysterious line
• Over-the-knee boots, fishnets & a micro-mini are work appropriate
• Brown water
• Wallpaper with glitter
• Wearing the exact same outfit to work all week
• Excitement around the grand opening of TGI Friday’s
• Greek salads garnished with tongue or dollop of lard

I was brought back to reality yesterday afternoon when I realized I was conducting business in the dark… literally. At first, I didn’t think anything of it because most companies do not turn on the lights until it is absolutely necessary once the sun sets. This is jokingly referred to here as “economy” or the practice of pinching pennies. For example, I share my office with four colleagues who politely ask each other permission before turning on the overhead lights.

But, yesterday was different. I was offsite in several early evening meetings which were conducted in absolute darkness and nobody thought it was strange; it wasn’t even mentioned. As it turned out, there was a blackout. During the blackout in New York, we left work early, drank warm beers for 25 cents and picnicked outside with friends. Here, its business as usual which unsympathetically highlights times past in Ukraine.

For many Ukrainians, life is still hard. I have neighbors who live without running water or electricity. At the same time, neighbors on the other side live lavishly even by American standards with indoor swimming pools and Land Rovers. The juxtaposition of rich and poor underscores the challenges and opportunities facing Ukraine as a developing nation. As shopping malls replace Soviet-era bazaars and sushi meets borscht head-on, history is in the making! I am honored to take part, even if it means drinking the Kool-Aid and queuing up in a leotard (okay, maybe not in the leotard).

There's Nothing Like a Good Shvitz

While the memory/nightmare is still lurid, I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell you about my most recent excursion to the Russian bathhouse. I wish I had taken a picture but I was so traumatized by the experience I missed the chance to immortalize my terror on film.

It started off on the right foot. I had been waiting to spend an afternoon at the legendary (well, at least in Dnepropetrovsk) Tsunami spa. My husband Jonathan was here for the week and I figured this was a good time to bring out the big guns and really show him what living large was all about in Ukraine.

There is an entrance fee to use the facility and “administration” scanned our bracelets each time we ordered a service, some of which cost extra. The carte du jour was endless… honey scrubs, Japanese soaks, milk and champagne baths, Turkish massage, aromatherapy hot tubs, plunge pools and more. We eased into it with an hour long foot massage while swinging from a hammock seat in the dark. I think it was the new age music and nature scenes on the big screen that put Jonathan to sleep so I let him choose the next service; we were off for a sauna!

The choices of saunas were equally diverse, offering both wet (steam) and dry. We opted for the traditional Russian banyas which involves steam, heat, cold and an “invigorating beating” with a venik or broom made of birch branches and leaves where the heat is gathered. The sauna reaches 60% humidity and 180 degrees Fahrenheit. I like to refer to this portion of the afternoon as hell. For roughly 6 minutes and $7, a short, hairless (and sometimes naked) Russian man with a pointy felt hat did the following to me:

• prepared a herbal foot soak for me, why I don't know
• escorted me into the sauna and laid me face down on the top bench
• Flogged me with the birch broom (the “invigorating beating”)
• pressed and held the heated broom to all areas of my body

I stopped him before he had a chance to get to my arms because I couldn't take another minute. I had reached my maximum pain and sweat thresh hold. I could barely stand and he basically had to carry me out. He threw me in the shower and washed off the leaves. My head was spinning and I was overjoyed to be done but was instead guided to a small room with a snow making machine. It was -7 degrees Celsius, snowing and I was barefoot in a bathing suit. The little man rubbed snow all over my body but I was happy as a clam to be out of that sauna. Next, he eased me into a freezing cold plunge pool and that’s where things took a turn for the worse. I could not breathe and I’m pretty sure my heart stopped beating for at least three seconds. Jonathan spent the next 15 minutes trying to keep me from hyperventilating.

The banyas are a timeless Russian tradition; there is evidence of their existence on the vast territories occupied by the Slavic people before the creation of the Russian states. The word banyas derives from the Latin balneum which means to “chase out pain.” Health benefits including improved blood circulation, eliminating toxins from the body and an increase in oxygen levels, metabolism, red blood cells and haemoglobin count have been subject to centuries of debate including by Aristotle and Hypocrites. Traditionally the banyas were a means for all Russians, from Tzars to peasants, to cleanse themselves and remains popular today for family fun and relaxation.

Personally, I didn’t feel quite right again until the next day but plenty of water and a glass of wine helped. Participating in this unique Russian tradition was unforgettable and I recommend it to anyone who doesn’t mind being sweaty, light-headed or those who have more courage than this pampered, Bliss Spa (Elizabeth Arden in a pinch) going New Yorker.

Holiday Bargains: World Peace Just $12

These days, $12 doesn't buy you much in New York City. You might go to the movies alone, take a friend to Starbucks for a latte or have six cupcakes at Magnolia's. In Ukraine, though, $12 will buy you a roundtrip ticket to Hadiach, a spiritual journey to the grave of the Alter Rebbe, possibly a miracle, a bottomless cup of hot tea and all the fish stew and beet salad your heart desires. The only thing that's not included is toilet paper, but that's par for the course here.

For $12, I thought hey... why not? We left after sunrise on an unusually sunny albeit freezing day, a mere -18 degrees Celsius. My only complaint was the hole in the baseboard of the van that left us all paralyzed by the cold. Two pairs of pantyhose, three pairs of socks and fur-lined boots still left me unable to feel my toes at press time.

I had a lot of time to think since the trip was 13 hours and 47 minutes from beginning to end. Last night, I had never even heard of the Alter Rebbe and suddenly I found myself in a van full of women from Chabad humming niguns. Luckily, I was seated next to a lovely young woman, a shaliach (Chabad emissary) from Israel who showed me the ropes.

The Alter Rebbe is Shneur Zalman of Liadi born September 4, 1745. He was an Orthodox rabbi, the founder and first rebbe of Chabad, a branch of Hasidic Judaism. The Alter Rebbe was descended from a family of mystics and philosophers. He is well known as the youngest disciple of Rabbi Dovber of Mezeritch, the "Great Maggid," who was in turn the successor of Rabbi Yisroel ben Eliezer, known as the Baal Shem Tov. Early in life he distinguished himself as a Talmud scholar and at age twelve was sent home by teachers who said he no longer needed their aid.

The Alter Rebbe went on to become the leader of Hassidism in 1788. He worked to place Hasidism and Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) on a rational basis defining his approach in his greatest work Tanya, "mind ruling over the heart." He chose the name Chabad for his philosophy, a Hebrew acronym for CHochma (wisdom), Bina (understanding) and Da'at (knowledge). He is perhaps though most famous for his work Shulchan Aruch HaRav, the "Code of Jewish Law by the Rabbi," used today by Hasidim as their basis for daily practice.

When the Alter Rebbe died in 1812, he was succeeded by his son, followed by his grandson, and so on; there were seven Rebbes of Lubavitch total, the final, and perhaps most well-known, the Alter Rebbe's great-great-great-great grandson, Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneersohn. By then, Chabad headquarters was moved to Crown Heights in Brooklyn where Rabbi Schneersohn was recognized for his efforts to expand Chabad around the world. Since his death in 1994, there has been speculation that either he was the messiah, will return as the messiah or did not actually die but is in hiding.

The Alter Rebbe, though, did die exactly 196 years ago today making my trek today part of a larger Hasidic pilgrimage. Hundreds of visitors, including myself, offered their blessings and asked the Rebbe for a miracle. I had heard about this before: single women asking to find a match or infertile couples asking for children. Everyone on the bus had a story about a miracle they had witnessed or heard; be careful what you wish for, they warned!

The prayers are written on pieces of white, unlined paper. My new friend helped me begin by adding the necessary Hebrew blessings praising God at the top of the page which, apparently, puts the Rebbe in the right "mood" to make things happen. It is followed by one's personal, spiritual and material hopes and dreams. Next, you enter the room with the grave, light a candle and pray. At the right moment, you literally shred your prayers and offer them to the Rebbe by scattering the pieces atop his tomb. Then, you can warm up with tea and fish stew while you wait for everyone else to finish.

I'm not exactly sure what happened to me today but I definitely returned feeling energized and uplifted. For good measure, I added prayers for world peace and an end to poverty, hunger, disease and war so we'll see what happens.

Keep your fingers crossed.