photos and story by Neal Herbert

The Free Press

Off the Ave, the streets are sleepy, curtains drawn. Then from a small church tucked in between ubiquitous apartment buildings and houses along 13th Avenue, a chorus of voices cries out:

CHRIST HAS RISEN!

CHRIST HAS RISEN!

CHRIST HAS RISEN!

For the moment, only that sound is to be heard.

To celebrate Christ's ascension into heaven, Seattle's Russian-speaking

community has come from all over to stand shoulder to shoulder in St. Nicholas' and watch an Easter service that has not changed in more than 1800 years.

The atmosphere is mystical, the service long. Hundreds of candle-lit faces, rendered indistinct by the smoke from burning incense, stand for up to four hours while the service is conducted, in Russian, by Bishop Kyrill,

Father Konstantine and their assistants. Occasionally, the choir lifts the priests' prayers into song, then recedes. Some follow the readings in their Bibles, some merely listen. The silence of so many is profound.

Upon entering the church, they genuflect before many icons, often bowing to kiss them. The young are held up so they may take part to. Circling inside the church, the walls of which are heavy with ornate woodwork, tapestries and paintings, people commune with the saints, often touching the wooden frames reverently. Candles are lit for dead friends and relatives. Prayers performed in triplicate to symbolize the Holy Trinity. It is an awesome display of devotion.

The Easter weekend is perhaps the most sacred of holidays for both Orthodox and non-Orthodox Russians. The end of Lent brings a time for celebration, a time to gather with family and friends to feast and reaffirm old bonds. While doing research for this essay, I had been invited to join a Russian family for their dinner after the midnight service. At 3:30 am on Easter Sunday, I found myself seated at an enormous table with the Strigen family and many of their closest friends. Children were running around on adrenaline, while a blizzard of conversations in both English and Russian took place around the table. As I was introduced, I could only wave to the people at the other end.

Spooning food onto my plate as countless, carefully-prepared dishes passed before me, I couldn't help but wonder, "what are we doing UP?!"

Steve Tasoff, who had extended the invitation to me earlier that day, turned and said, "Well, this is my family ... are you glad you came?"

In searching for clues to the Russian community in Seattle, I had unwittingly landed in its heart.

With a population estimated at 8,000, the Russian (or "Russian-speaking," since many may not be "ethnically" Russian but are no less a part of the community) population in Seattle has been built up in layers. Waves of immigration have tended to follow upon or precede political turmoil in the former Soviet Union. The Bolshevik revolution, World War II and glasnost have all uprooted thousands of Russians seeking to escape the uncertainty of fundamental changes in government. In "opening" and decentralizing Russia and the other republics, the recent trend towards democracy and a free-market economy has actually made it more difficult to emigrate to the United States. A crippling government is one thing, a crippled goverment quite another: officially, you can't be a refugee from a bad economy.

Obtaining permanent status here has never been more difficult. In an attempt to reduce the number of defections, the U.S. government is very careful about who it lets in to the country - even professional athletes and performers are judged before being allowed entry. The one persecuted minority that is grudgingly recognized is the Pentecostals, a new-Testament based religious group that has roused the anger of the conservative Orthodoxy, resulting in often violent confrontations.

Despite these difficutlies, Seattle's Russian community continues to grow, crossing the lines of both ethnicity and age. A recent influx of young, talented Russians even seems to be revitalizing the community, and the many young faces at St. Nicholas' appear somewhat out of place in a scene that seems more of a medieval illustration than something you might actually stumble into on your way home from a night at RKCNDY or the Re-bar. And far from charging into the American melting pot with abandon, these people seem conscious of their heritage, and concerned about its preservation. It is not so much nationalism as self-awareness.

Though it may not be common knowledge, Seattle is the sister city of Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. A cultural alliance created 14 years ago to promote and facilitate the exchange of ideas between universities, professional organizations and businesses, it is one of the oldest sister-city alliances in the country. The alliance has helped to shape Seattle's Russian-speaking community, and to create the social network that is almost like a support group for those living abroad: a group centered around a small house up in northern Greenwood.

While an official Russian embassy was just recently established in Seattle, there has always been a warm hearth for travelers in the home of Virginia Strigen. Though they have lived in Seattle since emigrating from Russia in 1923, Ginny and her family have maintained close ties all over Russia. In a ironic twist, both of her daughters have married Russians, which has only intensified their family's identity.

In addition to providing housing for members of the Bolshoi Ballet, the Moscow Circus, the athletes from the Goodwill Games, and any other travelers needing a home-cooked meal and a rest, her daughter Sandy is often called upon as an interpreter for both professionals here on business and new arrivals seeking work permits. Often her work their borders on advocacy, as she helps confused applicants deal with the bureaucracy of US customs.

I went to the Virginia's house on Sunday night, after a few hours of sleep, for a second family Easter feast. Completely put at ease by the Strigen's wonderful ability to make complete strangers feel like kin, by the time the evening was half over I had long forgotten about my camera and notepad. Genuine Siberian vodka (the best of the best, I was told) and Russian caviar flowed freely. Ginny's son-in-law Misha played Russian folk songs on his guitar while others listened and took the occasional dance. I could understand little of what he sang, but in some of the more emotional songs, I could sense a longing in the gazes of some, perhaps thinking of home, closing their eyes and imagining themselves tobe somewhere nearer to the loved ones they left behind.

But the Russian spirit is fun-loving, and amidst all the laughter and clapping there was a tremendous feeling of warmth. It was a family gathering unlike any I had ever been to, and I hope that I can go back soon.

[Home] [This Issue's Directory] [WFP Index] [WFP Back Issues] [E-Mail WFP]

---

Contents on this page were published in the May, 1993 edition of the Washington Free Press.
WFP, 1463 E. Republican #178, Seattle, WA -USA, 98112. -- WAfreepress@gmail.com
Copyright © 1993 WFP Collective, Inc.