The report in the media of the celebration of religious marriages for a group of Russian-Jewish couples, who came to the U.S. in recent years brought back to me memories of my visit, some years ago, to the Great Synagogue of Leningrad with its beautiful, but desolate Chuppah room.
Russian Jews are afraid to get married in a synagogue, for such a religious act, such an open affirmation of their loyalty to the Jewish faith, might cost them their jobs and expose them to harassment. For this reason, the majority of Russian Jews—not only those who are ignorant of Judaism, but even people who know the significance of a religious marriage—get married with a Chuppah. Others have their Chuppah in secret, in private homes.
Leningrad’s synagogue is situated near the center of the city. The large and beautiful building was erected towards the end of the last century by the comparatively small, but important and wealthy Jewish community, which then existed in the city. In Tsarist times the right of residence in St. Petersburg, as Leningrad was then called, was granted only to certain categories of Jews: Industrialists, contractors, financiers and professionals. The city was until the Revolution the capital of Russia.
For a long period no major repairs of the synagogue building were carried out. However with the approach of the 1980 Moscow Olympics, which expected to bring a record number of visitors to the Soviet Union, the Jewish community was given permission by the authorities to repair and renovate the building at its own expense.
About 200,000 Jews were believed to live in Leningrad. On the High Holidays, the city’s only large synagogue overflows with worshippers, but on weekdays there is only a small minyan. During the week services are held in the Beth Hamidrash, with its adjacent to the large sanctuary. The weekday minyan is composed solely of elderly men.
During our short stay in Leningrad, I davened in the small minyan in the morning and in the evening. I also visited the Shul during the day.
Several members of the community showed my wife and me around the building, which also contains a Mikveh and beautiful Chuppah Room.
On the way to the Chuppah room, I asked one of the men how many marriages were solemnized each month.
“Three to four,” the man answered.
“Don’t believe him,” another man whispered to me. “There are no marriages here. Young people are afraid of having a religious ceremony. It is only when they get permission to emigrate that already married couples come to us for Chuppah and Kiddushin. They know that in Israel they must produce a Jewish marriage certificate.”
“Let me tell you what happened here not so long ago,” the man continued. “An elderly couple received permission to go to Israel. They came here to have a Jewish marriage ceremony. Along with them came their daughter, son-in-law and young grandson. After we gave Chuppah and Kiddushin to the elderly couple, we appealed to the daughter and son-in-law: ‘You are already here. Let us make a Chuppah for you, too, so your marriage will be legal according to Jewish law.’
“The couple refused. They were afraid. They said that they would come for Chuppah and Kiddushin when they received their exit permit.”
Continuing the story, the man said: “Before we made the marriage ceremony for the old couple, I told their young grandson: ‘Watch carefully what we are doing. One day you will be able to tell people that you were present at the chuppah of your grandparents!”
The man laughed. It was not a happy laughter.
When we reached the Chuppah room, we were greatly impressed by its beauty. We sat down on the chairs which were arranged along the walls and looked around the carpeted chamber. It was a beautiful room, but, alas, was only seldom in use.
By: Tovia Preschel
Jewish Press
July 11, 1986