Kat’s Musings

Tag: Russia

  • Celebrating Russia’s Victory Day in America: A Day of Remembrance Across Borders

    Celebrating Russia’s Victory Day in America: A Day of Remembrance Across Borders

    Every year on May 9, Russia and many post-Soviet nations (Ukraine…) pause to mark Victory Day (Den’ Pobedy), commemorating the Soviet Union’s hard-won triumph over Nazi Germany in World War II.

    While the grand military parades unfold on Red Square in Moscow, Russian-American communities across the United States quietly yet passionately observe this solemn holiday in their own way—blending deep historical pride, family stories, and cultural traditions on American soil.

    The Historical Significance

    Victory Day honors the immense sacrifices of the “Great Patriotic War.” The Soviet Union lost an estimated 27 million lives—soldiers and civilians alike—in the brutal fight against fascism. The German surrender was signed late on May 8, 1945 (Reims time), but due to the time difference, it became May 9 in Moscow. What began as a Soviet holiday gained renewed importance under leaders like Leonid Brezhnev and has become Russia’s most sacred secular observance under Vladimir Putin.

    In the U.S., where V-E Day (May 8) is acknowledged more quietly as part of the broader Allied victory, Russian immigrants and their descendants often frame May 9 as a personal and communal tribute to ancestors who fought, endured, or perished. It is less about geopolitics and more about remembering the human cost and the resilience of families.

    How Russian-Americans Celebrate

    Russian communities in places like New York, Boston, Los Angeles, Seattle, and smaller hubs turn out for events that feel both intimate and vibrant:

    • Community Gatherings and Veteran Honors: Elderly veterans or their descendants don medals and share stories at Russian community centers. In Lynn, Massachusetts, for example, the Russian-Jewish community has long gathered at places like the “Care” center for celebrations that mix food, music, and reflection.
    • The Immortal Regiment: This moving worldwide tradition sees participants carry portraits of relatives who served. Marches have taken place in Washington, D.C., and other U.S. cities, creating living tributes that connect generations.
    • Cultural Performances: Expect wartime songs like “Katyusha” (my namesake!) or “Den’ Pobedy,” folk dances, poetry readings, and screenings of classic Soviet films. Orange-and-black St. George ribbons—symbols of military glory—appear on lapels and car antennas.
    • Parades and Rallies: Smaller processions or embassy-adjacent events sometimes occur, though they can draw counter-protests amid current events. The focus for most remains personal remembrance rather than spectacle.

    Many celebrations include traditional Russian foods: borscht, Olivier salad, blini, and toasts with vodka (or champagne or wine for the ladies) to the fallen and the veterans. Younger generations often participate through school projects, social media posts of family photos, or visits to local WWII memorials.

    A Bridge Between Histories

    America itself played a crucial role in WWII through Lend-Lease aid to the Soviets and joint Allied efforts. Some older celebrations even featured moments of shared history, such as U.S. troops marching in Moscow parades in past decades.

    For Russian-Americans, Victory Day offers a way to honor one heritage while fully embracing life in the United States. It is a day of gratitude for survival and freedom, even as it carries the weight of loss. In an era of complex international relations, these community observances often emphasize universal themes: the horror of war, the value of sacrifice, and the hope for peace.

    Why It Matters in America

    Celebrating Victory Day in the U.S. highlights the richness of immigrant stories. We do not have family here, so celebrating this day with my family can be a powerful act of solidarity with the Greatest Generation—on both sides of the former Iron Curtain— even though we just have family friends over to drink.

    Thus, history lives on through the people who remember it.

    С Днём Победы — Happy Victory Day. May the lessons of the past guide us toward a better future.

  • A Blended Easter: Chocolate, Kulich, and the Joy of Pascha

    A Blended Easter: Chocolate, Kulich, and the Joy of Pascha

    This morning, I celebrated with my love over one of our weekly coffee dates—savoring the sweet decadence of chocolate bunnies and chocolate eggs. Now, I am celebrating with my other family—my parents—to continue the festivities diving fully into the spiritual heart of Russian Orthodox Easter.

    In Russia and the Orthodox world, spring’s arrival is marked by Pascha (Пасха), a profoundly moving celebration of Christ’s Resurrection. Far less commercial than Western Easter, Orthodox Pascha is a deeply spiritual observance that unfolds over weeks, centered entirely on the triumph of life over death.

    We no longer attend church services as regularly, but the traditions remain vivid. Pascha falls according to the Julian calendar, often several weeks after Catholic and Protestant Easter—sometimes as much as five weeks later. Its date is calculated as the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox.

    The journey to Pascha begins with Great Lent: a rigorous 40-day period of fasting, prayer, and introspection. The fast is stricter—no meat, dairy, or eggs for anyone (unless you are ill)—making the eventual Easter feast all the more glorious.

    The peak of the celebration is the Paschal Midnight Service. On Saturday night, churches fill with worshippers holding unlit candles. Just before midnight, the priest leads a solemn procession around the church three times, carrying the icon of the Resurrection. At the stroke of midnight, the church doors swing open, lights flood the space, and the triumphant cry echoes:

    “Христос Воскресе!” (Khristos Voskrese!) — “Christ is Risen!”

    The joyful reply comes back:
    “Воистину Воскресе!” (Voistinu Voskrese!) — “Truly He is Risen!”

    The service overflows with hymns, the Easter Gospel read in multiple languages, and the blessing of food baskets. Many stay until dawn, basking in the victory of light over darkness.

    After weeks of fasting, the Easter table becomes a feast of abundance: Kulich: a tall, cylindrical sweet yeast bread studded with raisins, candied fruit, and nuts, topped with white icing and the letters “XB” (for “Christ is Risen” in Cyrillic). Think: fruit cake…. Baked in special tall tins, it symbolizes the risen Christ. Plus there is paskha: a rich, molded cheese dessert made from tvorog (farmer’s cheese), butter, eggs, and sugar. Shaped into a pyramid representing the Tomb of Christ and decorated with crosses, “XB,” or lambs. Like here, we also have brightly decorated eggs—often dyed deep red to symbolize the blood of Christ—and exchanged as gifts. While Ukrainian pysanky are famously intricate, Russian eggs tend toward simpler, vibrant designs. We also enjoy smoked meats, sausages, and plenty of vodka or wine for toasts (especially in this house!)

    Families traditionally bring their baskets to church for blessing before the grand Sunday feast begins.

    Even though church attendance has varied since the Soviet years when religion was not allowed (your President is supposed to be the almighty one!), Pascha remains one of Russia’s most beloved holidays. In Moscow and St. Petersburg, cathedrals overflow at midnight. Across the Orthodox observers—from New York to Sydney—Russian Orthodox communities celebrate with deep passion and tradition.

    And here I am, beautifully caught between two worlds: enjoying Western chocolate Easter treats in the morning and savoring kulich, paskha, and champagne toasts with family in the evening. It is the perfect fusion of cultures, love, and faith.

    Pascha truly feels like the Russian soul’s awakening—after the long, dark winter and the discipline of Lent comes light, renewal, warmth, and peace. (Read my Spring post here)!

    Христос Воскресе!
    Воистину Воскресе!

    Christ is Risen! Truly He is Risen!

  • Coming to America.

    Coming to America.

    Growing up Russian in the heart of America felt like living in two worlds at once—one where borscht simmered on the stove while the neighbor’s barbecue smoke drifted through the window. 

    My parents landed in a quiet Montana suburb in nineteen-ninety-four, after the Soviet collapse. They brought suitcases stuffed with pickled mushrooms, a samovar (Russian wood burning tea kettle) and a stubborn belief that silence was louder than shouting. My father delivered pizzas while my mother cleaned houses while watching English speaking soap operas to grasp the language. 

    School was the real culture shock. I showed up to first grade with a thick accent and a lunchbox full of black bread and salo—pig fat, basically. Kids stared. I had a terrible time making friends. None of my classmates were wearing the clothes that mother picked out for me. Instead of ironed on puppies and monkeys from stores like Gap and Old Navy, I was wearing thick Pippy Longstocking type tights underneath short overalls and turtleneck shirts. Hot. 

    Home was different. Dinner wasn’t tacos or pizza—it was pelmeni, cabbage rolls, or whatever my mother could stretch from a single chicken. We ate together—no phones, no TV. I could not be a kid who watched cartoons, I had to attend Russian school in order to learn Russian language, writing and enhance my culture by learning Pushkin poetry. I just wanted to be normal. Going to Russian school was not going to diminish my thick accent and my weird way of speaking— I needed to watch the cartoons and I wanted my parents to shop at popular places. 

    The holidays were wild. New Year’s Eve wasn’t about fireworks and resolutions—it was about Old New Year, January thirteenth, when we’d stay up until two in the morning eating Olivier salad and watching Soviet cartoons on VHS. We would toast to surviving another year, like it was a victory. 

    But America crept in. I learned to love American food (unfortunately), begged for Halloween costumes and even made a few friends. My parents hated it. Instead of drinking hot tea in the mornings, friends would ask for some soda alongside the hot pancakes my mother made. You’re turning American, my family grumbled, watching me eat cereal straight from the box. It hurt, but eventually I laughed—because yeah, I was. 

    Because now I am in love with an American and no one can convince me otherwise. This man actually sees me for me. My Russian and my American. I tell him about how I grew up and he amazes me with stories about life in an American family. Stories that I never even thought were possible. Yes, we are different but if this country is supposed to be a melting pot then we are it. Mixed together and forever making each other better. 

    So I guess some things stuck. I did not choose to be one culture or another. Because that is what growing up Russian in the middle of America teaches you: you don’t pick a side. You just mix everything together until it tastes like home.  And I found that home.