Onward to Latvia

It was late in the afternoon when we crossed into Latvia, and I had been dozing on the bus, somewhat numb after seeing town after town where all that remained of the Jewish community was a lone unused synagogue.  The thick gray clouds looming overhead matched my mood.  I was looking forward to checking into our hotel in Riga.  But first, shortly after we crossed the border, we made a stop at one of the few non-Jewish sites on our itinerary.  Through the mist, past soggy fields, I spied the low-lying bulk of Rundale Palace, a grand Baroque residence often referred to as the Latvian Versailles.

 

The approach to Rundales Palace

To reach the entrance to the palace, we traipsed along muddy paths, trying to avoid the many puddles left by endless days of rain. Once inside, we were instructed to don blue booties over our shoes for a tour of the rooms that were open to the public.  Our guide explained that Rundale Palace was built in the 1700s for a Latvian nobleman, the Duke of Courland.  The Italian architect Bartolomeo Rastrelli, who worked for the Russian royal family in St. Petersburg, was responsible for the design of the building and the surrounding grounds. Versailles was apparently his inspiration, judging from the extremely sumptuous décor, which you can see in these photos of the duke’s bedroom and of a painted ceiling in one of the salons.  Through the windows, we viewed the French style park, complete with rose garden, theater, fountains, and sculptures.  Frankly, it looked pretty dismal, but that’s probably because nothing was in bloom. I’m sure it would look more inviting on a bright summer day. 

The Duke's bedroom in Rundale Palace

Interior decor in Rundale Palace

Although initially it felt strange to be visiting a "normal" site, i.e. one that had no connection to Jewish history, I realized that the timing of our visit was good for me.  I’d become so immersed in the world of Yiddishkeit and Holocaust history since our arrival several days ago in Lithuania that I was starting to reach a saturation point.

We were all still shivering from the damp cold when we bundled back onto the bus to resume our road trip.  My eyes must have closed fairly soon because I don’t remember much until our bus arrived in Riga a little over an hour later.  For some reason, I was expecting Riga to be a drab backwater town, so I was pleasantly surprised by my first impressions of the city.  It looked like a big European capital, with beautiful modern bridges spanning the Daugava River, a skyline of towering church spires, and plenty of construction, traffic, and pedestrians. 

I quickly learned from Simon that Riga is the largest city in the Baltic countries.  It has an interesting history.  Due to its location only 15 kilometers from the Baltic Sea, it was an important Hanseatic trading center during the Middle Ages.  It began as a crusader outpost, then became a Swedish city, and later fell under Russian control for two hundred years, starting during the time of Peter the Great (ruled 1682-1725).  Peter the Great was instrumental in trying to bring modern Western European influences into his backward empire.

As far as Jewish history in Latvia goes, Jews started to arrive in Riga in the 16^th century. According to Simon, Latvian Jews tended to be more assimilated into their local communities than the Lithuanian Jews. Before World War II, about 90,000 Jews lived in Latvia.  Most did not survive the war.  The Nazis confined the Jews to a ghetto in Riga.  Many were taken outside the city and shot to death.  Others were sent to concentration and death camps.  

My interest in Latvia was especially strong because just before this trip, I learned that I have family roots in this country.  On my father’s side, my ancestors emigrated to the U.S. about a generation before my mother’s parents arrived.  My paternal grandfather was actually born in the U.S. in the late 1800s and my paternal grandmother came to the U.S. as an infant in 1899.  Thus, they had no personal memories of the old country.  I don’t recall either one of them ever speaking about where their parents came from.  So it was a complete shock to get this information from my aunt on the eve of my trip.  I’ll certainly investigate more when I return to the U.S.  But for the time being, I was simply eager to see Riga for myself.  

Following some lengthy negotiations between the bus driver and the hotel staff about where to park, we dragged our luggage across a series of tram tracks and checked into the hotel, located on the edge of the Old Town.  By that time, it was past 7 p.m.  Alarm bells were going off in my tummy and my brain, warning me that if I didn’t get some food very soon, I’d turn into a very, very “hangry” person.  

Map in hand, I headed off with Sharyn in search of a restaurant.  My only requirement was that I get something other than potatoes, which I’d eaten at nearly every meal for the past week.  On a small cobblestone street, we found Sale & Pepe, an Italian restaurant with plenty of pasta and pizza dishes on the menu, along with inexpensive wines by the glass.  We dashed in out of the rain and managed to get the last available table.

Dinner accomplished, we were both ready to fall into bed.  Unfortunately, our hotel was located next to an Australian backpackers’ hostel, and a noisy crowd of somewhat inebriated young people had gathered on the street. Since our room looked out onto that same street, it took a while for me to fall asleep.  Nevertheless, I was up early the next morning, ready for breakfast.  Once again, I perused the buffet offerings although the novelty of a super-bountiful breakfast was beginning to wear off.  At this particular hotel, however, one item caught my attention: a dish of golden, crispy potato pancakes, which I couldn’t resist despite having already consumed a year’s worth of potatoes on this trip. 

Our group was scheduled for a 10 a.m. walking tour with Simon, so while the rest of my travel companions were still drinking coffee and piling food on their plates, I skipped out of the hotel to do a little exploring on my own.  The first thing I noticed was the blue sky, very welcome after so many gray dismal days.  Picturesque older buildings lined the cobblestone streets, which were still quiet at this hour.  All the shops were closed, but at the Galerija Centr, a modern shopping complex that seamlessly blended into a historic structure, I noticed that the lights were on in what appeared to be a supermarket.  Rimi was not some little corner grocery store.  It would have been right at home in any upscale suburban community in the U.S.  I picked up a rhubarb pastry for later, a box of mango green tea, and a couple of mini bottles of the famous Latvian liqueur, Black Magic.  This potent (90 proof) Latvian specialty is made using a 250-year old recipe that includes balsam and 24 herbs in vodka base.

Unfortunately, this shop/bar selling Black Magic wasn't open at 9 a.m.

Instead of saving that tempting pastry for a mid-morning snack, I gobbled it up on the way back to the hotel where I joined our group in the lobby.  Church bells were ringing as we set out on a Sunday morning Old Town walking tour to sites of Jewish interest.  

A typical street in the Old Town

There is only one functioning synagogue in Riga today.  Built in 1905, the building was not bombed or burned down during the Nazi occupation because it was located next to a Lutheran church.  The synagogue complex, which includes the main sanctuary, a mikve (ritual bath), a kosher kitchen and courtyard, was renovated about five years ago.  The original Art Nouveau décor of the light-filled sanctuary is intact.  This includes a stained glass panel set into the ceiling, an intricately carved marble ark and beautiful wooden pews.  Note the Egyptian-inspired designs decorating the walls and the columns. 

Synagogue exterior (on a narrow street in the Old Town)

 

The light-filled sanctuary (notice the stained glass ceiling)

Egyptian motifs that were a popular feature of Art Nouveau design

An older member of the congregation met us in the sanctuary and was happy to share his family story.  In his case, a Communist aunt with ties to the Red Army arranged for the family to take a truck deep into Russia when the Nazis invaded Latvia during World War II.  At the conclusion of the war, the children came back to Riga and have made their home in the city ever since. The man told us that during the time Latvia was part of the Soviet Union, the Jews baked matzoh in secret in the synagogue’s basement bakery.  When asked about the availability of kosher meat nowadays for the Jews in Riga, he shrugged and said, “That’s not a problem.  We have plenty of fish.” 

While we were touring the complex, we met another member of the Jewish community, a filmmaker in his 40s, who spoke with us at great length and helped us understand what it’s like to be Jewish in Latvia today.  He explained that the majority of the 5000 people in Riga who identify as Jews are Russian speakers from various parts of the former Soviet Union. Occasionally Latvians who were brought up without any religious education during Soviet times question their parents and grandparents about their family background.  It’s not easy to get information, as many people from the older generation, who suffered persecution by the Nazis and Soviets, are hesitant to reveal their Jewish identity.  However, increasing numbers of younger people who suspect that they have Jewish ancestry are reconnecting with the Jewish community.

After our visit to the synagogue, the pace slowed a little and Sharyn and I seized the opportunity to jump into a bizarrely decorated minibus for a guided tour of the city.  On our hour-long ride, we passed several cultural and historic landmarks, including the Latvian Museum of Art, the national opera house, and the state theater, all attesting to Riga’s active arts scene.  A highlight of the tour was a drive through the beautiful Art Nouveau district.  Riga was very prosperous during the first half of the twentieth century, and Art Nouveau architecture flourished during this time.  Some of the beautiful buildings are now used a foreign embassies, such as the French Embassy, seen below. 

The French Embassy, housed in a beautiful Art Nouveau building

When the bus dropped us off again in the heart of Old Town, Sharyn and I decided to spend the remainder of our free afternoon on a leisurely walk through the city.  We did some window shopping (amber, linen, and local crafts), and I actually bought a hand-knitted hat from one of the vendors stationed outside the red brick St. Peter’s Church, one of the oldest houses of worship in the city.  

This is the woman who knitted my hat.

We enjoyed walking through a lovely park that was filled with families and tourists, crossed into the Art Nouveau district, and paid a visit to gold-domed Russian Orthodox Cathedral, the largest in the Baltic region.  Eventually, we made our way to the building that houses Riga’s small but interesting Jewish Museum and community center. 

More examples of Art Nouveau architecture

In the park with its canal

Russian Orthodox Cathedral

We had just enough time to navigate back to the hotel and put our feet up for half an hour before it was time for our farewell dinner at the Chabad house, located in a distant neighborhood.  As I expected, the menu was a retro meal of chicken and potatoes that brought me back in time to the Friday night dinners of my childhood.  The salads and pickled vegetables were a tasty addition.

We lingered at the table long after we’d stuffed ourselves, sharing thoughts about our trip.  At that point, it was hard for me to verbalize what I had experienced.  During my week in the Baltics, I’d been immersed in another world as we searched for clues to the past, spoke to survivors and made connections to the younger generations.  By our presence, we made it known that we are reclaiming our heritage and ensuring that it won’t be forgotten.  Certainly, I now had a fuller appreciation for Yiddishkeit, the rich culture of my forebears.  And my heart ached deeply, knowing how members of my family, along with millions of other Jews, had suffered during the Holocaust.  Seeing the recent resurgence of a Jewish community in Lithuania and Latvia made me think deeply about my own identity.  The challenge now is to figure out how to pass along what I’ve learned to others.

By the way, I’d like to say “Ačiū” (pronounced a-shoo, that’s Lithuanian for thank you) to my friend Sandy, a fellow participant on the trip, for reminding me a couple of days ago that over 900 Lithuanians have been recognized by Yad Vashem as Righteous Gentiles for their role in saving Jewish lives during the Holocaust.  If you want to read more about the history of the Jews in Lithuania, I can recommend We Are Here by Ellen Cassedy.  The author, who came to Vilnius to study Yiddish at the Yiddish Institute, interviewed many Lithuanians, both Jews and non-Jews.  I’ve also found interesting books and documentaries about Chinue Sugihara, the Japanese consul in Kaunas who saved many Jews.  

The final morning of our group tour fell on May Day, which is a big holiday in Latvia.  It’s the equivalent of our Labor Day in the U.S.  In recognition of this special occasion, the breakfast buffet included a couple of new items in addition to the regular offerings.   I can understand champagne (especially when it’s placed next to the orange juice for make-your-own mimosas), but chicken nuggets at breakfast time?

After a quick walk through the Old Town and some final packing, I bid farewell to the Baltics – but I wasn’t going home yet.  Sharyn and I had made arrangements to extend our trip by spending a few days in Berlin.  I look forward to sharing that adventure with you in my next blog post.