Hadassa Podkoritov (cont.)
“My husband and I got married in Israel. Unfortunately, at that time in Chișinău, it wasn’t possible to hold a kosher chuppah, so it felt natural to have our wedding in Israel. Our chuppah took place in Bnei Brak, and the festive meal was in Jerusalem—the city where it truly feels as if the sky itself is closer to the earth. It was one of the most memorable events of our lives. We hardly knew anyone in Israel, yet to make our wedding truly joyous, our acquaintances gathered a whole crowd of people for us. The wedding was magnificent— full of guests, joy, and music. People who were essentially strangers celebrated with us as sincerely as if we were their own family. And not for a moment did we feel like outsiders. Perhaps this is the unique nature of Jewish simcha: it doesn’t matter whether you know a person or are meeting them for the first time—the joy is experienced just as deeply as for one’s closest relatives.
Afterwards, we went to the Western Wall. It was already early morning—only a few hours before our flight. We had come to Israel for just two days, solely to get married. I walked in my wedding dress and veil. Passersby stopped us, offered congratulations, and asked for blessings. Some began to dance—right there on the street—and others immediately joined in. The joy spread naturally all around. It’s impossible to forget. That impression stays with you forever.”
How did you end up in Canada?
“We didn’t move to Canada immediately. First, we returned to Chișinău—a city where living a Jewish lifestyle was very difficult at the time, as arranging kosher food was nearly impossible. At first, we literally lived on canned food sealed tins that could last a long time. Fresh meat was unavailable. Later, supplies started arriving from Dnipro, and we also flew to Israel: empty suitcases going there, fully packed returning home. That’s how we managed, supporting each other along the way. Thankfully, we had Rabbi Ilyusha—a person of incredible dedication. He would take his wheeled bag, get on the train to Odessa, and go. Before each trip, he collected lists from every Jewish family: who needed what. Then he returned with meat, dairy, and cheese. Over time, he even brought treats—sweet pastries, and sometimes ice cream. Somehow, he always managed to get it all there. Gradually, the community began to grow. Young people from Israel started coming to Chișinău to study medicine—becoming doctors and dentists. Not all of them were religious: some had grown up in observant families, others completely secular. But once in Chișinău, many suddenly felt a strong desire to observe and return to Jewish tradition.
It was remarkable to see teshuvah (return) happening precisely where there seemed to be almost no conditions for it. One of the most active young men even opened a synagogue right on the university campus, so students could pray and observe Shabbat. The city synagogue was too far to walk to on Shabbat with small children.
Step by step, the community began to expand—thanks to the efforts of committed Jews, their faith, care for others, and incredible willingness to support each other. “The development of the community happened gradually. First, there was a core group of people who felt the need to come together. We already had separate families strictly observing traditions, and we were managing as best we could on our own. But as the number of people interested in traditional life grew and the need became tangible, a small store was opened at the synagogue, bringing in essential food—because everyone needed it. Special people were also responsible for ensuring kosher supplies.
We lived this way until 2013, perhaps even 2014. Then, unfortunately, I separated from my husband: he moved permanently to Israel, and I moved to Canada. Why Canada? First, my sister lived here and could help me during the first months. Second, I was concerned about the complete lack of Jewish life for children in Chișinău. There were only occasional celebrations, like Purim or some carnivals. There was no real, ongoing Jewish life. There was no kosher religious school—only a secular Jewish school, which I had attended. I wanted my children to receive a proper Jewish education, one that is real, stable, and strengthens faith and tradition.
Life was further complicated by the absence of an eruv in Chișinău. Walking to the synagogue with small children was almost impossible.”
Let’s clarify what an eruv is.
“On Shabbat, it is forbidden to carry objects from private property into public spaces—that is, onto city streets. But if the boundaries of private property are symbolically extended, carrying is permitted. An eruv symbolically ‘expands’ the home across the neighborhood. The boundaries can be marked by wire, poles, or even dense urban development. I want to note that, in the Chabad tradition, even within an eruv, it is generally forbidden to carry objects—or even one’s own children—on Shabbat, as there is always the risk that the eruv might be broken somewhere.”
