Failed Jewish Cemetary Visit (#1)

I came to Kishinev with no intention of finding my roots. I'm not searching for long-lost relatives or people that personally knew my grandfather. It's just too hard, and I don't really see any purpose in it. It would be a frustrating and unrewarding experience since Vaysman (or Weissman) is one of the most common Eastern European Jewish names. (Still, for some reason everyone here likes to introduce me as "Robin, who's come to Kishinev to search for her roots.")There was only one thing I was intent on doing, however, that is directly connected to my roots. I wanted to visit my great grandparents' graves at the Jewish cemetary in Kishinev, and this afternoon I went out to the edge of the city in search. I had already looked in a cemetary directory in the library and found the location of the graves on a map, and I figured it couldn't be all that hard once I got there. After all, I thought, there would of course be someone there to help, a tourist center or something. I wasn't the first person who had come back to Kishinev "in search of her roots" without a personal tour guide was I?

Well, it turned out there wasn't anyone there to help, and I don't know why I expected there to be. Sometimes my head is still in America. There were two groundskeepers who reaked of vodka who were very willing to show me the same book I had looked up in the library, but who were unwilling to take any further steps to help me find the graves. There was a woman who did such things, they explained, but she is the head administrator for all the cemetaries in Kishinev and she's not always around (but has no schedule or mobile phone at which I can reach her). I wandered in the calf-deep snow through the 300-year-old cemetary, which was totally empty except for two people visiting one grave. Though the map in the library book was carefully marked off into sectors and parts and each grave labelled with a number, there was no such careful designation on the actual gravestones or paths. The graves were practically piled up on top of each other, and the snow and mud made it particularly difficult to see more than just the graves directly in front of me. I felt alone and helpless and came back to the goundskeepers a few times asking for help, each time with the intention of offering them a few lei, which I really should've done but never did.

Still, there were two interesting graves I came upon. One of them was another Kachka, written in cyrrilic, someone I think who was probably unrelated to me, but I photographed it anyway. Another was this grave that was obviously for someone with a lot of fans. It was tough to make out the name on it because there were colorful fake flowers and wreaths and all sorts of decorations thrown all around it. Then I saw it was Ichael Schraibman's grave (PHOTO above), the beloved Yiddish writer who died in September who I couldn't wait to meet (and planned on maybe living with in Kishinev). His grave was right out in front on the main path, and stuck out like a monument. People here must have really loved him.

More good news is that it's only Monday and I have almost a week left to find someone from the community to take me to the cemetary. I do, after all, know most of the important people in the Jewish community here by now. And they like me! Also, my buddy Adam from Peace Corp (the one located in Kishinev) gave me a bunch of Pepto Bismol for my bloated stomach.