Honoring the Old, Embracing the New: A Rosh Hashanah Reflection from Kazakhstan
Though Vladimir Chistov has traveled the world, it's his own Jewish community — and JDC — that's closest to his heart.
By Vladimir Chistov - JDC Client; Almaty, Kazakhstan | September 3, 2026
Vladimir Chistov is a man with a curious mind and a proud Jewish soul. Having come of age in the Soviet Union, a time and place in which Jewish life was repressed, it took him decades before he could openly express his identity. And when he finally did, it was in no small part to JDC.
As we celebrate Rosh Hashanah, Vladimir, 81, looks back on the JDC journey that led him to his Jewish roots and looks ahead to his hopes for the Jewish future.
I hate when each day is the same and life feels boring. That’s why I’m always learning something new — the one constant throughout my eight decades on earth.
Travel used to be my way of doing that. A proud son of Almaty, I’ve called this city home my entire life. But I’ve also ventured far beyond its limits. When I was younger, I left Kazakhstan to visit each of the former Soviet republics: Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Georgia, Armenia, and all the others. I loved speaking to people and getting to know their traditions and culture.
Sometimes I didn’t even need to leave my city to experience the world beyond it. When I was in school, I loved speaking to tourists visiting Almaty; I’d join their tour group, and before they left, they’d give me their addresses. We didn’t have the internet in those days, but we did have the post. We’d write letters to each other, and I had pen pals from America, Germany, France, and Poland. These exchanges lasted years.
My love of knowledge led me down multiple career paths. I was a teacher of foreign languages, a teacher of music, and a teacher of psychology.
I don’t think there ever was a topic that didn’t catch my interest.
Perhaps my desire to embrace the unfamiliar — to learn new skills and experience new cultures — stems from the fact that, for decades, I was denied the opportunity to explore my own roots. The horrific circumstances Jews found themselves in during the Second World War, and in the years that followed, cut them off from their heritage.
My family’s story is a case in point. When the war began, they were living in Rostov-on-Don, Russia, and were forced to evacuate. My great-grandmother, however, refused.
“I’m old,” she said. “I’ll stay here and guard our apartment. Anyways, where would I go?”
She was 72, an age that looked and felt much older back then than it does today. Nonetheless, my family left her and she remained alone.
When the Nazis arrived in Rostov, they ordered the city’s Jews to line up. I imagine that my great-grandmother was then faced with an impossible choice. She might’ve been thinking “If I hide, they’ll find me and shoot me.” But what terrible thing would happen if she followed the Nazis’ orders? We now know that she made a decision both courageous and risky — she chose to stand with her own people.
What transpired was this: The Nazis shot the Jews who had lined up, including my great-grandmother. Many of those who’d hidden themselves lived.
My relationship to Jewishness developed in the shadow of this catastrophe. The lesson we all learned from these atrocities was that there’d be consequences if, instead of hiding, we too chose to stand with our people.
That was deeply true in the Soviet Union, when Jewish life was repressed. We were wary of meeting one another as Jews and celebrating our traditions out in the open. If Jews happened to gather for whatever reason, non-Jews would start spreading rumors about a “conspiracy.”
Many of us changed our last names, changed everything, to hide our identity. We made this decision as much out of pragmatism as fear — Jews were prohibited from entering many professions. To have even a chance of advancing in your career, you had to conceal your history and culture.
Still, come Friday evening, we’d quietly celebrate Shabbat in each other’s homes. But we kept a vow of silence about these secret gatherings.
Only when the Soviet Union collapsed could we come out of hiding. And more than 35 years later, we Jews have found our way back to our source of strength — our traditions.
My Jewish journey began after I retired. Having always busied myself with learning and teaching, I didn’t know what to do without my work. All I knew is that I needed to be among other Jews.
That’s how I found myself at the JDC-supported Hesed Polina social service center here in Almaty. At Hesed Polina, I felt needed. I’d play Jewish music there and I also helped organize a theater group. I even wrote some plays.
These days, I try not to stay at home too long, especially since I live alone and have no family nearby. I want to feel young and active, and I do that by helping others. The only place I feel I can go is Hesed Polina.
But even when I’m not there, I don’t have to worry about feeling isolated. That’s because I have my JDC JOINTECH smartphone, an easy-to-use device that allows me and other Jewish seniors to join a rich array of stimulating programs. With just one tap, I can participate in Torah discussion, celebrate Jewish holidays, listen to fascinating guest speakers, and be a part of other exciting events and classes.
Though JDC assistance has been life-enhancing, it’s been life-saving, too. My pension fails to cover even the bare necessities needed for a dignified existence. But with my bank card, I can purchase medicine as well as nutritious food (even sweets sometimes!).
When I retired, I didn’t know what to do without my work — all I knew is that I needed to be among other Jews.
Now I attend synagogue. I read Rambam. I pray. I sing Jewish songs. I celebrate Shabbat. I’m always learning something new — each day is a blank slate and a chance to begin again.
That spirit of openness has animated my life and captures the meaning of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, too. On the Jewish New Year, when all Jews say B’shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim — “Next year in Jerusalem” — we express our desire to go to a place that is new and better, and yet, at the same time, ancient and familiar to the Jewish people.
In other words, we build on the old to create something new — and JDC has helped us set the foundation for that stronger future.
The Torah tells us that if Jews don’t help each other, who will? It’s our duty. Because of those who support JDC, we Jews here in Kazakhstan dance, sing, and feel that we are one.
Because of you, we live.
Vladimir Chistov, 81, is a JDC client in Almaty, Kazakhstan.
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