The Arrival of 5787: How Hasidim Celebrated Rosh Hashanah in Uman

In early fall, Uman is traditionally taken over by long prayers and street celebrations, and there are almost no women. This is how the Hasidim welcome their New Year. We report on this year’s celebration, which ran from the evening of September 11 until nightfall on September 13.

Toward Evening: Erev Rosh Hashanah

Friday¹The holiday is celebrated on the 1st and 2nd of Tishri in the Jewish calendar, which fall in September or early October.. A quiet midday in Uman. The streets are nearly empty, with only a few people hurrying here and there. Among them are Hasidic pilgrims buying fruit and mattresses at local markets, looking for currency exchanges with better rates, or heading back to the Hasidic quarter²The Hasidic quarter in Uman is a neighborhood in the city’s eastern part, built around Turystiv Street and the Jewish cemetery. It took shape over the past two decades as Hasidic pilgrims began arriving in large numbers every year. It has kosher shops, cafés, and hotels with Hebrew signs. with shopping bags. Most wear black trousers, shiny dark coats, and white shirts. They wear either kippahs (small round caps) or tall, pointed felt hats, with curled sidelocks poking out from under the brims. Most wear classic black pointed-toe shoes, though some wear ordinary sneakers.

Not everyone may enter the Hasidic quarter during Rosh Hashanah. Access is open to local residents, who must show proof of their registered address, to the media, and to pilgrims, who also pay a tourist tax at the entrance of 432.50 hryvnias per person per day. Checkpoints set up around the perimeter of the quarter handle these checks. Visitors are also screened for weapons and prohibited items.

The Hasidic quarter covers several dozen streets, with Turystiv Street as the main one. The entire area is an old Jewish cemetery and officially belongs to the Historical and Cultural Center of Uman. This is where the tzaddik Rabbi Nachman⁵Rabbi Nachman, a tzaddik who lived from 1772 to 1810, was the great-grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism. He was born in Medzhybizh, Podillia, and died in Uman. is buried. Before his death, the founder of Breslov Hasidism⁶Breslov Hasidism is a branch of Hasidism founded by Rabbi Nachman in the late 18th century. It takes its name from the town of Bratslav in Podillia. Two features set it apart. The first is hitbodedut, a solitary prayer in which the believer speaks to God in their own words. The second is the absence of a living rebbe: after Nachman’s death, his followers never chose a new spiritual leader. said that all who visit his grave on Rosh Hashanah would be freed from suffering and have a good year ahead.

Past the first checkpoint, a long, wide street slopes downhill, lined with small shops. One more checkpoint, and we’re on Turystiv Street. Right away, we can see Khoshen, one of the best-known pilgrim hotels. A little farther along is the American canteen, where kosher⁷Kosher, from the Hebrew for “fit” or “permitted,” means conforming to Jewish dietary law (kashrut). That rules out pork, seafood without fins and scales, and mixing meat with dairy, and it requires animals to be slaughtered in a special way. food is handed out free of charge on disposable plates. An American benefactor once prayed at Rabbi Nachman’s grave and promised that, if his affairs worked out, he would feed the pilgrims here. And so it happened.

Across from the hotel, a white tent houses a synagogue for children, or more precisely, for boys. They sing, and the adults applaud them. Many small, makeshift synagogues and prayer spaces like this dotted the quarter. In Judaism, holding a service requires only ten Jewish men gathered together, known as a minyan.

It’s noisy. On every building along the street that has a balcony, Hasidim can be seen reading prayers from thick prayer books, calling out to their neighbors, or gazing thoughtfully at the sky.

Today, the Hasidic quarter is crowded, cramped, and loud. Pilgrims move briskly around this small area. Some pray, some greet one another, and some get their hair cut right in the middle of the street as a sign of purification, shedding what is unnecessary before Rosh Hashanah.

Banners and posters with Rabbi Nachman’s image, along with signs in Hebrew, hang on walls and fences everywhere. Cardboard, scraps of paper, and plastic cups lie underfoot. Municipal workers in orange vests and tractors are clearing the garbage, which piles up fast: according to official figures from Iryna Rybnytska, executive director of the Historical and Cultural Center of Uman Foundation, a record 51,000 pilgrims came to the small quarter this year.

Breslov Hasidim arrive several days or even weeks before the celebration begins. They come from everywhere: France, Canada, the US, and Israel. Some come from Ukraine. Locals rent out their apartments for this period and say that up to ten people sometimes share one small room, which is why the pilgrims buy extra mattresses.

Every Jewish holiday begins at sundown the evening before. The evening before the Jewish New Year is called Erev Rosh Hashanah. This year, the holiday began on a Friday, and the pilgrims prepare carefully before dusk. Hennadii, a Hasidic artist from Kyiv, tells us about it. He reluctantly agrees to speak at five in the evening and warns that he must finish everything by seven, two hours from now. He looks for shade and leads us a little away from the packed main street, closer to Uman’s main synagogue.

“What is Rosh Hashanah? What do we mark on this day? It is the sixth day of the creation of the world. We are now in the last month of the Jewish year, moving into Tishri, which begins with Rosh Hashanah. On the 25th, the world was created. Then the heavens and the earth, plants and animals. And later, humans were created. On this day, we celebrate the creation, the birth of the first human, Adam.”

Hennadii says that in Jewish tradition, the month of Tishrei is considered a wonderful time to repent and purify oneself. He recalls Rabbi Nachman:

“Repair yourself, and you repair the world. Rabbi Nachman said that every movement we make, even one as small as the width of a hair, has consequences. Every action we take sets off an endless chain of effects. Do something bad, and it echoes throughout the world. So Tishrei is the time to reflect on our sins. To purify ourselves and pray.”

Hennadii glances at his watch and suggests we try walking to the synagogue after all. He warns right away that women won’t be allowed in. That’s the law.
Uman’s largest synagogue is open only during Rosh Hashanah. It holds about 20,000 people. It is also known as the kloyz¹¹Kloyz comes from the Yiddish word die Klause, meaning “a secluded place.” It was a small private house of prayer and study in Ashkenazi Jewish communities from the 16th to the 19th centuries. Unlike the public beit midrash, it was considered an elite institution for a narrow circle of Talmudic scholars. of the Breslov Hasidim.7 This is where hours-long prayers are taking place today. As expected, we women were not allowed inside. The men’s looks and gestures as they climbed the long wooden stairs to the prayer hall made that clear as we stood at the entrance. Some wore large round fur hats called shtreimels. And, of course, sidelocks. As a pilgrim later explained, sidelocks also symbolize a connection with God.

Hennadii says that after prayers, everyone will gather for a festive meal. It usually goes like this:

“We take certain foods and proclaim what our sages taught us. For example, we must have a pomegranate: for us, it is a sign that a Jew is as full of commandments as a pomegranate is full of seeds. It’s better to eat fish starting from the head, not the tail, so that we are at the head in the new year. We dip apples in honey so the year will be sweet. Sometimes we also put a ram’s head on the festive table.”

From the synagogue, Hennadii leads us to the tzaddik Nachman’s grave. Women aren’t allowed here either. Jewish women can come here at other times of the year, but not now. Our guide adds:

“Rabbi Nachman is no longer with us, but he still remains our rabbi. Our service to him is first to come here on Rosh Hashanah and second to study his works, all for the sake of correcting ourselves. That is our service.”

The already packed street grows even more crowded. Hennadii disappears into a crowd of men with towels over their shoulders. The air smells of citrus and mint. A young man carries a wicker basket of mint and rosemary. He explains that these fragrances are also offerings to God.

Another ritual before nightfall is immersion in the mikvah. Men go in as a group, which is why they were carrying towels. After immersing, they change into white. Orthodox Jews mostly wear white, and black for mourning. But on a holiday as important as Rosh Hashanah, everyone is in white.

The street quickly fills with people in white robes, shirts, and capes. Some head to the synagogue; others gather in groups, and prayer begins. By tradition, everyone must face Jerusalem. Here and there in corners, individual Hasidim with their eyes closed and hands raised sway gently back and forth, as if in a prayer trance. This happens when prayer lasts more than a few hours.

The prayer in the synagogue lasted half an hour. When the service ended around 7:30 p.m., men in the street began jumping, dancing, and moving in circles, hands raised, in unison. Some whistled and sang in Hebrew, clapped, and hugged one another, wishing each other “Shana tova!” which means “Happy New Year!” in Hebrew.

Nachman-Yaakov, a young man from Israel, agreed to talk about why he came to Uman:

“We aren’t afraid to come here even during the war. We are here because it is about connecting with God and Rabbi Nachman, who protects us. All of us, tens of thousands of Hasidim, prayed today for peace throughout the world. And especially for peace in this land.”

Once the first three stars appeared, Shabbat began for the Hasidim: the holy seventh day of the week, Saturday. Observing it involves many obligations and prohibitions.

Shabbat

Saturday. From early morning, Turystiv Street is just as busy, though no longer as cramped. The municipal workers have worked through the night and now lean against a tractor, cracking sunflower seeds. It smells of fresh baking. A young man holds challah, the traditional Jewish Sabbath bread made with yeast, in a wicker basket. On the morning after Friday evening, the pilgrims rest. They sing Hebrew songs and sit in small groups on balconies, in small courtyards, and in garages. Younger boys play ball in the middle of the street. Towels dry on fences here and there.

Ukrainian police patrol the Hasidic quarter. One officer wears a Star of David patch on his chest, a gift from Israeli colleagues who also came to help during the celebration. Israeli medics and an ambulance are here too. They have their own tent, and some of them speak several languages. On Shabbat, however, they flatly refuse to speak with women.

On this day, religious Orthodox Hasidic men are not permitted even to touch women. It is asur, forbidden. But on Friday, Hennadii had already described Shabbat to us in detail:

“You can’t cook, light or put out candles, carry loads in your hands, drive a car, or use a phone. And you can’t travel more than 1 kilometer. There are even traditional markers of distance, special enclosures called eruvin. In all, there are 39 different prohibitions on this day.”

Hennadii added that on Shabbat they pray a great deal, read the Torah, and constantly reflect on the Day of Judgment, asking God for a merciful verdict.

And it’s true. On Saturday, the pilgrims we passed on the way to Rabbi Nachman’s grave looked away and asked us to put away our phones and camera, repeating, “Shabbat!” Many wore white, and many strolled calmly down the street, cracking sunflower seeds.

At Rabbi Nachman’s grave, people are packed together, and it’s impossible to get closer. Everyone here asks for blessings for the new year and brings their troubles. Interestingly, next to it is a separate path that people walk one by one. This is the path of the kohanim, a distinct lineage in Judaism: descendants of the priests, tracing their ancestry to Aaron, Moses’ brother. They observe stricter rules and laws. For example, they may not let their feet touch the ground near Nachman’s grave. The kohanim stand out in the crowd. Many of them came to Uman as well, judging by how many men are moving along this separate path.

Below the grave are rows of hotels. On every balcony are Hasidim and, here and there, fox pelts, their favorite souvenir. Above the lake, framed by rocky banks, rises a wooden crucifix. Ukrainian soldiers guard it. From time to time, a child or teenager comes closer and spits at the statue. The lakeshore is also packed. People sit on the banks praying or dance in circles, chanting “Rabbi Nachman” again and again. A little farther from the lake, a makeshift tent camp houses poorer Hasidim. They didn’t let us in.

Iryna Rybnytska, a local resident and executive director of the Historical and Cultural Center of Uman foundation, who has organized Rosh Hashanah for several years in a row, says two kinds of people come to Uman:

“The first are religious pilgrims who come with a deeply religious purpose. They behave politely, especially the rabbis. They only pray, and they have their own vision of this place. The other type is ordinary tourists. And they are the majority here.”

Iryna explained that on Shabbat, Jews can’t call a taxi or even get into a car. They can’t call an elevator either, so special elevators travel between floors without anyone needing to press a button. During these days, Hasidim also use special equipment to heat water and unusual kettles, all because they cannot switch anything on during Shabbat. Iryna says that over the years, everything here in Uman has been adapted to the pilgrims’ needs.

There are indeed many people in the streets of the Hasidic quarter. But on Saturday, you won’t see anyone holding a phone, whether pilgrim or tourist. Farther from the lake, closer to the quarter’s exit, is a small courtyard with a white brick house where Hasidim chat on the steps and a small shop sells hot pies. It belongs to a young woman named Vita. She says the pilgrims haven’t left yet, but locals are already preparing for next year. She rents out her house during Rosh Hashanah, and she cooks, irons, and does laundry for her guests. She also knows and understands Shabbat well in Jewish tradition. Late last night, for example, she was coming back from a walk when a pilgrim stopped her and asked for help in halting English. Vita knew right away what he needed and followed him to his apartment. He asked her to turn on the lights in the home, where several other people were staying with him. She says that over her life here, she has come to know the visitors, their customs, and their rituals well. Her shop accepts both hryvnias and dollars. She says some shops in Uman even take shekels. And she adds:

“Just wait! Tomorrow is Sunday. They still have their bathing ritual by the river or the lake.”

The First Day: Yom Rishon

Sunday is the first day of the week for Jews, and the third and final day of the Rosh Hashanah celebration. Everything follows tradition, and the day begins with communal prayer. But on Sunday, the familiar street noise in Uman is joined by the shofar, a ram’s horn that Jews blow on Rosh Hashanah to drive away evil spirits.

For the first time since we arrived, we met two Jewish women. They were looking after children and wore long skirts, with their heads covered. They declined to talk right away and went back to praying in a small corner by a house near Nachman’s grave.

Today is the last day of the celebration, so the Hasidim traditionally gather by the lake. They perform a ritual dance and jump so that everything falls out of their pockets. This is how they are said to rid themselves of their sins and become purified. After 8 p.m., they may pick up their phones again. All the visiting pilgrims will then leave Uman until next year.

Iryna says the hardest part of organizing these pilgrimages is arranging transportation and making the journey comfortable. Preparations begin four months before the holiday.

I ask Isaac, a Hasidic pilgrim from Israel, about his experience of traveling to Ukraine. He says the stories are sometimes unpleasant and describes what he and many of his fellow pilgrims have been through: corruption at the Ukrainian border, huge lines, and stolen passports that later cause many problems. He adds that although everyone writes about the garbage in Uman after the celebration, few mention that some locals behave dishonestly, handing out counterfeit hryvnias at currency exchanges and sharply inflating prices for housing, food, and taxis. None of this discourages people from doing what their spiritual leader asked.

“This is a special place for us. Here, more than anywhere else, you feel connected to God. We will keep coming here despite every obstacle.”

The journey home will take the Hasidim a day, maybe longer. And then, for the third time in these few days, the air raid alert sounds: jet-powered drones over the region. It neither disrupted the celebration nor scared off the Hasidim, nor did it shake their faith in Rabbi Nachman’s intercession. On the contrary, they were delighted by something else: heavy rain began to fall. If it rains on Rosh Hashanah, the year will surely be good and happy.