Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. Photo: Wiki Commons.

On a gray weekday afternoon, on the Brighton Beach Boardwalk in Brooklyn, the rhythmic clatter of dominoes on plastic tables mingles with the scent of fresh pirozhki and the soft murmur of Russian spoken with a Brooklyn lilt.

Down the street, a synagogue hosts Torah classes in three languages — English, Russian, and Hebrew — while a young woman in a puffer jacket scrolls through a WhatsApp group where Russian-speaking Jews discuss the latest news from Israel and the rise in antisemitism.

Brighton Beach — affectionately nicknamed “Little Odessa” — is the epicenter of a community that has straddled continents, ideologies, and generations: American, Russian-speaking Jews.

More than just immigrants or transplants, the Russian-speaking Jewish (RSJ) community in the United States has built a cultural enclave that is as complex as its history. Defined less by a single nation than by the Soviet past they share, the community spans immigrants from Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Uzbekistan, the Caucasus, and other former USSR republics. They came not as one people, but have become one — at least on American soil.

Their journey to the US began in earnest in the 1970s, as Cold War tensions and rising antisemitism in the Soviet Union sparked a wave of emigration. Thousands of Soviet Jews — often stripped of professional status and burdened by state suspicion — left for the promise of religious freedom and opportunity. For many, the US was a distant, idealized land. For others, it was merely the first country that would take them.

The first major waves were driven by the Jackson-Vanik Amendment of 1974, which linked US trade relations with the USSR to the latter’s emigration policies. With support from Jewish aid organizations like HIAS and the Joint Distribution Committee, families arrived in New York, Boston, San Francisco, and Chicago — many with little more than a suitcase and Soviet engineering degrees that carried no weight.

By the late 1980s and early 1990s, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, another, larger wave arrived — often poorer, less assimilated, and more religiously indifferent. This second migration reshaped the contours of the community, fusing intelligentsia with working-class grit.

For many Soviet Jews, religion was an abstraction — Judaism inherited more as ethnicity than faith. In the USSR, synagogues were shuttered, rabbis monitored, and Jewish holidays unofficial. Yet in America, that secular Jewishness found new expression.

Enter established organizations, such as Jewish Federations, JCCs, synagogues, and RSJ-founded community groups, which have spent the last three decades building Jewish identity among young Russian-speakers, often reintroducing them to traditions their parents never had a chance to learn.

That pride often takes unexpected forms: the community has produced world-renowned scientists and Silicon Valley entrepreneurs such as Google co-founder Sergey Brin, actresses like Mila Kunis, and comedians like Eugene Mirman, all shaped by the push-and-pull of Soviet-Jewish cultural inheritance and American possibility.

Politically, Russian-speaking Jews are notably distinct from some other Jewish American demographics. Shaped by memories of authoritarianism and state control, they lean more conservative — often voting Republican in higher percentages than other Jewish groups. Many immigrants, particularly of the older generation, view terms like socialism and social justice with reprehension, as the rhetoric of the American left reminds them of Soviet talking points.

Still, this political tilt doesn’t negate the community’s internal diversity — generational divides run deep, and younger Russian-Jewish Americans often find themselves bridging the worlds of their parents’ nostalgia and their own liberal-leaning social environments.

Today, as the community enters its third and fourth generations in America, a new identity is forming — one less tied to survival and more to self-expression. Russian-Jewish-American artists, businesspeople, and professionals are weaving together old-world trauma and new-world irony.

Many Russian-speaking Jews are discovering that Zionism and Israel are playing a larger part in shaping their identity. Masha Merkulova, Club Z’s founder and executive director states, “In our work with young American Jews, including those from Russian-speaking families, we teach them that while we embrace our American identity, our Jewishness connects us to something deeper and older. This is especially relevant for Russian-speaking Jews who have already navigated multiple identities. We carry Judea—our ancestral homeland in what is now Israel—in our heritage, not the steppes of Russia. Archaeological evidence, genetic studies, and our unbroken cultural traditions confirm that Jews are indigenous to the Middle East, regardless of where history scattered us. At Club Z, we emphasize that understanding this indigenous connection doesn’t diminish our Russian or American chapters—it enriches them, giving context to our ‘between-ness’ and purpose to our journey.”

Still, traces of the old world remain: the Russian-language newspapers that line newsstands in neighborhoods where Russian-speaking Jews live, the lavish weddings that combine demonstrations of newly found opulence with Jewish ritual, and the grandparents who still call America “zagranitsa” — the “foreign country.”

To walk through the Russian-speaking Jewish neighborhoods of America is to hear echoes of exile and endurance. It is a community forever navigating between languages, ideologies, and histories — a community of “between-ness.”

But perhaps that’s what makes them most American: their hybridity, their hustle, their contradictions — all worn with pride, all deeply earned.

Or, as a Brighton Beach grandmother might put it, “We’re not from here, we’re not from there — we’re from somewhere in between. But here, at least, we can be who we are.”

Gennady Favel has co-founded a number of nonprofits in the Russian-Speaking Jewish community, for which he led community outreach. His work has appeared in NY Daily News, The Forward, Times of Israel, eJewish Philanthropy, and many other publications.