When I was 11 years old, my family left the former Soviet Union and moved to the United States. Although our family was not religious, that first summer I went to Chabad’s Camp F.R.E.E. (Friends of Refugees of Eastern Europe). My mom sent me there because it was, quite literally, free. It was my first exposure to Jewish practice like putting on tzitzit or saying a blessing.

With my parents as a toddler - Riga, Latvia, early 1980s.
With my parents as a toddler - Riga, Latvia, early 1980s.

For many in the USSR, Jewishness was an ethnic and cultural identity. It meant our skin tone stood out a little, it meant we had to work ten times as hard to get into university, and it meant our parents had different expectations of us compared to our neighbors and peers. We didn’t think about Jewishness as relating to faith, philosophy, or practice. It was just what we were.

That summer planted a seed. But seeds take time to grow.

My Grandmothers Were My Greatest Teachers

I was fortunate to spend a significant amount of time with my grandmothers growing up. Neither grandmother thought of herself as religious, but the lessons they taught me—to hold myself to a high standard, to always learn, grow, and improve—I later discovered to be profoundly Jewish.

Whatever success I’ve had in life, I attribute to the values passed down by my grandparents. These values served them well too, enabling them to persevere through war, scarcity, oppression, and immigration.

My maternal grandmother, Aseva, (after whom our daughter Ava is named,) at work.
My maternal grandmother, Aseva, (after whom our daughter Ava is named,) at work.

My maternal grandmother, Aseva, grew up in Karsava, Latvia. She and her sister volunteered as nurses in the Red Army during World War II. After the war, she continued working in the medical field, rising to become the head nurse of a prestigious clinic. Life was not easy for Jews in the Soviet Union, but by excelling at her profession, she managed to achieve relative comfort for her family. Because of these experiences, my grandmother encouraged me: always learn new, useful things, and find ways to make yourself indispensable to others.

My father’s mother, Mariya (Mura), is from Odessa, Ukraine. Her father was killed in the war and she and her mother fled from the Nazis. Although we didn’t live near each other, whenever I saw her she tried to shape my character. For example, once I learned to read, she sent me books featuring characters who overcame hard situations with creativity, ingenuity, and a positive attitude. As a literature teacher, I am sure she chose those books because they reflected character traits she wanted me to adopt. She didn’t just give me books—she curated lessons. Even when I was an adult, she would always check if I was working towards important goals like starting a family and continuing my education.

Although neither grandmother was particularly “religious,” their values led me back to Judaism, which I now recognize was their source all along.

With my paternal grandmother, Mariya (Mura).
With my paternal grandmother, Mariya (Mura).

A Spark Ignites

At the end of that first summer, the organizers at F.R.E.E. offered to arrange a brit milah for me. Circumcision was not popular back in the USSR, so most of the children had not been circumcised as infants. For some reason I can’t explain (except that a Jew is a Jew), I said yes. At the age of 12, I had a brit milah.

Fast forward a decade, and I was at Stony Brook University, pursuing a degree in computer science. I became friends with Rabbi Adam Stein, the Chabad rabbi on campus. I loved Chabad as a place to hang out on Friday nights, but I didn’t see the intellectual or spiritual appeal of Judaism just yet.

I graduated university and found a job at Bloomberg. True to the values my grandmothers instilled in me, I pushed myself to grow, earning two additional degrees and climbing the ranks. Eventually, I moved on to Bridgewater, the world’s largest hedge fund.

One benefit of working at Bridgewater was the 90-minute commute from our apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side to Westport, Conn. I somehow stumbled upon the wealth of Jewish audio classes on Chabad.org and began to listen during the commute. At first, my interest was purely intellectual; I was attracted to the deep interpretations and philosophies derived from seemingly simple texts. Intrigued, I bought the Gutnick Chumash, which features English commentaries that illuminate the deeper meaning of the verse.

I wasn’t yet reading the Torah as a believer, but I was starting to appreciate its wisdom.

With my two grandmothers, my mom Jenny, and Mariya’s husband Israel (Izya) in Brooklyn, shortly after immigrating, mid 1990s.
With my two grandmothers, my mom Jenny, and Mariya’s husband Israel (Izya) in Brooklyn, shortly after immigrating, mid 1990s.

Delving Deeper

In 2018 I met my now-wife, Jamie, and the following year we married. Jamie was born on Long Island, but her parents are from Mukachevo (Munkatch), a region where Jewish traditions endured even under Soviet oppression. She grew up in a Conservative community, went to Hebrew day school, and kept a kosher home. (On our first date, not knowing any of this, I ordered a ham sandwich.)

In honor of our upcoming wedding (officiated by Rabbi Stein), Jamie’s parents wanted to buy me a nice watch. I didn’t really know how to appreciate a watch, so Jamie had an idea: “What if they get you a tallit and tefillin instead?” And so they did, along with a Hebrew-English siddur, since I wanted to know the meaning of the words I was saying. I started to wrap tefillin occasionally, which inspired more questions. Chabad.org was an excellent resource for these topics, but I was still barely scratching the surface.

At this point, I realized I needed more guidance.

I mentioned to Rabbi Stein that I was hitting the limits of self-study. He suggested I use JNET to find someone to learn with. That’s how I met Rabbi Aharon Fehler, an ordained rabbi, technologist and entrepreneur. Like me, he lives on Long Island and is in his 40s. We immediately “clicked.”

Rabbi Stein officiating our wedding in 2019.
Rabbi Stein officiating our wedding in 2019.

Aharon and I often turn to technology to find analogies for esoteric Jewish concepts. For example, Chasidism teaches that G‑d intentionally energizes the universe every moment of every day. We compare that to how a computer simulation has a creator who keeps it running, which implies a purpose. The analogy makes it easy to grasp the concept.

Through our weekly study sessions, Aharon has been helping me understand the relevance and genius of Jewish ideology. At some point, he encouraged me to subscribe to Chayenu, a weekly publication with English translations and commentary on the Chumash, Tanya, Tehillim, and Rambam. At first, Chayenu simply gave me a structured way to keep up with the weekly Torah readings. But over time, consistent daily study has transformed my connection with Judaism. I began to see how the wisdom of the Torah applied to real-life situations.

With Aharon at the Ohel.
With Aharon at the Ohel.

Making Judaism My Own

When I have an issue on my mind—whether it’s related to work, a relationship, or raising kids—the answer often “randomly” pops up in that week’s Torah portion. For example, I was coaching a friend through some work struggles, and I was able to use the story of Noah (which was in that week’s Torah portion) as a case study to help him move past his block and recognize his potential.

Most impactfully, Jewish study has transformed how I think. I’ve always been hyper-logical, a trait inherited from my paternal grandfather, Alexander. Anything not understood through logic felt irrelevant and unreal. Now, however, I understand this is both powerful and limiting. Since the majority of reality takes place outside of our comprehension, logic itself dictates that something other than logic is needed to engage with those important aspects of life. Judaism is amazing precisely because it is the study of how the finite human can engage with the infinite and eternal G‑d. This empowers us to transcend boundaries and constantly climb higher, beyond where logic would say we must remain.

Passover has become my favorite holiday, not just because my family’s immigration parallels the physical Exodus, but also because on the metaphorical level, leaving Egypt (the Hebrew name for Egypt, Mitzrayim, means “limitation”) represents transcending the limitations of logic and ego to pursue our highest potential.

Coming Full Circle

I see Judaism now as both the source of my grandmothers’ values and the “operating system” that enables us to manifest them through millennia and in the current times. I see clearly how these values were helpful to me, existential to my grandmothers, and have enabled our people to survive, thrive, and contribute throughout the generations.

I have embraced Judaism not just as “useful” but also as “true.” The operating system can only work this well because it is grounded in underlying truth and aligns with the design of the universe, much like a physics formula is only powerful because it reflects the underlying reality. Understanding this has opened up space for me to fully embrace Judaism in a more complete and practical way.

These days, I strive to make Jewish practice a part of my daily life. I still struggle with how to make prayer meaningful, but I wrap tefillin and say Shema most days. Jamie and I happily support Jewish causes and we belong to two synagogues, including Chabad of Port Washington led by Rabbi Shalom Paltiel who does so much to invigorate the community with study, practice, and celebration.

Most importantly, we are raising our two young children (and another one on the way) with the Jewish values and traditions that have sustained our people for centuries. We want to “upload” the operating system that will enable them to live rich, meaningful, and impactful lives, and to pass it on to subsequent generations.

And if you want a miracle, my grandmother Mariya, in her 90s and living in Cleveland, Ohio, now studies Torah weekly.