Introduction

Some time ago, while delivering a lecture on the capital of the Jewish Autonomous Oblast (JAO), I illustrated my talk with memes from a Birobidzhan social media community. One of these memes read: “When you love Birobidzhan with all your heart and soul, and people tell you that Birdon is a dump,” accompanied by an image of an annoyed woman in hair rollers wielding a rolling pin, threatening an unseen opponent. An acquaintance of mine from Birobidzhan rephrased this challenge: “When you live in Birobidzhan, and people tell you it is a failed project and a product of Stalinist deportation.”

Residents of Birobidzhan are highly sensitive to debates surrounding the establishment of the JAO—an artificially created region within the framework of the Soviet national experiment. Inhabitants of this small provincial town “with a Jewish flavor” remain oriented toward the past, preserving the memory of the first settlers who conquered the taiga and swamps, and viewing themselves as their descendants, regardless of ethnic origin or religious affiliation.

The streets of Birobidzhan are frequently adorned with photographs from the 1930s and historical exhibitions. A monument to the early settlers stands on the station square, the fence of a school in the former Waldheim collective farm is decorated with graffiti featuring portraits of the village founders, and my informants constantly lament that they miss that old, Soviet Birobidzhan with its wooden sidewalks and wooden houses.

It appears that this nostalgia for a bygone, idealized Birobidzhan, and the constant dialogue with its history, reflects a specific mechanism for maintaining collective identity. Let us attempt to examine the people of Birobidzhan through the lens of an emotional community, uniting both the current residents of the JAO and those who have emigrated to Israel, bound by nostalgia for the Soviet past and religious retrotopia.

Overview of Source Material

This study is primarily based on oral sources—in-depth interviews collected during fieldwork in the JAO and Israel. Many interviews were conducted with older generation residents of Birobidzhan, descendants of the first Jewish settlers. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, these respondents, prominent figures in the town, participated in the revival of Jewish life in the JAO. In this article, I will also draw upon a series of interviews collected in May 2021 during research into the Protestant communities of Birobidzhan.

While Jewish interlocutors showed no interest in my level of religiosity or denomination, in every Protestant community almost the first question asked was, “Are you a believer?” My affiliation with Roman Catholicism proved insufficient for integration into this community. For instance, one Protestant pastor declined to invite me to his congregation's prayer meeting, responding to a direct request with a counter-question: “Are you asking out of simple curiosity, or to pray with us?” Consequently, the issue of sincere faith (as evaluated by the informants) was a determining factor in the feasibility of the research.

The closed nature of several communities is due to their practice of “speaking in tongues,” or glossolalia, which some Protestant churches consider “one of the most extraordinary and powerful gifts of God”[1]. The gift implies that a person involuntarily begins to pray in an unknown language, allegedly having received a “personal prayer language during baptism in the Holy Spirit”[2]. The speaker may not even comprehend what is being said or in which language. In some congregations, my interlocutors—descendants of the first Jewish settlers—recounted that during “prayer in tongues,” they would inexplicably begin to call upon God in Aramaic, which in their eyes underscored a profound spiritual connection with Jewish Birobidzhan.

The practice of “speaking in tongues” is viewed controversially even within Protestant circles, let alone other denominations. Thus, the refusal of certain informants from Birobidzhan's Protestant communities to invite an outsider to prayer is explained by the fear that it might create a false impression of the congregation.

Nostalgia for the “Golden Age” of Birobidzhan

Residents of Birobidzhan long for what they describe as a vanished, unique urban atmosphere, when “Yiddish was spoken on the streets, old men read the *Birobidzhaner Shtern* in the parks, and Yiddish was heard on buses and in shops”[3].

Svetlana Boym defines nostalgia as a “longing for home,” noting that it is often a “longing for a home that no longer exists or, perhaps, has never existed”[4]. The image of a bygone, ideal city is shared by both Jewish and non-Jewish residents of Birobidzhan. This is nostalgia both for the actual Soviet Birobidzhan (in their narratives, the USSR only ends with the beginning of repatriation to Israel and the closure of local factories—symbols of industrial Jewish colonization—meaning the “Soviet” era does not die until the early 2000s), and for an imagined Birobidzhan, falling into the category of an invented past[5]. In this invented past, Soviet Birobidzhan becomes, as depicted in the paintings of local artist Vladislav Tsap and the verses of local poets, an ideal shtetl (which never existed in the Russian Far East) with its measured pace of life and typical shtetl atmosphere:

[Inf.]: You know how it was here. Neighbors would shout across the windows to each other, like, “Your cat stole our fish!” You could hear Yiddish on the street—I still remember it. Old men sat over there in the park, whispering in Yiddish. My grandmother would say to her neighbor: “Manya, stop it. Velvl understands everything!” Meaning me, Volodya. She called me Velvl. 

The ideal Soviet Birobidzhan in the informants' narrative is a town characterized by shtetl-like behavioral patterns and distinctive personalities, where everyone spoke or at least understood Yiddish. Often, when describing that old Birobidzhan, my interlocutors would mimic a shtetl Jewish accent. Such creative engagement with a departed era can be categorized under Bauman's concept of retrotopia, where the past becomes a utopia.

The Exceptionalism of Birobidzhaners

“There is no such thing as an ex-Birobidzhaner,” say my respondents in Israel. The Middle Eastern and Far Eastern natives of the JAO are bound by a shared memory and nostalgia, reflecting their mode of engagement with the past, as well as a sense of exceptionalism.

Emigrants from Birobidzhan in Israel, particularly those of the older generation, appear to exist somewhat separately within “Russian” Israel. They interpret their exceptionalism as a consequence of the unique history of their region of origin—formally a Jewish autonomy established prior to the State of Israel. One Israeli interlocutor, who despite her advanced age participated in the campaign of a Russian-speaking candidate during the Knesset elections in 2013, explained it as follows:

[Inf. 3]: We Birobidzhaners always have to be involved in everything. Here I am, fighting for the rights of our hostel, for our Russian speakers. Why should I just sit around? I used to catch fish with my bare hands back in the Yevreyka.

The ongoing Jewish status of the region, combined with the specifics of historical memory, also shapes the identity of non-Jewish Birobidzhaners. A popular phrase coined in the capital of the JAO—“You don't have to be Jewish, but you must live like a Jew”—aptly reflects the social mechanics of this community. In a region where Jews have never constituted a majority of the population, a distinct Birobidzhan culture emerged during the Soviet years—socialist in form, Jewish in content—wherein a uniquely understood Birobidzhan Jewishness remains a key element to this day.

Birobidzhan Jewishness is, on one hand, a shared culture uniting the different ethnic groups of the JAO, and on the other, a collective memory of the region's past, its pioneers, and a specific concept of a true Birobidzhaner as a descendant of those trailblazers. In the JAO, having a pioneer ancestor is prestigious; it serves as a password, meaning “I belong here.” Aleida Assman wrote about the necessity of shared memories in the life of communities, asserting that memories “provide the material from which personal experience, relationships with others, and, most importantly, the image of one's own identity are constructed”[6].

To be considered one of their own among Birobidzhaners, one must share their values—specifically, not viewing the migration to the Far East as a failed project, an illusion, or a trap into which some Jews allowed themselves to be lured, as one of my Israeli informants, who had re-evaluated his Soviet experience, put it.

Birobidzhaners as an Emotional Community

Precisely because of this emotional relationship with the past and present of Birobidzhan, it seems appropriate to view Birobidzhaners as an example of emotional communities, which, following Barbara Rosenwein, I define as

the same communities as social ones (...). But the researcher, in studying them, looks first and foremost for systems of feeling: what these communities (and the individuals within them) define and assess as valuable or harmful to themselves; the evaluations they make of others' feelings; the nature of the affective ties between people that they recognize; and the modes of emotional expression that they expect, encourage, tolerate, or deplore[7].

Rosenwein includes under emotional communities not only “social communities with close relations (i.e., face-to-face contact)”[8], but also “imagined communities” in Benedict Anderson's terms—groups in which “people, without ever meeting, are linked to one another through media of communication”[9]. This is particularly relevant for analyzing the shared memory of Israeli and Far Eastern Birobidzhaners, united in nostalgic social media communities where they share recollections of Birobidzhan[10], upload Soviet-era photographs, and comment on them. “I look at this, and the old Birobidzhan comes alive in my memory”[11], they write in the comments.

This emotional unity is also reflected upon by Birobidzhan emigrants in amateur literary texts about their abandoned town.

[Inf.]: There is a woman named Mira Polyakova living here. I will read you her poem. You will cry. Mira was split in two.

The heart stretched between the seas,

Arched like a bridge over the land—

The right edge over the warm waves,

The left—over the icy wave.

This is a motif that stays with all of us. It could be used as an epigraph for a book about Birobidzhaners. No further explanation needed. 

For a long time, emigrants from Birobidzhan published annual volumes titled *All Birobidzhan*, featuring updated directories of their expatriate community. They are united not only by the past but also by pride in their grandchildren, as well as a sense of historical primacy—many informants in Israel note that Birobidzhan was established before the Jewish state. Furthermore, a tangible expression of their community belonging is the presence of so-called “Birobidzhan altars”—many homes feature a dedicated space for storing keepsakes, photographs from Birobidzhan, and clippings from the *Birobidzhaner Shtern* containing Yiddish articles about them. Many informants cannot read Yiddish and do not know what is written, yet they are so proud of these publications that they brought them to Israel.

According to Rosenwein, emotional communities resemble “a large circle within which are smaller circles”[12]. It can be argued that the unifying circle for the community described here is the core of native JAO residents who transmit the memory of the region's history and its first settlers. Judaism does not play a significant role in Birobidzhan identity, unlike a specific ideological affiliation, a narrative of a land reclaimed by Jews, and the unique status of Birobidzhan as a city with a difficult and distinct history.

Birobidzhaners—both Jewish and non-Jewish—are united by pride in their ancestors who did not leave, unlike many settlers who, in the 1930s, faced a harsh climate, swarms of mosquitoes, and severe domestic hardships.

[Inf. 4]: Generally speaking, Birobidzhan is a hard land. It was settled with great difficulty, but they say that anyone who has lived there even a little while can never fully detach themselves. Apparently, it possesses some kind of magnetic pull. It is not easily forgotten…

Jews by Residence

On the other hand, it is this very land that makes them Birobidzhaners—a chosen people, Jews by place of residence. It is not uncommon for Birobidzhan residents without any Jewish roots to attend the Jewish community center and synagogue.

[Inf. 5]: I live in the Jewish Oblast, I'm always around Jews, my friends are of Jewish origin. So I came here [to the synagogue]. I attended a Christian church for 11 years. Then I had a friend who said, “Let's go to the synagogue.” So we went. And I've been coming ever since. I even brought my daughter here.

[Inf.]: I don't actually know what my nationality is. My ancestry includes Chuvash, Mordvin, German, Polish, even Chinese. But I am Jewish. First generation.

Outside the region, the JAO is colloquially referred to as *Yevreyka*, and Birobidzhan as *Khitrogard* (Cunning-town). Emigrants from Birobidzhan in other regions are assumed to be Jewish by default. For example, one of my interlocutors, who has no Jewish roots but attends synagogue, recounted that when visiting her grandchildren in Vladivostok, she hears: “Our Jewishers have arrived!” Furthermore, she observes Shabbat in a small Birobidzhan congregation and even performed something “like a chuppah, read, and spoke”[13] for her great-granddaughter.

The identifier “Jewishers”[14] (Yevreytsy), coined by analogy with the word “Koreans” (Koreytsy), is used by Birobidzhaners for self-description regardless of ethnicity. I first encountered this term in Israel while interviewing a former congregant of the Birobidzhan synagogue. She asserted that “Koreans understand God better than Jewishers,” because they adopted Christianity and were “blessed.”

At the same time, some Jewish residents of the JAO occasionally view themselves as pretenders, or “unreal” Jews. This sentiment appears in memes within Birobidzhan social media groups, which joke about the fact that no one in Birobidzhan speaks Yiddish, while Russian, Ukrainian, and Chinese children perform in the Jewish dance ensembles.

Conversely, in Israel, Birobidzhan is, according to my informants, regarded as a mark of quality for immigrants. The place of birth itself inspires confidence in their Jewishness, and when combined with a knowledge of Yiddish, makes them appear “more genuine” than other Jews.

[Inf. 7]: When my son got married, we had to prove we were Jewish. We took my mother and traveled to Jerusalem to see a rabbi. We brought all the documents. He looked at them and saw that it said Birobidzhan. He then began to speak to my mother in Yiddish, and she replied. He turned to us—but we didn't know it, we weren't taught. He said, “You are from Birobidzhan itself and don't speak Yiddish, how can this be?” But the fact that my mother spoke it ultimately saved us.

This distinct Birobidzhan origin, which is a source of pride, is overlaid with a specific Far Eastern identity and a narrative concerning the openness of Far Easterners, as well as Birobidzhan's inter-ethnic friendship and the absence of antisemitism. All of this sets Birobidzhaners apart—both within the Jewish community and within the Russian-speaking Aliyah—they are different, possessing a unique history and their own reasons for pride.

[Inf. 8]: When we were walking, I told you—look, people from Birobidzhan definitely live here! Everything is decorated, so much greenery. The others don't care. 

[Inf. 3]: Birobidzhaners trust one another.

[Inf. 8]: Yes, we are different in that regard.

[Inf. 3]: Jews—they are cunning, petty. But we are different—open-hearted, always ready to lend a hand or help out. But those from Ukraine or Belarus—they are different.

The Narrative of Miraculous Salvation

Birobidzhaners are also emotionally united by a narrative of miraculous salvation, in which Stalin, by relocating Jews from the European part of the USSR to the Far East, shielded them from the Holocaust and destruction. In Nahariya, one of my informants, born in the JAO after the war, keeps a portrait of Stalin hanging next to a large map of Russia. The conversation took place in his office, where the interlocutor, who immigrated in the 1990s and successfully integrated into Israeli society, provided legal services.

[Res.]: Why do you have a portrait of Stalin hanging in your office? 

[Inf. 10]: You noticed? When clients come in, they also stare and ask why. I explain that in 1934 Stalin established Birobidzhan. If not for Birobidzhan, my parents would have perished—just like all their relatives in Ukraine. Consequently, I was born.

This narrative is also common among residents of the JAO—those whose families did not follow the youth to the Far East and subsequently perished in the Holocaust in what is now Belarus and Ukraine likewise reflect on the fate of their parents and their own. “It turns out that Stalin was, in a way, a savior,” noted one informant from Birobidzhan[15].

An Undervalued City

There are also negative unifying factors in contemporary Birobidzhan. Residents of the city frequently complain that few people have heard of Birobidzhan, often confusing it with Azerbaijan or Tajikistan.

[Inf. 11]: Honestly, I don't reveal where I'm from. I say I'm from Khabarovsk. Because when you say “Birobidzhan,” people immediately ask—is that near Tajikistan? And if you say you are from the Jewish Oblast, they ask, is that where Israel is? Then the conversations about Jewish cuisine and Jews begin.

Furthermore, residents of Birobidzhan believe that their city is undervalued, dismissed as a failed Soviet experiment, with outsiders failing to recognize (in the words of one respondent) the richness of the “Birobidzhan Atlantis”[16]. This is why locals tend to view visiting journalists and researchers with some suspicion. They desire to be understood precisely as they perceive themselves. “Everything here is done in its own way, the Birobidzhan way. There is a unique upbringing and climate of human relations, a distinct memory, and a specific pride. Only here do people joke and love like nowhere else”[17], noted Birobidzhan writer Alexander Drabkin.

Protestant Communities of Birobidzhan

The narrative of modern Birobidzhaners is also characterized by assertions that the city has declined, that it is impossible to earn a living here, and that one “must leave.” In 2020, according to Rosstat, 3,217 people left the JAO[18], a figure that has remained largely constant over several years. It is likely due to this difficult situation, low social status[19], and the search for community and support that many Birobidzhaners—regardless of origin—join Protestant churches, whose ideology traditionally emphasizes assistance to socially vulnerable groups.

The religious landscape of modern Birobidzhan—a small town with a population of just over 70,000 according to the 2010 census—is highly diverse. In 2008, there were 18 parishes of the Russian Orthodox Church, two Jewish religious communities, and 18 organizations of “various Protestant denominations” active in the JAO[20].

Notably, while traditional denominations—Orthodox, Jewish, and Muslim—possess few congregations in the city, Protestant groups are numerous. These are indeed active communities; in fact, Protestant groups became part of Birobidzhan's religious landscape immediately after the war. For instance, N. Volozheninova notes that in October 1950, a Seventh-day Adventist worked as a stoker in the municipal bathhouse; she was recognized as a shock worker, and the management agreed to grant her Saturdays off[21]. Thus, the first Protestants appeared in Birobidzhan almost simultaneously with the Jewish religious community, which was officially registered in 1946.

In 1978, at the initiative of the Lokaichuk brothers, who came to Birobidzhan “to work as Christians”[22], a Baptist congregation was registered in the city. Viktor Lokaichuk, the current leader of the local Baptists united under the “Shalom” church, notes that while various Christian groups were already active, there was no official parish of the Russian Orthodox Church in Birobidzhan at the time.

[Inf. 12]: We sang and preached in the city, on the streets, everywhere. We faced some minor restrictions, there were some issues. The Orthodox were not yet established here, so we were, in essence, the pioneers as Christians. 

Due to the lack of alternatives, Protestant congregations attracted townspeople engaged in a religious search.

Furthermore, in the 1990s, the JAO became a field of activity for the Protestant organization “Eben Ezer” (“Stone of Help,” in Hebrew), which sought out Jews in the most remote corners of the former USSR and facilitated their emigration to Israel. “Eben Ezer” provided financial assistance, helped gather necessary documents, and arranged flights to Israel, with tickets funded by the Jewish Agency (Sokhnut). Behind this lies a religious significance common to many messianic Protestant groups: once the Jews scattered across the world are gathered in Israel, having made Aliyah (lit. ascent, in Hebrew), the Messiah will come[23]. Search trips for Jews within “Eben Ezer” are termed “fishing trips” and are conducted under Operation Exodus. The organization's website states that during its ministry, it has assisted over 130,000 Jews in making Aliyah. At the core of “Eben Ezer's” ideology is “ministry to the Jews”—both materially and spiritually. Fund activists in various Russian regions cooperate with Jewish partners and participate in memorializing Holocaust victims. The Jewish Autonomous Oblast, by its very name, is highly attractive to Protestants seeking Jews. As noted by Valeriya Bulkina[24], former coordinator of the organization in Birobidzhan, some foreign representatives of “Eben Ezer” kissed the ground upon arriving in the JAO:

[Inf.]: Some Americans arrived, drove up to the Birobidzhan signpost, got out of the car, and kissed the Birobidzhan soil. There are moments that make life worth living. There is something here that draws people.

“Birobidzhan is Your Jerusalem.” The Religious Retrotopia of Birobidzhan Protestants

The current leaders of Protestant communities in Birobidzhan, who construct a unique connection with this land, are also frequently former members of “Eben Ezer,” which was highly active in the JAO. In a challenging social climate where “the future is filled with anxiety and fear, forcing one to seek a point of support, a place of safety and comfort in the past”[25], religious retrotopia, in Bauman's terms[26], serves as a means to explain their connection to Birobidzhan. Much like less religious Birobidzhaners, they are oriented toward the past, through which they construct a retrotopic image of the future.

Birobidzhan itself occupies a central place in this narrative—Protestants view the JAO as a sacred land linked to a divine plan. For instance, one of my informants, whom we shall call S.—the leader of an Evangelical congregation—explained why Birobidzhan is a sacred place for him and his community.

S. has Jewish ancestry on his father's side, while his mother's grandfather was a Wehrmacht officer who was captured and ultimately ended up in the Amur Oblast. S. turned to God, like many of my Protestant respondents, due to social isolation during his youth.

S. states that his affection for Birobidzhan was influenced by Christianity; he recognizes that the city is not ideal for him, but he is held there by a specific mission.

[Inf. 13]: There is simply a vision for this city. I will not disclose it to you just yet. This city is destined to shine. Everything has been marked out by God.

The city is important to him as “inherently connected to Jewishness.” As a believing Christian possessing a “living connection with God,” S. asserts that the Lord revealed to him the purpose of the migration to Birobidzhan—it is a land created by the Almighty to gather the Jews. In his interpretation, the creation of Birobidzhan mirrors the establishment of Israel—just as Moses led the Jews out of Egypt, Stalin gathered them in the JAO, acting as an instrument of God. S. views the purpose of the migration to Birobidzhan as the salvation of Jews from the Holocaust, returning us to the narrative of miraculous salvation shared by non-religious groups.

Following Birobidzhan, Israel was established in 1948—for S., these two points of Jewish concentration develop in parallel, “both spiritually and physically.” The informant finds confirmation of this in specific details:

[Inf. 13]: How many times have they wanted to merge our region—the JAO—with Khabarovsk Krai? Many, many times. They wanted to divide us. Let me ask you one thing. What is the region code for Moscow? 

[Res.]: 77.

[Inf. 13]: St. Petersburg? 

[Res.]: 78.

[Inf. 13]: The JAO? 

[Res.]: 79.

[Inf. 13]: Yes! And all around us it is 25, 28, 27. A unique land! You have to notice these things. Individually, they might seem insignificant. But when the puzzle pieces come together, knowing the history and the spiritual background, you see the larger picture and begin to understand what kind of land this is.

S. believes that an “awakening” will occur in Birobidzhan—a concept central to Protestant theology. For him, this means that prisons will disappear as there will be no criminals, hospitals will close because there will be no sick, and the residents of the city will be converted.

The prayer practice of S. and his congregation involves gathering every Saturday early in the morning, for twenty consecutive years, to pray on the hill that serves as a symbol of Birobidzhan.

[Inf. 13]: The city smiles at the dawn, you see. It is important to me that this is expressed—love for this city. When you pray for something, you are filled with zeal. You begin to pray and become deeply connected to this city; it becomes your home.

S. practices praying on the hill following the example of Koreans who, he notes, prayed “on the hill” near the border of North and South Korea—consequently, “the Church grew” and the country developed. S. desires a similar future for the JAO.

Maintaining a constant dialogue with God, S. receives instructions during prayer. For example, while the congregation was praying on the hill, “God instructed us to walk around the old mortuary.” S. and his brethren circled the building seven times; some time later, the structure was demolished, and a maternity hospital was built in its place. From this, they concluded that “death was conquered by life,” which they interpret as a “good omen for the city.”

Viewing Birobidzhan as a sacred space is also characteristic of pastors of other Protestant congregations. For instance, A., the leader of a Messianic Jewish congregation, notes that he attempted to leave Birobidzhan several times due to a lack of prospects, but was stopped each time by a dream. In one dream, he and his wife were walking past the hill. Stopping at its foot, they saw steps leading to the top. At the summit was an old, dust-covered platform.

[Inf. 14]: I stood there and asked, “What is this?” And a voice replied, “This is your Jerusalem. This is Birobidzhan.” I woke up in the morning, called Khabarovsk, and recounted the dream. They said, “Well, it looks like you need to stay.”

The unusual Soviet history of Birobidzhan, to which the city constantly refers, provides a fertile ground for interpretation and comparison of the Birobidzhan project with the creation of the State of Israel. This reinforces a sense of exceptionalism—including of a religious nature. The fact that several congregations are attended by descendants of the early settlers drawn to “something Jewish” further strengthens Birobidzhan's status as a Jewish city and lends weight to religious interpretations of the sanctity of the place. In almost every Protestant congregation I visited, it was noted that “80% of our members are Jewish.”

The Textuality of the Birobidzhan Community

Since texts—religious for Protestants and secular for other members of the group—assume a central importance in the construction of Birobidzhan identity, one can also view them as a textual community[27], conceptually linked to the emotional community. In such associations, a shared understanding of a text is established, preserved, and transmitted through oral tradition[28].

Jewish civilization, inherently textual, shifted its canon of community-forming texts during the Soviet era. As Anna Shternshis notes, the place of the Torah was taken by secular works—books by Jewish authors in which revolutionary or, at least, anti-religious themes were prominent[29]. In the case of Birobidzhan, whose creation was accompanied by an extensive propaganda campaign, this corpus was formed in the late 1920s and 1930s. The primary interpreters of the Birobidzhan project were writers and journalists. It is no coincidence that when non-governmental organizations in the JAO received funding to preserve Jewish identity and regional heritage, their first initiative was to digitize and translate 1930s literature concerning migration to Birobidzhan from Yiddish.

Yiddish plays a significant role in the construction of Birobidzhan identity. It retains its status as an official declarative language in the JAO, even though almost no one who can read Yiddish remains. This does not contradict the theory of textual communities, where “the minimum requirement is at least one literate person, an interpres…”[30]. According to Stock, even a single individual capable of translating and interpreting the written word is sufficient to form a community.

Conclusion 

This framework explains the highly sensitive attitude of JAO residents toward interpretations of their past[31] and present. Shared memory, nostalgia, and retrotopia as a mode of engaging with the past, alongside a sense of exceptionalism, unite Far Eastern and Middle Eastern Birobidzhaners into a single emotional, imagined community, anchored in the region's history or its perceived religious destiny. A distinct identity resulting from a national project and the perceived sanctity of Birobidzhan, conceptualized through Soviet experience and Protestant theology, unites Jews and non-Jews living in the JAO and Israel into the collective category of Birobidzhaners.

In the contemporary Jewish Autonomous Oblast—one of Russia's poorest regions, yet one possessing a unique Soviet history as a “promised land”—religious retrotopia and nostalgia serve as therapeutic practices, allowing Birobidzhaners to believe in a coming “golden age” for the JAO and to view themselves as a cohesive community whose values are inextricably linked to the history of Birobidzhan.

The Protestant context, introduced here for the first time in the historiography of the Birobidzhan project, shifts the research perspective, raising new questions regarding the identity of the city's residents and the specifics of the Jewish revival in Birobidzhan. The primary agents of this revival—often ethnically non-Jewish—frequently comprehend the values of Judaism and Jewish tradition through the narratives of various Protestant denominations, a phenomenon that warrants further academic inquiry.

Informants: 

• [Inf.] — male, born circa 1970s, born and lives in Birobidzhan

• [Inf. 2] — female, born circa 1950s, arrived in Birobidzhan as a child with parents, works in the cultural sector

• [Inf. 3] — female, born in the late 1930s, retiree, lives in Nof HaGalil (formerly Natzrat Illit, Israel)

• [Inf. 4] — female, born 1940s, retiree, worked in mass media in Birobidzhan, lives in Ma'alot (Israel)

• [Inf. 5] — female, born circa 1933-1935, retiree, lives in the JAO, attends the “Beit Teshuvah” community

• [Inf. 6] — female, born 1946, retiree, lives in Birobidzhan, attends the “Beit Teshuvah” community

• [Inf. 7] — female, born 1951, retiree, lives in Ma'alot (Israel)

• [Inf. 8] — male, born in the late 1930s, retiree, worked as a driver in Birobidzhan, lives in Nof HaGalil (Israel)

• [Inf. 9] — male, born 1939, retiree, worked in education, lives in Birobidzhan

• [Inf. 10] — male, born 1950, retiree, worked as an attorney in Nahariya (Israel)

• [Inf. 11] — female, born 1988, works in the cultural sector, lives in Birobidzhan

• [Inf. 12] — male, pastor of a Baptist congregation, lives in Birobidzhan

• [Inf. 13] — male, born 1980s, pastor of an Evangelical Christian congregation, lives in Birobidzhan

• [Inf. 14] — male, born 1980s, pastor of a Messianic Jewish congregation, lives in Birobidzhan.

1 |  “Prayer in Tongues,” Church of Jesus Christ, 10.10.2019. URL: https://www.jesuschurch.by/resources/molitva-na-inyix-yazyikax.html (Accessed: 07.06.2021)

2 |  Ibid.

3 |  Excerpt from an interview with [Inf. 2]

4 |  Svetlana Boym, “Post-Soviet Cinematic Nostalgia: From “Elite Cinema” to Soap Opera”, in Discourse (Views from the Post-Future/Soviet & Eastern European Cinema), Vol. 17, No. 3 (Spring 1995), p. 75

5 |  Cf. Eric Hobsbawm's concept of the “invention of tradition” (Hobsbawm E., “The Invention of Tradition,” *Vestnik Evrazii*, No. 1, 2000, pp. 47-62). Also significant for the analysis of an invented past, particularly in the context of national and religious revival, is V. Bobrovnikov's work “Archaeology of Constructing Islamic Traditions in a Dagestani Collective Farm” (*Ab Imperio*, No. 3, 2004, pp. 563-593). In this article, based on long-term field observations, Bobrovnikov concludes that the Islamic revival, which appeared to be a return to pre-Soviet traditions, was in fact “tied to the collective farm,” meaning it was invented according to different rules and based on alternative values, and that the notion of the continuity of Islamic knowledge and authority in the jamaat is important “as a primary narrative for constructing the past and history, rather than reflecting the actual state of affairs.”

6 |  Assmann A. *The Long Shadow of the Past: Memorial Culture and Historical Politics*. Moscow: Novoe Literaturnoe Obozrenie, 2014, pp. 19-20

7 |  Barbara Rosenwein, “Worrying about Emotions in History”, The American Historical Review, Vol. 107, Issue 3, (June 2002), p. 842. Quoted in Plamper Y. *The History of Emotions*. Moscow: NLO, 2018, p. 111

8 |  Ibid.

9 |  Ibid.

10 |  See the group “Birobidzhan and the Jewish Autonomous Oblast of the Soviet Period. Photographs.” URL: https://www.facebook.com/groups/142899291079064 (Accessed: 03.08.2021)

11 |  URL: https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=352740961502202&set=a.100823470027287 (Accessed: 06.08.2021)

12 |  Quoted in Plamper Y. Ibid., p. 112

13 |  Excerpt from an interview with [Inf. 6]

14 |  For further details, see Makarova M., “Koreans understand God better than Jewishers: religious searches of Jews from Birobidzhan in Israel.” *Jews of Europe and the Middle East: History, Sociology, Culture*. St. Petersburg, 2014, pp. 92-97; Blyakher L., “Who are the 'Jewishers,' or the experience of cultural synthesis on the Amur.” *Ideas and Ideals*, No. 4 (38), Vol. 1, 2018, pp. 172-190; Chernov M., “Jewish communities and the 'Jewish factor' in the Jewish Autonomous Oblast.” *Ideas and Ideals*, No. 4 (28), Vol. 1, 2018, pp. 160-171

15 |  See [Inf. 9] in the interview list

16 |  See [Inf. 4] in the interview list

17 |  Drabkin A., “Territory of Happiness.” *Songs of My Streets*. Khabarovsk, 2018, p. 260

18 |  See Press Release on Population Migration, Khabarovskstat, 26.11. 2020. URL: https://goo-gl.su/VuXomG

19 |  In terms of quality of life in 2019, the JAO ranked 83rd out of 85 regions. See Rating of Russian Regions by Quality of Life — 2019 // 17.02.2019. URL: https://ria.ru/20200217/1564483827.html

20 |  *The Birobidzhan Project (Experience of Inter-ethnic Interaction): Proceedings of the Scientific-Practical Conference*. Edited by Gurevich V., Rabinovich A., Teplyashin A., Volozheninova N., Birobidzhan, 2008, p. 5

21 |  Volozheninova N., “Religious Denominations of the Jewish Autonomous Oblast: History and Current State,” *Regional Problems*, No. 10, 2008, pp. 115-119

22 |  See [Inf. 12] in the interview list

23 |  “You already know that the timing of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ and the beginning of God's judgments directly depends on the seemingly simple relocation of the Jews, once scattered across the earth, to their meeting place—Eretz Israel, the land of promise. Today, you can look not only at Biblical prophecies concerning the restoration of Israel, but also at how these prophecies are being fulfilled right before your eyes, and thereby recognize God's final times and be prepared for the coming of the Lord,” states the policy publication “Why Aliyah” on the organization's website.

24 |  It should be noted that in Birobidzhan, the history of “Eben Ezer” is directly linked to the history of the Jewish revival through Valeriya Bulkina, who arrived in the city as a coordinator for the organization, and subsequently—following personal and spiritual transformations—joined the Jewish community “Beit Teshuvah.” I examine the history and specifics of this community in detail in my master's thesis. See Makarova M., *The Synagogue of the Poor 'Beit Teshuvah': Soviet Roots of a Messianic Community in Birobidzhan.* Master's Thesis in History, Moscow School of Social and Economic Sciences, 2021

25 |  Starovoitenko A., “Between Nostalgia and Retrotopia,” *Interaction. Interview. Interpretation*, No. 18, 2019, p. 123

26 |  See Bauman Z., *Retrotopia.* Trans. from English by V. L. Silaeva; edited by O. A. Oberemko. Moscow: VCIOM, 2019

27 |   See Brian Stock, Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past (Baltimore: John Hopkins UP, 1990)

28 |  This approach was productively utilized by St. Petersburg researcher Alexander Lvov in his study of the Subbotniks (a group that, while not ethnically Jewish, adheres to Jewish practice). “This unusual group, which did not know its own name, was well-acquainted with 'the law.' The details of this 'law' could vary across different communities and over time. What remained constant was the term itself ('the Law of Moses' or simply 'the law') and the understanding of the written nature of this 'law,' which governed the life of the community,” wrote Lvov regarding the Subbotniks (Lvov A. *The Plow and the Pentateuch*. St. Petersburg: European University Press, 2011, p. 17)

29 |  Anna Shternshis, Soviet and Kosher: Jewish Popular Culture in the Soviet Union, 1923 — 1939 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), p. 183

30 |  Stock, Listening for the Text, p. 23

31 |  According to Stock, “the ultimate arbiter in public debates is not the elite, ...but the community as a whole, which accepts or rejects interpretations as true or false readings of a text accessible to all” (See Stock, Ibid. pp. 16-17)