Reconnecting with Slavic Ancestry Pt.1 Theory

Step-by-Step Guide on Steroids

"Girlfriends" 1950s Vsevolod Tarasevich

Reconnecting with your culture is a process, not an event; your “foreign” side is a feature, not a flaw.

What makes someone Slavic? If you are Slavic by blood, is that enough? Is there a right way of reconnecting? What is even the goal of it? When are you done with this work? 

In this article, we will discuss everything from one’s motivation to reconnect to the mistakes of romanticizing the past and centering Russia in research. We will discuss how the landscape shaped the Slavic mentality and the most notable modern-day reconnection traditions. We will also touch on who is technically considered Slavic and if you need anyone’s permission to claim your heritage, and much more.

As someone who was born and raised in Russia, I realize now that I wasn’t even aware of my culture until I immigrated to the US. It’s a little bit like air, you only notice when it’s gone. After so many years living outside my homeland, I ask myself, am I still one with my people? Did I change too much, and I won’t fit in anymore? Will I ever experience the bliss of walking through a forest in Mordovia on my way to dacha or visit my grandma for some pirojki? I worry that the home I yearn for might be lost forever. Yet, I'm determined not to be consumed by nostalgia. Instead, I choose to actively share the aspects of my culture I cherish with those who also seek to embrace and carry forward the nurturing traditions of our past.

For years, I felt no longing for our traditions or hunger for our food. But then, at 27, I hit a wall—exhausted, disillusioned, and unwell. I couldn't grasp how I ended up in such a state, naively believing that endless 22-hour workdays and dashing through NYC without proper care or nutrition wouldn't wear me down. I was on bed rest from the stomach flu and was desperately seeking something, ANYTHING that could bring me back to my usual self. Suddenly, like a scene from a cartoon, an idea lit up in my mind. I realized I could walk over to Veselka, a spot nearby in the East Village, and get some borscht. I was sure it would make everything better — and indeed, it did.

That single event has jumpstarted my way back to my roots and the traditions I’ve been taught and ignored for the sake of “The American Dream.”

Standing in my room in an apartment I shared with 2 other roommates in East Village. The room was so small I could reach the walls with my hands stretched out.