Mini-Woodstock with Balalaikas Leena Prakhina

The pungent odor of my mother’s borscht drifted across our campsite, along with the smoky smell coming from the fire. The field was filled with cars, tents, and a large stage. Onstage was a famous Russian group, “Masha and the 3 Bears,” playing one of their most popular songs at full blast. In our corner of the field, I sat by my mother, wincing as my father played the guitar and sang a tune of his own, a kind of war ballad that sounded suspiciously like Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love.” To some, this setting might seem bizarre, but to me it was all too familiar.

Since I was five, my family and I have been going to Eastern European music festivals all around the East Coast. At some point, these were a chore, but by now they have become a part of my life, not quite as favored as our annual vacations to Cape Cod but, at least, something that I have grown used to. It is normal for toddlers of Russian ancestry to learn how to walk at their first “Sleyt,” or Russian camping festival. It was here I learned how to play the guitar, and how to make my mother’s most treasured Slavic dishes.

Whenever I told my American friends about these experiences, however, they could not understand why anyone would want to hang out in tents in 45-degree...