One frigid January night off Oranienburger Strasse, in the heart of old Jewish Berlin, 30 immigrants from the former Soviet Union clustered into a small room to hear stand-up poetry and folk music in their native tongue. Almost all of them were middle-aged or elderly and, as they drank tea and smoked pipes in the crowded kitchen afterwards, they reminisced about the world they’d left behind – and the alien one that, today, they only partly inhabit.