Even in Chernivtsi, Ukraine, the first biographical information I receive about one of our sponsored individuals isn't always the whole story. Trust grows with each visit. Sometimes, new, shocking fragments suddenly emerge, casting a completely different light on the person. The most beautiful thing is when God continues to write their biography.
Emma and her brother Boris have been part of our program for a while now. Right at the beginning, we were told that Emma would have to speak for her brother – he suffers from schizophrenia and is barely able to provide any information. "Boris graduated from a medical institute and was assigned as a doctor to the BAM (construction of the Baikal-Amur Mainline in Siberia). There, he developed schizophrenia and was declared disabled." That's the official version, in innocuous Soviet jargon. The labels "disabled" and "schizophrenia" were quickly handed out in the Soviet Union. In this country, therapy would have been the logical next step after the diagnosis. But in a country where you can "develop" schizophrenia while working on a construction project, of course, no one even considers therapy. In any case, I've learned to ask probing questions when faced with such descriptions.
In his parents' small house on Synagogenstrasse, where Boris lives, a painting hangs in the back room depicting him at the height of his short career—as a military doctor in uniform. Even at our first meeting, a spark of understanding ignited, and even now Boris doesn't seem particularly schizophrenic. He's delighted with every item I pull from our colorful shopping bag: the challah bread, the Napoleon cake, the sweetened condensed milk (always a hit), the can of beef, the shower gel. Finally, he gratefully kisses my hand.
"Only Mom and Grandma survived"
“Did we show you the portrait of our mother?” Emma asks. “Her name was Riva. She was a beautiful woman. Here, look at the portrait. The Nazis drove her into the ghetto, along with Grandma. They survived three camps. Mom’s little brother had to knock the gold teeth out of dead Jews, clean them properly, and bring them to the guards. In the end, they were in Bershad. Only Mom and Grandma survived.”
After the war, Riva was swept into the relatively undamaged city of Czernowitz by the stream of refugees. Here she met Jafar Ali, who, as I learn in the current version of the story, was not a Crimean Tatar, but belonged to the Karaim, a Jewish ethnic group in Crimea that had been temporarily Islamized. "His whole family was murdered in the war," Emma tells me. "Mom and Dad met here in Czernowitz. It was a great love. They were desperately poor, but they were together for 67 years."
"He'd like to play something for us on the keyboard if we have that much time," Boris says. We do have time, and Boris plays. The improvised chords help his soul find some peace.
Trauma in Siberia
“Boris is the youngest of us three siblings,” Emma tells me, taking me slightly aside. “He was Mom’s favorite child. He was a military doctor. They sent him to the Baikal-Amur Mainline in Siberia. The working conditions there were catastrophic—people were starving and freezing to death. And Boris was responsible for their health. One of the young soldiers entrusted to his care shot himself. Boris couldn’t cope with that. Our older brother had to bring him back. Since then, he’s been on disability.”.
His wife left him back then. He lived with her until her death. On her deathbed, she asked me to take care of him – to make sure he was clean and had something to eat. I don't have much either, but I do what I can; I do it for her
I have one last brief moment with Boris. I can tell him that he has a colleague in heaven. That the God of Israel is also a physician—for his people. That he has promised to wipe away all the tears of his people, and that he will also heal Boris's broken heart.
The way Boris hugged me goodbye told me he understood me very well. And that the Lord, the comfort of Israel, had once again done something no human being can accomplish; something I can only ask for, and for which I keep setting out on my journey.
You are welcome to sponsor a first- or second-generation Holocaust survivor in Ukraine. One-time donations are also appreciated. Our staff will ensure that your support reaches its destination and that a message of love from Germany is conveyed through personal visits. More information can be found here.
This article first appeared in our newspaper "Israelaktuell," issue 137. You can order the newspaper here . We would also be happy to send you several copies to display and distribute.
