Many obstacles must be overcome to reach Odessa in winter. For days, the border crossing from Moldova to Odessa in Ukraine is closed due to snowdrifts. The war makes planning anything tentative. But the effort is worthwhile – for a Hanukkah celebration with Holocaust survivors who are waiting for us in the Black Sea city.
Shortly before my departure for Eastern Europe, the Moldovan border crossing Palanca towards Odessa was still closed due to ice and snow. Today, only fog hangs between the gentle hills of southern Moldova; here and there a white stripe shimmers across the fields.
A friendly driver from our partner organization Esra is helping us out and takes my Ukrainian colleague Alina and me to the border in two hours. Our next prayer is that we'll be able to cross the border – on foot for the first time – without any problems. Our Ukrainian driver, Kolya, isn't allowed to leave Ukraine due to the mobilization law and is waiting on the other side. Then another scenario unfolds. "There's an air raid alert all over Ukraine right now," Alina explains. "Who knows if they'll even let us in. If things go badly, they'll leave us waiting at the border for three or four hours until the all-clear is given."
Adventurous journey
In 20 minutes we'll be on the Ukrainian side. But instead of Kolja, we see an incredibly long line of vehicles behind the border crossing. The trucks have been there for days, we learn. At first, we're not particularly worried, since Kolja doesn't want to cross the border anyway. Only after numerous phone calls and negotiations with the border guards do we learn that there's a six-kilometer-long security zone in front of the border crossing, which Kolja isn't even allowed to enter. Walking on the road is forbidden. Taxis aren't allowed in the zone. It seems no one at the authorities has given any thought to how the journey is supposed to continue.
Car after car drives past. Nobody wants to give us a lift. Suddenly, a bus stops, and a few minutes later we're reunited with the other half of our team, who have been waiting for us on the Ukrainian side for hours. We've since checked into the hotel, had dinner at the "Shalom" restaurant—a culinary taste of Israel in Odessa—bought chocolates and decorations for tomorrow, and endured the almost obligatory air raid siren at 11 p.m.
First Advent, but completely different
Although there was no Advent wreath, no pyramids, and no candle arch, I have perhaps never celebrated the First Sunday of Advent so beautifully and so close to God's heart. "Your King is coming to you" is the motto for this day – for 20 Holocaust survivors whom Roman Schwarzman, head of the Survivors' Association in Odessa, invited on our behalf.
Accordingly, the atmosphere is filled with anticipation. I only learn afterward that there was another air raid siren during our meeting. In any case, we're definitely in the right place with our guests: in the hotel's basement, which serves as both a safe room and a restaurant. We've gathered the decorations from various shops; now the table is festively set, the long-sought-after flowers are in the vase, the candles are in the glasses, and the music is playing.
Some of the survivors come beaming towards us even before we reach the door: Viktor Franzewitsch, with whom we had sat together in October and drunk tea from gold-rimmed cups after hearing his difficult story; and Malwina, whom we had been able to comfort with our visit in October after her daughter had just died.
“These are our dear, our very dear friends,” Mr. Markowitsch introduces us. “They help us so much! Christians Standing with Israel is an organization known throughout the Jewish world.” Everyone listens intently as we tell them where we come from and how much we enjoy spending time with them. There’s no ice to break. Their hearts are so open; we sit together as if at a family gathering. When the first course is served, we disperse and take turns sitting down with our guests.
Yuri: Survived with his brother
“I was in a concentration camp here,” Yuri says right off the bat. He is Roman’s deputy and seems quite spry. “We lived here in the city center, at the corner of Deribas and Yekaterinen Streets. Then they picked us up and took us to the police station – my mother Schifra, my brother Anatoly, and me. There, an officer snatched me from my mother’s arms. She screamed and reached out her hands for me. Then they shot my mother.”
Yuri has such a loving presence and chats with me so easily, as if he'd led a completely normal life. He arrived at the Slobodjanka camp with his five-year-old older brother. "There, groups of 5,000 Jews were constantly rounded up, crammed into freight cars, and shot at the Domanowka camp. Eventually, we were in line too. At the last moment, someone pushed my brother and me into the crowd of onlookers. That's how we were saved – from family to family who hid us in their homes."
For a long time, the father knew nothing about his two sons. "Dad was Russian," Yuri explained. "The Germans used him—like many others—to dig trenches. Then they found out that he had saved the lives of many Jews by issuing false passports. For this, they sentenced him to five years of hard labor. Thirteen members of Mom's family were burned alive in Odessa."
Anna: With her mother in the Domanowka concentration camp
Uri swaps places with his neighbor Anna so I can talk to her. "My mother's name was Maria Abramovna," Anna begins. She skips over her father at first. "Mama was pregnant with me when the war started. And she already had my two brothers. She wasn't able to escape with the children. Grandpa managed to flee to Tashkent with Mama's sisters; Grandma had died very early on. Mama and the children ended up in the Odessa prison. That's where I was born." Anna also speaks with a smile, as if she were sharing a perfectly ordinary story with me.
"Then we arrived at the Domanowka concentration camp, a little way from Odessa. The Romanians were in Odessa, the Germans there. But we were better off there. Mama could speak Romanian and German. She worked there as a translator. There was a decent German there who helped her. Mama was only wearing rags. He gave her a piece of fabric, from an old uniform or something, so she could sew something for herself. As it happened, the German emblem ended up on her backside. When this guard went on leave, his deputy wanted to shoot us all. But then this German came back at just the right moment and saved our lives."
Life with her father after the war wasn't much easier for Anna than it had been in the camp. "He'd been at the front the whole war. He was a sadist. He sometimes beat me half to death. Once he threw an axe at me. Do you see the scar here on my face?"
Anna is widowed; she has no children. And yet a warm smile graces her face – not a trace of bitterness. “My sister lives in Israel with her family. But I don’t want to leave here. The survivors, the Jewish communities here – that’s my family.”
So we go from guest to guest, from story to story, while soup and salad, coffee and cake are served. "I'm so happy to see you again!" says Malwina. "Your photo is in my display case. I look at it every day and pray for you."
Once again, the waffle hearts touched people's hearts, and the gift bags with the prettily dressed hot water bottles brought smiles to the guests' faces. Roman says that about half of his contact list, around 100 survivors, are still fit enough for such a gathering. So we can already start planning the next four or five events.
Help us show Holocaust survivors and needy Jewish seniors that they have friends in Germany! You can sponsor a survivor here . Alternatively, you can also help the survivors with a one-time donation, earmarked for "Holocaust Survivors Ukraine". Thank you!
