Holocaust survivors in Ukraine are immensely grateful for the extensive support they receive from sponsors in Germany. CSI staff member Anemone Rüger visited some of them and experienced moving encounters.
It's a glorious spring, and yet there's war. What a strange mix. Terrible things happen, miracles happen. These two realities exist side by side as our team in Ukraine brings a glimmer of hope and joy to the many Holocaust survivors who depend on local aid. Every smile on their faces makes it all worthwhile.
“Russian troops were stationed here in this village,” my colleague Kolya tells me as we drive along the outskirts of Kyiv on our way to our next visit with Holocaust survivors and needy Jewish seniors. “They came in through Belarus, all the way here to Buzovar. From here they wanted to take the capital. Do you see that apartment block over there? They hit it.” Kolya repeatedly points to a destroyed bridge, a damaged house.
But you have to look closely, because the suburbs of the capital are currently bursting with fresh green. The fruit trees are in bloom, spring is bursting forth everywhere. It's hard to imagine that just a few hundred kilometers further east, all hell is breaking loose.
On the eve of the outbreak of war more than a year ago, Kolja recounts, he returned tired from a drive and considered postponing refueling until the next day. "But I had the feeling I should do it right away. The next morning around five, we woke up to war. As terrible as it was, we were prepared. We grabbed our things and, with our car fully fueled, managed to escape to a quieter area just before the massive panic-stricken traffic jam."
"What you do for us is immeasurable!"
Today, the Jewish community of Belaya Tserkov is waiting for us. We've invited the mobile seniors from our program to the restaurant – an unaffordable luxury for most, and a great opportunity for us to bring joy to many at once.
Even in the square in front of the entrance, people come towards us and hug us. A wonderful sense of anticipation fills the air, like just before Christmas. From a distance, I see a wheelchair approaching. Ludmila, a warm-hearted survivor who lost her mother in the Holocaust, hugs me and hardly wants to let go. "I can hardly tell you how happy I am!" It's the first time we've seen each other since the pandemic and the war.
“When we asked our people who wanted to have coffee with Anemone and Alina, we were overwhelmed with requests,” Tanja, our contact person, tells me. “Ludmila can barely walk a few steps anymore, but she really wanted to be there!”
The room slowly fills up. Vareniki (Ukrainian dumplings), blinchiki (filled crepes), salads, and pastries are served on the long tables. Tanya opens our gathering, and a trio of musicians begins to play wonderful café music.
I look around, at all the faces of the survivors and those in need, who are usually just happy if we help them with basic foodstuffs and medicine to simply survive, and I sense what a special afternoon it is for everyone.
I convey to these now elderly children of war, who have become so dear to us, the blessings of hundreds and thousands of godparents and friends, and encourage them to draw hope for each new day from the Psalms. Then I begin to eat, expecting the music and feasting to continue for another half hour or so.
Deep gratitude
Then the first lady stood up and asked for attention. "What you do for us is immeasurable!" she said. Then her voice was gone; she wiped her eyes and handed us a bouquet of flowers.
A woman thanks the hairdresser who, with her home visit, has given her back a little dignity and joy in life. Another praises the medical foot care that has enabled her to walk again. A Holocaust survivor calls me over and says in German for everyone: "We love you!"
A well-dressed older gentleman approaches me and says, “If one of our officials had spoken here, he might have made grand pronouncements, but people aren't interested in that sort of thing. You spoke from the heart, about your beliefs and how you practically help – that touched us deeply. You've given the people here such hope! It's so important that we hear words like these now!” Then the music starts playing a well-known Ukrainian love song, and the elderly men invite their female neighbors to dance.
The tears often only come to me later, when I put these precious moments down on paper. On behalf of you, dear friends and supporters, I was privileged to receive so much love and gratitude, even though I simply wanted to bring joy to the elderly orphans and widows. Everyone wanted to shake my hand again, to say thank you again; many were moved to tears. A piece of heaven on earth, in the midst of war.
A poem by Mr. Abramov
Right at the end, Mr. Abramov approaches me. He recites a poem full of warmth and gratitude and asks Alina to record it so I can watch it again and again. He fled Sloviansk, right in the middle of the war zone in eastern Ukraine, a year ago; Tanya asks me to write down his story. Perhaps we can include him in our program.
Ivan was born in 1948, the founding year of Israel. "I had no father; I never learned anything about him," Ivan begins his story. Instead of "unknown," the authorities simply entered "Ivan Ivanovich" on his birth certificate. "But I do know a few things about my mother's family," Ivan continues. "They lived in a village near Izyum, not far from Kharkiv. There was a Jewish estate manager there, even before the revolution. When my grandfather Samuil lost his wife in 1908, the estate manager adopted his three sons. Grandpa then married the manager's maid and had three more children; one of them was my mother."
When the war broke out, Pavel, Ivan's mother's beloved brother, was sent to the front; his grandfather Samuil had already died. Pavel was taken prisoner by the Germans. He spent four years in a camp; he barely survived. For being a German prisoner, Stalin then sentenced him to another ten years in the Gulag.
“Mom and Grandma didn’t manage to escape,” Ivan recounts. “Somehow they managed to survive. They hid in the villages – here one day, there the next. Grandma destroyed her Jewish papers. It was a terrible time. They went through so much there that neither of them ever spoke about it.”
In 1949, the family moved to Sloviansk. Ivan later became a mechanic, started a family, and helped establish two businesses. A year ago, the entire family had to flee the burning Donbas. The Jewish community in Baya Tserkov took them in.
Apart from a tiny pension, Ivan has no income, and his refugee children have not yet found work. All expenses, especially those related to healthcare, must be covered privately.
As long as family members liable for military service are not allowed to leave the country due to the ongoing war, many families find it difficult to leave. For senior citizens, starting over somewhere else at an advanced age is already an almost insurmountable obstacle.
Thank God there are the staff of the local Jewish communities who continue to be there for those in need in all the cities of our program. And thankfully, there are always people in peaceful and wealthier countries like Germany who take one of those in need into their hearts and include them in their budgets. Will you help?
Hundreds of Jewish senior citizens and Holocaust survivors in Ukraine and Moldova are waiting for a sponsor who will not only provide them with some material support, but also give them the feeling of not being alone during this difficult time.
All information can be found at https://csi-aktuell.de/holocaust-ueberlebende/
