MARCH 10 • 2022 | 5

costing the equivalent of $40. 
Electricity and internet go in 
and out, so communication is 
scattered at best.
It’s unclear how long men 
who are between the ages of 18 
and 60, including my cousin’s 
husband, will be available 
to help with these duties. 
Martial law prevents them 
from leaving the country. They 
can be called into battle at a 
moment’s notice. Most, if not 
all, have no proper military 
training or experience fighting. 
Their fate, my cousin says, is 
entirely in God’s hands.
Originally, this is where the 
story was supposed to end. I 
sent it off, ready to be edited, 
but overnight, everything 
changed. It is now March 
1, the first day of spring in 
Ukraine. My cousin’s home 
in Kharkiv, a quiet residential 
area, was hit by a missile. 
Her car was destroyed. The 
exterior of the home was badly 
damaged. “It is not so terrible,” 
she says, “because we are 
alive.” Now, the bombing has 

died down, but it’s expected to 
start again soon, she explains.
I ask if she has anything 
protective she can wear — 
maybe a bike helmet. “Only 
the hood from my jacket,” she 
responds.

TOUGH TIMES BREED 
TOUGH PEOPLE
As we share stories about our 
families with one another, 
we talk about how our 
grandparents survived the 
second world war and the 
decades that followed. In 

difficult times, when food 
was scarce in the 1960s, my 
cousin’s grandparents, who 
lived in Kharkiv, sent my 
grandparents, who lived in 
Lviv, food and medicine. Our 
fathers, although cousins, 
called one another “brothers.”
It’s the type of bond born 
out of hardship, one that 
Ukrainians have faced for 
decades. From pogroms that 
plagued the Jewish population 
at the turn of the 20th 
century, to the world wars, to 
a challenging life under the 
Soviet regime, tough times 
have bred tough people. Still, 
it’s a difficult pill to swallow, 
wondering what our ancestors 
— who survived so much — 
would think.
My cousin says her 
grandparents, who are no 
longer living, “would be 
horrified” to see the state 
of their city, especially after 
fighting to keep it from Nazi 
hands during World War II. 
“It is very painful for us to 
realize that we have a war,” she 
explains, “that our beautiful 
city is being destroyed. But 
they [our grandparents] held 
their own in time, and I hope 
we will also survive.”
We see war and conflict 
on TV
, but until it hits home, 
we don’t understand the 
magnitude of it. It’s when our 

innocent loved ones are in 
the middle of crossfire — and 
there’s little we can do about it 
other than offer our love and 
support — that we realize the 
horror, the sheer scale of war, 
that we understand the type 
of evil that exists in the world. 
There are perhaps fewer worse 
things to hear than our loved 
ones saying, “Pray for us. The 
night will be tough. We are in 
hiding.”
We watch as our Jewish 
population in Ukraine, despite 
shelling overhead, sit in 
underground bunkers, lighting 
Havdalah candles and praying. 
Others seek out refuge in 
synagogues, turning to their 
religion for comfort. We watch 
as parents send their children 
across the border into Poland 
with strangers, trusting in the 
good that still exists, hoping 
their children will reach safety. 
We see men and women of 
all ages pick up guns, make 
Molotov cocktails, ready to 
fight tooth and nail for their 
country. Every day, with every 
story, I am in awe of the sheer 
spirit of Ukraine.
It is perhaps my cousin 
who says it best: “Ukraine 
stands.” 

Ashley Zlatopolsky is a contributing 

writer to the JN. See videos from 

Ashley’s family in Kharkiv at 

thejewishnews.com.

