LEFT: Unidentified woman holds a flag signed by 14 members of a Ukrainian army battalion. At the time this photo was taken, the woman said three had survived. RIGHT: Irina and her daughter, Anastasia, head into the Warsaw train station to an uncertain future. continued from page 15 16 | MARCH 31 • 2022 A smaller refugee center was opened in a school across the street from my hotel. I pick up Yaroslava and her 13-year-old daughter along with another mother and her 13-year-old son and transfer them to the Warsaw train station which, due to crowds, takes nearly two hours to enter and exit. On the way, while on her phone, a couple of tears escape from Yaroslava’s eyes. As she hangs up, I reach out to hold her hand. “My house is gone, ” she says. “Bomb?” I ask. “Bomb. ” In between, I take a day off from driving here and there to spend time answering the pleas for help I’m receiving through various messaging apps. Coordinating with the team in Ukraine I’m now working with, we try to help a mother whose baby is to be born via surrogacy in two days. The clinic with the paperwork is closed and she has valid concerns about getting her baby out. I try to help a woman in France whose 83-year-old mother is the only person left in her apartment building in Kyiv. She’s too afraid to leave, but also too afraid to stay. The mother refuses our help and her daugh- ter is heartbroken. I arrange housing for an old friend who contacts me about a Ukrainian ice dancer who trains in Michigan. His mother and a skating coach are at the Warsaw train station with no place to go. Like other older people, his mother is afraid to go very far from Ukraine. She doesn’t want to leave Warsaw, but I’ve found a family to host them a few hours away by train and, working by phone with a volunteer at the train station, we convince them to go. While using the hotel’s small restaurant as an office, I meet 100-year-old Tamara Butencae who was an army nurse in World War II and is now fleeing to Germany to escape the Russians. Irony abounds in a war zone. THERE WERE NO TREES I also meet 29-year-old Marie, mother of a seemingly happy and energetic 3-year-old named Alissa. I ask my usual questions: “What did you bring? What did you tell her?” “I brought one bag, mainly her things. I brought nothing of my own. ” Pointing to the sweater she wears, “These are my only clothes. “She woke up when the bombs started to fall one night. She asked if it was thunder. I was honest; I told her, no, those are the bombs. The war is here. We went to an underground parking garage. We spent every night for five nights there. In the morning we would go back to our apart- ment. One morning I came out and there were no trees. ” No trees; the bombs had destroyed them. “When we decided to leave, I explained that we were a team, and we had to help each other to be brave. I told her it was time only for us to leave. It wasn’t time for daddy to leave. ” Soon I’ll be a stranger in a strange new place, Searching for an old familiar face MY TIME TO LEAVE On my final day, I collect Steve, the translator, at the border, along with an EMT from Malta. He’s leaving our little group of volunteer misfits and joining a larger NGO to re-enter the country. They can provide life insurance. These are the things you consider when going into a war zone. Steve’s flight departs from Warsaw the following day, so we stop at the refugee center to offer a ride. That’s how we meet Irina and her daughter Anastasia. Irina is a doctor and her husband is a stay-at-home dad. She stayed in the country as long as possible, knowing her medical skills were needed. Finally, they made the tough decision for Irina and Anastasia to leave. As healthy men between 18-60 with less than five children aren’t allowed to leave, it’s up to Irina to get their daughter to safety. We say a muted, tearful goodbye at the train station where they board a train to Germany and an uncer- tain future. I drop Steve at the airport the following day before heading back to Budapest. From Anatevka. I belong in Anatevka, Tumble-down, work-a-day Anatevka. Dear little village, little town of mine This, a synopsis of my week- long experience at the border, tells some of the stories of the people I met. There are many more. After a short visit to the U.S., I will return to the border to assist. In the meantime, I contin- ue to receive messages requesting help getting out of Ukraine and work with my new friends in the country to try to facilitate escape methods and routes. Friends and strangers have been kind enough to donate money to assist my efforts. Detroit’s Federation has provided a link to aid Ukrainian refugees: jewishdetroit.org/ukraine. ON THE COVER PRESENTING SPONSOR THE SCHOSTAK FAMIL Y I PLATINUM SPONSORS PAULA AND LOU GLAZIER, GARDNER-WHITE FURNITURE, RACHEL AND BRIAN STEWART, BARBARA AND STEVEN TRONSTEIN I GOLD SPONSORS DANIALLE AND PETER KARMONOS, JR., NICOLE AND MATT LESTER, BARBARA AND BILL PARFET, CAROLINE SUMMERS AND BOBBY TAUBMAN I SILVER SPONSORS JACQUEL YN PIERCE AND ELLIOTT BAUM, HEATHER AND RON BOJI, CATHERINE AND NATE FORBES I BRONZE SPONSORS BEAUMONT HEALTH FOUNDATION, AMBASSADOR RONALD WEISER STROLLING DINNER SPONSOR HUNTINGTON BANK I STAFF APPRECIATION SPONSORS KAUFMAN INSURANCE GROUP LLC, SABRINA AND BRIAN KAUFMAN, KAREN AND JERRY KAUFMAN DESSERT SPONSOR SUSAN AND ROBIN RICHARDS I SILENT AUCTION SPONSOR LOUIS AND MARK SHAEVSKY I BAR SPONSOR STACY AND ROBERT LEVIN I RAFFLE SPONSOR AF JONNA DEVELOPMENT AND MANAGEMENT CO. 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