May 13, 2022

Though I've been home since April 19, I am just now having time to get my legs back under me, so to speak.  There were a number of events and activities that were in place before I ever planned to go to Poland.

In the airport in Krakow, at 4 am, on my way home, I met a 24 year old Jewish Ukrainian woman, Sophie.  She lives in Kyiv and was on her way to Frankfurt to visit family, then planning to return to Kyiv.

A slight woman with long hair on one side, the other side shaved bare, she was a delight to talk with.  

She is a passionate Ukrainian, loves her country, or rather, what it has become since the democratic revolution, and her hope for what it will yet be.

Sophie told me her country had been "transformed" in 2014, when she was 16, when democratic reforms were instituted and the country turned towards the West.  She said much had been accomplished, but a lot remained to be done. 

She was proud that her country was turning towards democratic structures, but was being selective in how Westernized it became, with a fierce determination to retain its own character.

Sophie indicated she was still trying on various iterations of her self, being a relatively impoverished student in her not too distant past, but more recently having three grants to fund her research.  She was down to one grant, funding her study of the response of the Jewish Ukrainian community to the war, both as it affected the Jewish community and the larger community. 

As she talked, she alternated between looking like the shiniest penny in the pile and the haunted ashen color of trauma.  

Sophie said it was possible to live in Kyiv, with aspects of life going on, even under assault.  She said the cost of some things had soared, but others rose only modestly.  

She looked fierce, this small woman, saying her people were fiercely determined to fight, to not surrender their country.  She said people discussed that it was "unethical" to leave.  I asked about her use of that word, unethical, and what she meant by it, and it was closer to 'immoral', that it was a moral stand.  

I asked if this was why she was going back.  She said, it's my country, my home. 

But, she said, when the government tells you you must go or you will die, you have to go.  Adding, in Bucha and Mariupol, when people tried to leave, trains and exit routes were targeted.  That ashen face.

Sophie asked about me and my family.  I told her my mother's parents left Poland in 1913.  She said how unusual that they wound up in California. I related that they came to New York City.

She said of course they left, pogroms, anti-semitism, the shared history of Poland, Ukraine, and Russia. 

I told her that I had the strangest feeling being in this part of the world.  On the one hand, of coming home to a place I'd never been before.  And on the other, this feeling that I'd better not stay too long or sooner or later I would be unwelcome, and someone would try to kill me.

Sophie said, of course.  That is the shared intergenerational trauma of Poland and Ukraine.  One minute you are safe in your home, the next you are at risk from those around you.  She said of course you feel that.

Sophie asked what happened when they landed in New York.  I said my grandfather was studying Talmud in Poland, but joked that he apparently had been misinformed about the demand for Talmudic scholars in New York in 1913, winding up making ladies hats in a factory in Brooklyn.

She laughed, saying a Polish Jew emigrating to America and winding up working in  a sweatshop was a real cultural stereotype.  

I said my family is real American dream stuff, their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren have prospered. 

I wondered how Ukrainian refugees would fare in new lands, but I didn't say that out loud.

We talked about a great many things, including movies.  She said she saw and loved Licorice Pizza.  I told her my cousin headed an organization in New York called Women Make Movies that helped women filmmakers around the world get funding and other assistance with their efforts.  Pre-covid, she spoke at the documentary film festival in Krakow every year. 

Sophie was very interested in this.  After we talked about that for a while, I said - in my automatic, optimistic, all things are possible American way - maybe you should come to America and work with her, what if that could happen.  

She said, soberly, it is impossible to get a visa to get into the United States (that has changed recently with a special program for refugees).  I felt her tone said that you Americans take for granted a world where many more things are possible than is true for everyone.

She added, this is my home, my country, and I intend to be here.  

I had about 40 zlotys left over, which is about $9.  I told her that if we had time and it wasn't 4 am, I would offer to buy breakfast or lunch, but that wasn't possible.  I said I'd like to do that another way, by giving her my zlotys.  She said it was too much money, she couldn't take it. 

I had a better understanding of this since buying the train tickets.  I told her that I understood what she was saying, that this was a significant sum.  But, I am from a very wealthy country, and it was not the same as if someone from here offered that to her.  

I smiled, and said she could donate it to the army.  She had told me earlier that she sometimes debated whether to buy less food and give some of the money to the military.  

I told her I understood that she cared deeply about her country, and thought a great deal about how to contribute to its survival.

We boarded the plane.  She said she wanted to say goodbye to me "properly".  Sophie looked at me very seriously, taking my hand in both of hers - "Thank you for coming here to help and for your generosity".  We each took off to continue our very different lives.

I spoke with Rob from Type of Wood a few days ago.  He told me things had slowed down at the border and they had shifted to looking into providing services in other countries bordering Ukraine.  He said another change was that more people were going back into Ukraine, and ironically, they were doing some transport of people from Krakow back to Medyka. 

Rob said they were also going into Ukraine with medical supplies, that the doctors wept when they unpacked the surgical gloves they'd brought, as they were completely out and reusing them.  

He said the military had pushed the Russians back around Kyiv, and even Kharkiv, allowing them to deliver there.

We had discussed doing a convoy of food and medical supplies to Lviv while I was there.  I said I was in if it happened.  I told him I was sorry it didn't.  

Rob said they had started shelling Lviv, and that's why it didn't happen.

He added that while they were supplying the vans and even bought a truck, the drivers were all Ukrainian.  I thought of Sophie. Eating less in the service of her country.

And by the way, your contributions helped buy that truck.

He went on to say that from where he sat, it looked like the war could be over by the end of the year. Rob said then we'll come in and help rebuild.

I thought - that might be my next project.

John and I are giving a talk on our trip to Poland and Ukraine on May 19 at 7 pm at the Community Church in Sebastopol.  Here's the flyer.