Don’t stand by as Ukrainians suffer
The Ukraine crisis is a tale of two peoples.
The first are the refugees, primarily city residents, escaping the deliberate attacks of Russian forces seeking to overtake critical Ukrainian population centers. In the second group are the citizens of Ukraine’s neighboring European countries who are being asked to absorb more than 5.3 million Ukrainian refugees.
Each group of innocent victims possesses its own set of struggles, which is what we experienced firsthand on a recent trip to the Polandukraine border. As part of an international delegation, representatives from the Jewish Federation of San Antonio visited the crisis region in early April to bear witness to these personal accounts while also delivering critical supplies on behalf of fellow San Antonians.
We met Lilli, a vascular surgeon, only a few hours after landing in Warsaw, Poland. Lilli abruptly found herself a refugee, chased from her home with her two young daughters and a 120-pound pup. At first, Lilli and her daughters seemed to be handling their crisis with great strength. But then Lilli began to tell her family’s story and her confidence, self-awareness and mental acuity faded.
Lilli shared her story of grabbing her kids, the dog and a few essentials, jumping into the car and escaping west, leaving everything she knew and the life her family had built in the rearview mirror. She and her family didn’t have the luxury to wonder what might happen to their home and other belongings while they escaped west to Poland. Today, however, Lilli wonders about those material goods as she comes to terms with accepting donations from the Joint Distribution Committee and the Jewish Agency for Israel, two Jewish nonprofit international relief organizations providing housing, food and clothing for tens of thousands of refugees across Europe.
Then there is the story of a local Moldovan farmer who did not hesitate at the onset of the war to share his family’s meager farm with two Ukrainian refugee families. Now, more than a month into sharing everything his family has with their unintended guests, and
after using up the visiting families’ sack of potatoes and individual chicken, the farmer had to slaughter his single milk cow to feed the three families — a cow that will cost him almost an entire year’s earnings to replace.
While millions of other stories like these are taking place, in San Antonio we are being asked to donate to hundreds of charities supporting the Ukrainian humanitarian crisis. But where are the dollars going, and who are the dollars helping? These were the questions the Jewish Federation of San Antonio needed to answer before we could embark on a regional campaign asking others to join us in investing their resources.
The Jewish Federations of North America, or JFNA, simplified our initial action items. JFNA set a North American goal of securing more than $20 million to immediately fund local Ukrainian refugee crisis management centers needed to deploy the Jewish community’s international emergency service infrastructure. Every Jewish community in North America was assigned its “fair share.” However, it was quickly clear that the initial $20 million, which has grown to more than $50 million, has been a drop in the bucket and still will not suffice with today’s understanding that the consequences of this invasion will last for years.
At the border, welcome tents
and processing centers outfitted with emergency equipment and supplies met Ukrainians exhausted from their escape. An Israeli government field hospital was erected to attend to these victims’ physical and mental well-being as they crossed into Poland. I personally watched a chapter of this tragedy unfold while on the ground.
It is not hard to understand how the list of those needing help and attention grows in size and complexity every day.
As refugees come across the Poland-ukraine border at Medyka, the absence of young and middle-aged men was glaringly obvious. Volunteers met the arriving Ukrainians with shopping carts to help carry their belongings. The whole scene at Medyka looked like a mix between an outdoor concert venue, flea market and a community yard sale — but all with the knowledge that the people with whom we are standing have lost loved ones, their homes, possessions and the life they once knew in Ukraine.
From this point, the refugees were bused to the Przemysl Humanitarian Aid Center about 10 minutes away. Driving in, we saw a 100-foot welcome banner in multiple languages hanging in front of a converted Tesco supermarket. Upon entering the facility, the refugees are processed, given a basic tour, assigned a temporary cot and left to decide to which country they
will be seeking temporary residency.
The scene was like a high school United Nations fair with country flags of all sizes pinned on the walls or hanging from the ceilings and children’s art taped to the walls to try to give it a sense of informality and normalcy. Here, the volunteers were simply acting on behalf of their governments to process the refugees and not exceed their daily quotas. Some tables were staffed by nonprofit volunteers, others by citizens who felt compelled to come and do something, and, in one case, by a journalist doing double duty. But even the choices of countries changed daily, adding to the victims’ anxiety and strain.
An unexpected highlight in this converted supermarket space was seeing a kindergarten and early childhood program staffed by an Israeli delegation. A group of Shomer Hatzair volunteers, wearing their bright pink vests with their emblematic Star of David, played with some of the children, trying to provide them with a sense of normalcy while also allowing mothers and grandmothers a few precious moments of personal time. Next door to the impromptu child care center was a makeshift hospital staffed by volunteer Israeli doctors rotating for one-week shifts.
During our visit, a hospital volunteer clown sought to add some brightness and laughter
to the surreal and tragic experience. As we gathered in the tight space to talk with the medical team, we were surrounded by shelves of medicines and a “private area” with two adult cots for the doctors. Around the room were childsize cots with plastic shower curtains separating the spaces. Again, I found myself struggling to make sense of what I was experiencing. My brain refused to accept it as reality.
From here we were escorted across the hall to a space that housed 300 to 400 wall-to-wall cots. It was as if a local H-E-B had been gutted and temporary cots set up in place of the products. Mismatched pillows and blankets folded neatly at one end of each cot attempted to give the place a “welcoming” feel. Again, I found myself trying to swallow the lump in my throat, struggling not to scream out, “How can this be happening?”
As our time at the border drew to a close, we returned to Warsaw to visit a hotel housing refugees and to hear their stories. We wanted to let them know the world was also listening. What I learned during this trip is that we have it backward. We have gathered the victims’ stories into one collective narrative and are responding by seeking individuals who care. The solution is to reverse our approach and remember that each victim has a personal and unique story, and that our efforts need to be collective.
I pray we will not lose sight of the long process that this recovery will take. Crisis fatigue will be a real challenge. First, we must seek peace. But a close second is to remember that we cannot be a bystander in this crisis. To paraphrase the words of Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel of blessed memory, “the opposite of love is not hate but indifference,” and as our Holocaust Memorial Museum of San Antonio teaches every guest who visits, we must be an upstander whenever faced with the opportunity to do so.