Passover in Kyiv

There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
– Leonard Cohen

KYIV — While walking the uninhabited streets of Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine, now in the midst of such a horrendous war with Russia, I reflect on many things that have happened in my life. Being an American Ukrainian Jew in the capital of an embattled country, I find myself pondering the upcoming Passover holiday.

Now Passover seems more relevant to me than ever because it’s a story about freedom and sacrifices made on the road to liberation. That is where Ukraine stands now – the nation fighting for its freedom.

Facing antisemitism, my husband and I and our baby daughter left the former Soviet Union in 1988, staying first in refugee camps in Austria and Italy; then moving to Massachusetts where we eventually lived in Swampscott; and relocating to New York for our daughter’s high school, spending summers and school vacations in Swampscott and visiting our parents in Lynn. Ten years ago, my husband’s work in the investment banking industry brought us back to Kyiv. Not in our worst nightmares, could not we have anticipated what would happen here.

Although my husband and I were both born and raised in Kyiv, it was very clear to us that we were not treated the same as Ukrainians or Russians. We were Jews, period, even though we were not religiously observant and didn’t know much about Judaism. This was an ethnic identification; the term for it was “nationality” – comparable to “Russian,” “Ukrainian,” or “Belorussian.” It was the infamous “fifth line” in our Soviet passports and we had to put it in all sorts of documents starting with elementary school rosters.

And this “fifth” line was a sort of curse. Jews were treated as second-rate, with limited opportunities to receive a higher education or a job. Antisemitism hovered around us and prevented us from advancing in our careers.

So, when in the late 1980s the Soviet Union finally buckled to international pressure and allowed Jews to leave Ukraine, we packed and left. Though until that time I’d not been allowed to learn about Judaism I began to understand rather well the weight of the words God spoke to the first Jew, Abraham, “Go forth from your land, your birthplace, and your father’s house.”

No sooner did we apply for emigration than we were stripped of our Soviet citizenship, fired from our jobs, and hit the road – the road to liberation – to an unknown but better life. As Jews.

We landed in Lynn because our sponsor, my husband’s uncle, lived there. We quickly saw that the North Shore had a strong Jewish population. Two weeks after we arrived, I applied for a job as Aquatics Director at the Jewish Community Center of the North Shore in Marblehead. There were 12 applicants and three rounds of interviews, and when I got the job offer, the feeling I had was beyond happiness. This could never have happened in my Motherland, regardless of my qualifications.

And I quickly discovered that here, being Jewish was something to be proud of, not hidden away. Most of my colleagues were Jewish, many of the children I worked with were Jewish, and I was surrounded by immigrant families like ourselves. Many of our Russian-speaking Jewish friends started to learn about Judaism and practice their religion and became active members of local synagogues.

For the first time, I learned what Passover was. I was fascinated by the story of Jews striving for freedom. We were invited by Jewish families to Seders and introduced to traditional rituals. What warm memories those are! The feelings of togetherness and belonging.
Our daughter has not had a strictly Jewish upbringing yet we imparted to her a sense of Jewish culture. She spent summers at Jewish camps and twice went to Israel for cultural and educational trips organized by American Jewish organizations. She now works at the Vilna Shul in Boston.

After 20 years in Swampscott and five years in New York, we moved back to Ukraine a decade ago. And we now are in Kyiv, back in our native city in the middle of the horrendous war. I joined my husband in Kyiv, where he came to work. Our stay was supposed to last for a year, but due to the Ukrainian revolution and ensuing economic collapse, we ended up staying and now live in Kyiv fulltime. It was quite challenging for me to adjust to my new second-time-around life in the Ukrainian capital. But eventually, the city has grown on me. Ukraine was moving in the direction of democracy, freedoms, and tolerance. No presence of antisemitism. On the contrary, being a Jew in Ukraine is different now. It’s even kind of cool. Some of my gentile students even go around with Magen David necklaces and are trying to learn about Judaism.

I live right in the center of Kyiv – around the corner from Khreshchatyk, a high street in the center of the city that reminds me of Newbury Street in Boston. Just over a month ago, it was a lively place. Crowds filled the street – locals and tourists from other parts of Ukraine, visitors from around the world. We used to complain about the street performers that we could hear late into the evening hours because they were too loud. How I miss them now! In such a short time – though it feels like two decades – Kyiv has become nearly unrecognizable. It’s no longer lively, yet it is still alive. Without its people, the city would not be breathing. However scary it is to remain here, there are many Kyivites who stayed to stand against Putin’s attempts to terrorize people.

Putting aside our galloping fears, my husband and I are among them. By being in the midst of this disaster, we can better identify the needs of the families around us and try to be as helpful as possible. The people of Kyiv are our inspiration and the main reason we stayed. We strongly believe that where there are people, there is always the hope – and it’s not a small hope – for peace and for love. And as long as we have the wherewithal and means to help, we must keep going.

While this war rages, the whole world – not just us – is striving for freedom. And sure enough, this word, too – along with “exodus” and “liberation” – is associated with Passover, and we hope it will become part of our story. We will be celebrating with my daughter and her friend’s family via Zoom.

No matter how remote Judaism had seemed to us in the past, Passover – the holiday of freedom – is very much on our minds this year.