“Hi, how are you?”
Diary of a Jewish-Ukrainian American During the Russia/Ukraine War of 2022
Friday, March 19, 2022 marked my 30 year anniversary in America. I decided to share my story as a catharsis for myself and in hopes that maybe it can help just one person who may be feeling the same way I am.
“Hi, how are you?”
I get asked this question every day, at least once a day by someone since February 25, 2022 — the day after Russia invaded Ukraine (this time). As I write this on March 15th, 2022–2 weeks and 6 days since the war “started”, I still struggle with the answer.
“Hi, how are you?”
The question is often followed up by a “Hey, remind me — do you have family or friends left in Ukraine?”
No, no family left there. At least none that I am aware of or that isn’t some distant cousin removed that I will never meet. Yes, there are many family friends. My parents’ childhood friends, their college friends, their former colleagues — their memories, their history. My sister’s childhood best friend and her family — her memories, her history.
I turned 3 the day after we moved to America from Kyiv in 1992… so I have no memory, no people left there. But what I do have left there is my ancestors, my blood…my people, my history.
“Hi, how are you?”
I always wonder, do they really want the answer or are they being polite? Should I be polite back and just let them off the hook and thank them for their concern and deflect the conversation to “lighter”, local topics like “Hey, how about that trucker convoy eh?” Or should I give them the honest answer of how I am feeling right then and there?
“Hi, how are you?”
Should I tell them that my emotions range so vastly throughout a single day, let alone day to day that I feel I may unravel at any moment? The unlucky few who catch me during a “truth bubble” waiting to erupt out of me unfortunately get to hear about my daily routine: I start every morning by texting my parents after they have completed their rounds of validating that everyone is “still alive”, then I promptly dissociate from reality from 8 AM — 5 PM to get through my work day, then I “allow” myself a 30 minute window to catch up on the daily horrific news of war updates, I cry quietly to myself (sometimes my husband or dog check on me in uncomfortable silence and tip-toed peeks), then I eat dinner, watch TV, come back to reality for about another 15 minutes, cry about my guilt and privilege of being here while so many suffer over there, then I shower and go to bed ready to start the dissociation routine all over again tomorrow.
Uncomfortable answer right?
“Hi, how are you?”
Honestly? Today I feel sad.
Today it was really hard to hear the tears in my father’s voice.
“My mother country. My homeland. Destroyed.”
“Hi, how are you?”
Should I tell them that at times I almost feel embarrassed? Embarrassed for not being Ukrainian “enough”.
My family left as soon as the Soviet Union broke up. We don’t really know the Ukraine of today outside of the stories our friends tell and our occasional visits. We don’t know today’s Ukraine. The free sovereign state fighting for its liberty. We only know the history of the people there.
I feel embarrassed that I speak Russian and not Ukrainian. It makes me feel like a traitor.
I feel embarrassed that I know virtually nothing about the country outside of what I have learned in recent years and my parents and sister’s stories. Why didn’t I take enough interest earlier? Why didn’t I ever take my husband to visit there like my mom kept insisting? Why didn’t I value my homeland before it was too late?
I feel embarrassed that I just recently learned I should say I was born in “Kyiv” and not “Kiev” and why that matters.
But most of all I feel embarrassed that I have the privilege to worry about such trivial things when my people are literally worried about surviving through the next day.
“Hi, how are you?”
I feel guilty. I feel guilty that it seems like it is so easy to take life for granted.
There is an image of a rocket that went through someone’s apartment and you see their laptop, other electronic devices, coffee mug, etc. on their desk. That image haunts me.
Several times throughout my work day, I have flashes of that image and think to myself — this could be us. We take our liberties here in America for granted and fight over things like the inconvenience of wearing masks in public places during a global pandemic. The Ukrainian people are fighting their mere existence. How can we be inhabiting the same world and have such disproportionate perspectives and values?
“Hi, how are you?”
I feel even more guilty. Guilty that we are here and not there. I have survivor’s guilt and I don’t even know how that is possible because again, I don’t remember life in Ukraine, I was too young. But I feel overwhelmed by the guilt of being able to watch the war of my people on my fancy little phone screen, in the safety of my nice little Arlington house, sitting on my nice little West Elm couch with my nice little family.
But really, how can I not feel guilty when our friends who just a mere 3 weeks ago were enjoying a nice vacation in Spain, returned to their nice apartment in Kyiv and then spent the next week alternating between bunkering in the basement of their apartment building with the other tenants and planning and executing their escape route to rural provinces of Ukraine in hopes to escape the city bombings?
How can I not feel guilty when that same family can’t escape Ukraine because the husband is of drafting age and so they must hide within Ukraine while I get to sit in the comfort of my home next to my American husband who does not have to worry about being involuntarily drafted to fight for his country?
“Hi, how are you?”
I feel helpless. What can we really do from here? So we donated money and post on our social media. We call every day to check on them. But none of it feels like enough. Almost feels shameful like some perverted sense of performative activism. But what else can we do? What else should we do?
“Hi, how are you?”
I feel pride. I used to always take pride in my Jewish heritage and the history and resiliency of my family but I never considered how I should feel pride for my Ukrainian heritage as well.
My father’s mother was born in what was Poland before WWII and became Ukraine afterwards. She was a survivor of the Holocaust and she and her sister hid in an attic for 2 years to survive.
Do you know who hid them? A Ukrainian.
This Ukrainian risked their own lives to save two Jewish girls. This Ukrainian understood the value of a human life — irrespective of their race, religion, ethnicity, nationality, etc. A human life is a human life. These are the same people fighting now. Ukrainians. These are a strong and proud people.
But who is saving them in return now?
“Hi, how are you?”
I am not okay. They are not okay. None of this is okay.
“Hi, how are you?”
I am hopeful. We survived before, we will survive and thrive again.
“Hi, how are you?”
I don’t know what or how much to tell you. But thank you for continuing to ask.
“Hi, how are you?”
I don’t know.
But what I do know is…Slava Ukraini! Glory to Ukraine.
