"If I wasn't Jewish, I would be dead," 82-year-old Jana Butenko bursts into tears, tears flowing from her eyes non-stop.
A few minutes earlier we entered the alley where she lives.
Her neighbor's house was completely destroyed, an armored money transfer vehicle was left smashed by a shell hit in the street, and the green gate at the entrance to the compound is completely riddled with bullets.
We were standing in what used to be the back room of her house in the town of Bucha.
Now it is almost completely destroyed by long days of heavy exchanges of fire between Ukrainian and Russian forces, since its house is right on the front line.
According to Butenko, an elderly woman who only has cats and dogs she picked up from the street for company, and whose monthly pension she receives is equivalent to $100, she survived the last nightmarish year only thanks to the humanitarian aid she receives from the Jewish Federation of Ukraine.
On the one year anniversary of the Russian invasion, which was supposed to last a few days and actually turned into a war of attrition, I set out on a journey through the giant country, which is 29 times larger than Israel.
I was joined by the Ukrainian Valentin, who sat behind the wheel, and Roy Shattov, an Israeli who graduated from the infantry unit and the personal security unit in Israel, and is currently responsible for the security of the Jewish community in the city of Dnipro. He played the role of guide and interpreter. We passed dozens of checkpoints, encountered countless armed fighters, and we succeeded." "Hedgehogs" (iron obstacles against tanks) in the streets, we met people whose bodies, souls and homes were scarred by the war.
Before the outbreak of the fighting, according to various estimates, between 200 and 400 thousand Jews lived in Ukraine.
In the last year at least 30 thousand of them left - half of them to Israel and the rest to European countries.
And while the authorities of Ukraine struggle to take care of the citizens, Chabad emissaries often come to the rescue to fill the lack of regular supplies of food, generators, humanitarian equipment - as well as extensive spiritual support. All this with the help of the Jewish Federation of Ukraine, an umbrella organization that unites the various communities in the country.
Roy
"Take photos secretly, not openly",
Late at night I landed at the airport in Chisinau, the capital of Moldova.
This is a backward country, which overnight became one of the main stations for refugees from Ukraine.
Even today, in the absence of airports in Ukraine, Moldova serves as an entry and exit point for residents of its neighborhood.
"As soon as the war started, we realized that it would also fall on us," says Rabbi Menachem Mendel Axelrod, as we sit on the second floor of the synagogue inside the Beit Chabad compound in Chisinau.
"Already on the first Shabbat, several dozen Jewish refugees arrived, and then many more. It's hard to describe in words: a never-ending stream on buses. Hundreds and thousands of people who arrived destitute, after fleeing in panic day and night. There was a tremendous shortage of places to stay in the city, there was no bed is vacant, so we rented places for them outside the city. We set up an aid center with basic equipment, toothbrushes, games for children. The Jewish refugees stayed in Moldova for about a week, and then continued, most of them to Israel."
We enter Ukraine through the border crossing near the city of Mohilev-Podilskyi.
The Ukrainian fighter interrogates us for a long time.
I pick up my mobile to take a picture, and the Moldovan taxi driver knocks it out of my hands.
"No photo", he scolds.
The suspicious Ukrainians might prevent us from crossing.
Finally the yellow gate opens, and we go inside, into the land of war.
Roy advances my face wrapped in a big, thick coat.
He stands 1.90 m tall, his hair is long and a large earring in the shape of a gear is stuck in his ear.
Love came to Ukraine.
He met his wife in Bat Yam, where he was born.
For the past 12 years, the two have been living in Dnipro, as part of the large Jewish community in the city.
He is, as mentioned, responsible for the security of the community, which includes "Menora", a community center and the largest Chabad house in the world.
Isn't it scary to live here now?
Roy replies with equanimity: "We Israelis are already used to it. But it is true that it is dangerous here. A missile fell 300 meters from my house. I heard the alarm, went outside - and suddenly there was a huge boom. I immediately put the children in the bathroom, because there are no windows, like MMD".
Dnipro, which is located in eastern Ukraine, is a significant war target for the Russians.
In mid-January, they bombed a nine-story residential building, located about a kilometer and a half from Roy's house.
Dozens of civilians were killed, some of their bodies were not found, "because they were completely burned."
Our first destination is Vinita.
It is a "small" city in Ukrainian terms, only about 350 thousand inhabitants.
Before the war, it was defined as the city with the best quality of life in the entire country, but the honor is dubious: the tall buildings look as if they have not been renovated since Soviet times, and the electric train was apparently built in the 1950s.
"There are no air conditioners on the buses and the train, and the fares are collected by grandmothers who sit in each carriage," explains Roi.
We are greeted by a large barrier.
"Take photos secretly, not openly," Roy instructs me.
The checkpoints in Ukraine are made of white sandbags, anti-tank obstacles and piles of tires.
The idea is to burn the tires in an emergency, thus creating a smoke screen that will make it difficult for the Russian invaders to fight.
We arrive at a relatively wealthy suburb, and within it is the "Or Avner" school.
Large white walls and two black gates with the lamp symbol in the center.
The complex itself looks abandoned: a playground submerged in snow, a toy tractor long forgotten, walls crumbling.
The building is dark, except for one room - that of the manager.
Four sit in it for an interview: the school principal, Yevgeni, and three Jewish refugees - Moshe Baruch from Kharkiv, Yitzhak Reifman from Bardiansk and Aharon Zhegilo from Harson.
Since the beginning of the war, the school has been used both for teaching and for housing refugees.
Next to an old scooter lying in one of the corridors, dozens of boxes of flour, rice, pasta and other basic products can be seen.
Outside the building is placed a large, new generator, which was provided by the Jewish Federation to overcome the widespread power outages in the country - where in winter the temperatures drop to minus 15 degrees.
The Jewish communities rushed to organize generators that provided electricity to Jews in need.
"Since the beginning of the invasion, refugees from Kiev, Mariupol, Harson, everywhere have come to the school," says Yevgeni, and Aaron adds that "at the peak, 128 refugees lived here together."
Jana.
"I'm glad I'm Jewish, thanks to that I'm still alive,"
Aharon's city of residence, Harson, was occupied during the first days of the war.
"When the Russians came, they changed everything. There was no police, and crime increased everywhere. They shot near my house, shot at civilian cars. Many residents tried to escape and failed."
According to him, only after a month he managed to escape from the city, and rescued his mother last December.
Now she is staying in Germany, but he himself is not allowed to leave the country, since Ukrainian men aged 20-60 are obliged to enlist in the army.
"My city was also bombed, they shot right next to my house," says Moshe from Harkiv.
"It's hard to describe the feelings. The ground drops under your feet. Fear of death. Every ten seconds a shell or a missile fell, an unimaginable situation. You just think how to save yourself."
Chalmanitsky: A stern look from the armed man at the checkpoint
The sun is starting to set as we are on our way again.
The roads are completely dark, mainly for reasons of economy, and the potholes are not visible to the eye - but well felt.
We drive west, with the lights of a police car flashing in front of us from time to time, followed by dozens of military vehicles - trucks, tank carriers and APCs - in a never-ending convoy east, in the direction of the battles. They move in the dark, because driving during daylight hours could end in a Russian attack from the air.
The traffic signs here are only a recommendation, and our vehicle is speeding in the dark.
Suddenly Valentin stopped.
Out of the darkness a barrier appears in front of us, and an armed man surveys us with a stern look.
Valentin turns off the headlights and turns on a light inside the car.
A moment of tension passes, until the gunman signals us to continue.
In a modest residential neighborhood in the city of Khmelnitsky is a Chabad house. We are careful not to slip on the ice that covers the road, and enter the compound. Yossi Teitelbaum, a Chabad emissary in the place, 28 years old, has been living here for five years.
This is a community of about 350 Jews in the city, and another 250 in the entire district, alongside many more Jews who do not maintain regular contact with the community.
As soon as the war started, Yossi left Ukraine, but returned to it with his family three months later.
A letter left from a Russian missile strike,
"There is a certain similarity between the way missiles are experienced in Israel and what is happening today in Ukraine," he says.
According to him, the Ukrainians also have an application that shows where an alarm is activated and what the level of risk is.
Moments before our visit to Khmelnitsky, such an alarm was raised, after a Russian MiG took off from Belarus and crossed the skies of Ukraine.
The previous Friday, Yossi says, a missile fell a short distance from his house.
"We are hiding from the bombings in an internal corridor, and the kindergarten we operate here has a small shelter. However, we all hold to the belief that the Mitzvah messengers are not harmed."
On the other side of the table sits Vitaly Labskir.
He is 50 years old, a journalist for the Israeli website Channel 7 in Russian and other media.
He was born and lived in Kharkiv, but his life also turned upside down when the Russians launched an attack on the city a year ago.
"I woke up at 5 in the morning to the sound of exploding rockets. I immediately went to work at the TV studio, but then the municipality ordered us to evacuate, because they were going to bomb us. After I drove home, they did start shooting at us. The noise was terrible. Airplanes dropped bombs all around. I saw horrors, I encountered two corpses next to me. I knew there was a danger that I would die myself at any moment."
Vitaly realized that he had to escape, but it was not easy, since the Russians controlled the area.
His brother, who lives in Israel, in the Ma'ale Lavona settlement, contacted Israeli authorities - and they sent a team to rescue him with his family members and other Jews from the area.
"When we left the building, rockets fell, we were rescued under fire. The bus driver who drove us calmly maneuvered between the addresses of the Jews. Russian planes circled above us, and suddenly a huge explosion was heard. They bombed some kind of sports center. On March 7, two days after we escaped, we celebrated My 50th birthday on top of mattresses, like refugees on the way."
Vitali's wife and daughter immigrated to Israel in the meantime.
He himself arrived at a recruitment center in Ukraine, but was informed that his services were not needed for the time being.
"I told them that I wanted to fight, to take revenge on those who destroyed my house, but they didn't need people my age yet."
Since escaping from Kharkiv, he has been living in a room in Khmelnitsky.
He has seen his daughter and his wife only twice since then.
His house in Kharkiv is no longer habitable, after being damaged by a bomb.
"A missile fell in front of the building, and one of my neighbors was seriously injured. Huge shrapnel penetrated my apartment, on the third floor, and a shrapnel scratched the gas pipe in the kitchen. Fortunately, the apartment was not destroyed, but it suffered very heavy damage, and it needs to be renovated."
We are on our way to Berdichev, one of the prominent and important Jewish cities before the Holocaust, which until the beginning of 2022 was considered a significant destination among Jewish tourists.
Roy's phone beeps, and he reports that there are now alarms going off all over Ukraine.
Suddenly Valentin suddenly slows down and points to the left.
"There was a police station here," he points his finger at a destroyed building.
On the side of the road, towards the north, the general direction of Belarus, trenches are being dug for a command day.
The Ukrainian Sasha (on the right) with the reporter "Shishab", Hanan Greenwood, and Roy Shatov.
"views difficult to digest",
We pass through a small village.
Three trucks are standing on the side of the road and their drivers are standing and rubbing their hands to warm themselves in the bitter cold.
Nearby, an ancient bus is stuck, and its passengers are debating what to do.
Smoke rises from it, and Roy explains that it is not a malfunction, but a means of heating the interior of the vehicle, with a burning fire.
The houses in the area have seen better days.
The walls are half-whitewashed, strips of exposed concrete sprout from all sides.
Only a huge yellow-blue flag is the only new sight in the area.
The sense of Ukrainian patriotism is indeed at its peak, but the truth is not always pleasant.
On social networks you can see harsh videos that document soldiers beating men in the street and dragging them to enlist, despite their opposition.
In some cases, the conscripts are required to purchase military equipment themselves, shoes or military equipment, which is not an easy blow to the general morale.
Rabbi Lebenhartz.
"I fell apart",
At the entrance of the Chabad house in Berdichev, Mandi Taler meets us. He is 19 years old, and for the past year he has been acting as the only Chabad emissary in the city, where 400 Jews live, the vast majority of whom are adults.
During the invasion of the Russians he stayed in Israel, and after their withdrawal he returned with his body to Medina, while his family members remained in Israel.
A few days after our visit, one of the community's elders passed away, and Mendi held his funeral and buried the body himself.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev, one of the most important rabbis in the Hasidic world, is buried in the city.
Ma'andi was responsible for the Jewish cemetery and the tomb structure, which was erected next to thousands of tombstones that stand crooked and ruined from neglect and the muddy ground that washed them away.
"Five-six busloads of tourists from Israel would come here every day, about 100,000 people a year," he says.
"A large part of our income came from tourism and donations, and all of that is gone."
The Jewish Federation of Ukraine currently helps Menadi with food and money, so that he can continue to operate the Chabad house there. "We provide food to the people here.
Most of the community members are adults who hardly leave their homes.
A truck comes to us and unloads cartons with everything we need.
Berdichev is a small community that has always struggled to finance itself, and the few who still contributed ran away."
Did the tourists from Israel completely stop coming?
"From time to time Breslav Hasidim show up. You have to be a little crazy about the matter to come to Ukraine at a time like this."
We are visiting a 150-year-old synagogue, which the Federation is currently renovating from the ground up, taking advantage of the abundance of workers and building materials, in order to properly restore Jewish life to the Hasidic city.
In front of the synagogue stands an impressive building with pink walls.
This is the former synagogue "The Choir", which had 1,000 seats and operated before the Holocaust.
Today the place is used by a private Ukrainian factory.
"There are grave robbers looking for gold from the teeth of tens of thousands of Jews who were murdered by the Nazis in the killing pits outside the city," Maandi explains.
"I got there once and saw the bare skull of a baby. It was one of the hardest sights of my life. A feeling of a punch in the stomach. Today the place is covered with concrete, so there are fewer robbers."
At the entrance to the Chabad house, 95-year-old Moisha Wenschelboim, a Berdichev native who survived the killing spree, is waiting for us. "I went with my father," he recalls. "They put us in a pit, and as soon as they started shooting, I jumped out and hid under a nearby combine.
A Ukrainian farmer hid me in his village for a year.
Then I was caught again by the Nazis and sent to labor camps.
At the end of World War I worked for decades in flour mills in the region."
Moisha asks us for a donation and says that he is going to the Zion of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.
"I pray there that the war will end, and that there will be no more war," he sighed.
Kiev "Without us, the beer would end up like bocha"
With Sasha we set on the outskirts of Kyiv.
The Jewish Federation donates a lot of humanitarian equipment to the Ukrainian army, including non-Jewish soldiers, and therefore the army organized a rare meeting with some soldiers for us.
Sasha (26), wearing a uniform, gets out of a civilian vehicle, exchanges words with Roy and Valerie - and asks us to follow him.
We pass through armed checkpoints on our way out of the capital of Ukraine.
On the sides of the roads are dozens of minefields, a destroyed gas station, a building that was hit by a missile and completely destroyed, even a burnt tank.
Only dozens of kilometers from Belarus, the sense of danger is very palpable here.
Suddenly the vehicle in which Sasha is driving turns to the right, onto a side road in the forest.
We drive over a collection of potholes and asphalt particles, in the depths of the forest, and suddenly come across a red "stop" sign and a checkpoint manned by soldiers - who open the gate and invite us inside.
A building that was hit by a missile is standing on its end on the right side of the barrier.
"Let's walk a bit, I'll show you something," says Sasha.
We are walking in the thick of the forest, on snow and ice that cover the mud path, and only then do we begin to take in the dimensions of the destruction.
Fragments of trees are lying everywhere, and the ground is perforated.
On the side of the road there is a huge pit, 15 meters deep.
Yaroslav, one of the fighters, entered it, dwarfed by the destruction left by a Russian missile weighing hundreds of kilograms.
Sasha is silent for a long moment, and begins to tell: "This place was a training base located in a beautiful forest. Standard buildings of a rear base, no fighters, only management, liaison and the like."
Two weeks after the invasion, when the Russians captured Bocha and Irpin, their attack on the base began.
"It started with a massive shelling. The ground shook. About 500 Russian fighters, accompanied by heavy artillery, tanks and fighters of an elite unit, began to attack the place, where there were about 70 Ukrainian soldiers armed with rifles, pistols and grenades, entrenched in bunkers and trenches. They tried to penetrate, But we returned fire, and they turned and ran."
Yaroslav picks up part of an anti-tank missile that was fired at them that day of battle.
"We fought for our lives," he explains.
Sasha: "We were 15 soldiers in the bunker, and the Russians attacked us from four directions, surrounded us with huge forces. Ten soldiers were killed in that attack, the rest were captured. Around midnight they put us on trucks and took us to Belarus - and from there to Russia. They interrogated us. I don't want to go into detail, In order not to scare Ukrainians who will fall into the hands of the Russians in the future. It's hard to describe the terrible things we went through there. Let's just say that I lost 15 kilograms of my weight in my 294 days in captivity."
Flowers on the grave of a Ukrainian soldier who was killed in the war and buried in the Lviv cemetery,
Last month, Sasha and his friends were returned from Russia, as part of a prisoner exchange deal.
They were reinstated in the army and placed in the same base they defended and where their comrades were killed.
As we speak, a deafening noise is heard in the sky.
A Ukrainian fighter jet emerges above us at breakneck speed, and Roy reports that "alarms are really going off in Kiev right now."
Suddenly there was a loud explosion - and a trail of smoke curled in the air.
It turns out that the plane successfully intercepted an unidentified Russian object, right above our heads.
Yevgeni, a platoon commander, arrives in a military jeep.
"This was a battle of valor, not strength," he emphasizes.
"This is one of the last bases before Kiev, and thanks to the soldiers who were here, and who managed to delay the invaders, the Russian army did not reach Kiev. While our soldiers stopped the Russians, the Ukrainian army managed to send necessary reinforcements to the area."
Do you feel like heroes?
Sasha: "No. We did our job, defended our country. If we weren't here, Kiev would have ended up like bocha, maybe even worse."
Are you not concerned about Putin's threats of a renewed invasion?
"By no means. This time we are ready to fight even harder. If Putin tries to come here again - many surprises will await his army on the way. We have no other option but victory. Salva Ukraine! (Glory to Ukraine)."
Bucha and Irpin, the yards and warehouses remain in ruins
The trip from Kyiv to the suburbs, Bucha and Irpin, takes exactly 34 minutes.
A huge damaged shopping mall stands on the main road, near the bridge that was blown up and became one of the symbols of the war, and to this day has not been restored.
In the dark days of February and March 2022, bodies were scattered here in every corner, of children, elderly, men and women, and shocked refugees hid under its ruins in a desperate attempt to survive the Russian shelling.
Bocha and Irpin became the representatives of the unimaginable cruelty of the Russian occupation, with mass mass graves that were discovered there, mutilated bodies that were exposed in torture cells in the basement, and dozens of civilians that were lying dead in the street, some with their hands and feet tied.
We stop in front of a destroyed shopping mall in a residential neighborhood that used to be considered prestigious.
The private houses are completely burned down, and there are still orphaned luxury cars in the parking lots.
On the ground I notice three child seats (boosters) that somehow survived the fire.
The body shudders at the thought of what happened to the babies who sat in them before the war.
The nearby neighborhood is undergoing intensive renovation work, and two workers are devouring sandwiches on the beams that will in the future become the roof of a renovated house.
According to World Bank estimates, the cost of rebuilding Ukraine's economy now stands at 600 million euros, and walking around Irpin you can clearly understand why.
We stop in front of a half-destroyed community center and look at a residential neighborhood.
After a minute we realize why it is so easy to look at the buildings inside the plaza: an entire residential building, where dozens of people lived, was knocked down and completely destroyed, and it can no longer hide the view inside.
All the upper floors in the complex are perforated.
Roy, who fought in Jenin in 2002 in the Protective Wall operation, estimates that one of the holes was caused by a direct hit by an anti-tank missile. I approach the small playground that miraculously remained unscathed. There are no children in sight, and only a large dog wearing a collar around its neck stands watching us On the sidewalk opposite runs a man wearing thick clothes, a hat and gloves, proving that life goes on even in the heart of chaos.
At one of the junctions we meet the driver of a Jeep Lexus.
This is the vehicle of Raphael, one of the senior officials of the Jewish Federation, and the driver is making his way to one of the neighborhoods most affected by the battle that took place in the city, to deliver basic goods and humanitarian equipment to Jana Butenko, the Jewish elderly woman who lives in the neighborhood.
The sights on the way to Jana are tough.
There is not a single house left standing here, destroyed vehicles are scattered like a stone that cannot be turned, yards and warehouses have become ruins.
We unload the equipment in front of the green gate of her house - and go inside.
"I've lived here for six years. Not long ago I did a renovation, and then the war started," says Jana.
Her husband died about a year and a half ago, and she survives on a monthly pension of 3,500 hryvnias (the Ukrainian currency), about 96 dollars.
During the first days of the battles, she says, a military doctor lived in her house, and she herself prepared food for the fighters and allowed them to sleep with her as they wished.
When the battle for Bocha began, Jana found herself in a nightmare: the Russians on one side of the house, the Ukrainians on the other, and her house became the front.
"I was right in the middle, some were shooting from here and some from there. Sometimes I sat in the basement and sometimes I lay on the floor, so as not to be killed. Everything was bombed, there were shrapnel everywhere. The house next to me was hit directly and my neighbor was wounded in the leg. They took him to Germany for treatment, but he died there . I was constantly running away from the house to the yard, according to the locations of the falls, with only water and toilet paper in my hands. I had nowhere to run, I have no family, I have no one in the world, I am completely alone."
The people of the Jewish Federation organized a donation for Jana, so that she could renovate her house a little, and they make sure to provide her with basic food.
"My father was not Jewish, and he used to tease me and my mother for being Jewish. Today I am very happy that I am Jewish, thanks to that I am alive."
Meir Stambler, chairman of the Jewish Federation, explains that donations from philanthropists allow his people to continue operating, and on a larger scale than before. Haim.
This began with the rescue of 40 thousand people from the country, and today is expressed in the transfer of huge amounts of food and medicine through a huge logistics center, and in financial aid to the communities.
"No one trained us for these things. We are yeshiva students who suddenly get busy coordinating with the Ukrainian army, getting potatoes and making a decision to save people, who if we don't get to them - they might die. Unfortunately, there were times when we didn't succeed. Our people arrived in the field and found out that we were no longer There is no one left to save."
Already before the war, because of the corona virus, the Jewish Federation created a database for Jews in Ukraine, and this list helped to reach them after the invasion, and to help.
"We supply basic products to tens of thousands of addresses, and we have already distributed seven rounds so far," says Stembler.
"Now, due to the continuation of the war, the budget is starting to dwindle. But we operate warehouses and provide a lot of humanitarian equipment that helps save lives. As far as we are concerned, every Jew is part of our family, and that is what we will continue to do."
Back in Kiev there is a hole in the car windshield the size of a person's head
In Kiev, people walk the street with flowers for Valentine's Day.
Apparently, the world is as usual, but not everything is normal.
In the evening the streets are darkened, and the decorated restaurants close at 21:30, due to the curfew imposed on the city from 23:00.
The famous Maidan Square stands empty and dark, and iron barriers against tanks are placed all over it.
The few tourists who come to the place pose for a selfie next to a large, illuminated sign that reads: "I love Kyiv."
In daylight you can see rows of small Ukrainian flags planted in the ground under the sign, in memory of fighters killed in battles.
Flowers were placed next to one of the flags, with a picture of a dead man next to it.
A love that did not end even after death.
I meet Israel's ambassador to Ukraine, Michael Brodsky, in the lobby of a nearby hotel.
Since last May, the embassy has been operating only partially, but recently it was decided to return to operating it in full format.
Brodsky returned to live in Kiev, as an act of solidarity.
ברודסקי מסביר שלמרות המלחמה יש עדיין אלפי ישראלים באוקראינה, חלקם אנשי עסקים או תיירים, ויש בעלי אזרחות כפולה, ישראלית ואוקראינית, שלא יכולים לצאת מגבולות המדינה, מחשש שיידרשו להתגייס לצבא.
נשיא אוקראינה, וולודימיר זלנסקי, דורש חודשים רבים שישראל תספק נשק לצבאו. השגריר ברודסקי מסרב בנימוס להתבטא בנושא, ורק מסביר: "יש לנו תשובות טובות לאוקראינים, אך לא נכון לדבר על כך במרחב הציבורי".
בינתיים הוא עוסק בהעברת ציוד הומניטרי רב לאוקראינה. "זה לא סוד שיש אכזבה מסוימת מכך שישראל לא מספקת נשק, אבל כל הצדדים מכירים באינטרסים וברגישויות. צריך לנצל את התחומים שבהם אנחנו יכולים לפעול. אנחנו כבר עושים, אך יכולים לעשות אפילו יותר".
באשר לקהילה היהודית, אומר ברודסקי: "רוב היהודים נשארו, אם מתוך בחירה, או כי הם לא יכולים לצאת. זה מצב מאוד לא פשוט. יש גם לא מעט יהודים שהתגייסו לצבא, ולצערי היו כמה מקרים של הרוגים יהודים וישראלים בחזית, שנאלצנו לטפל בהעברת גופותיהם לישראל".
ברחבה גדולה מול קתדרלת סופיה הקדושה, באזור שבו ממוקמים שגרירויות רבות ומשרדי ממשלה, וגם ביתו של נשיא אוקראינה עצמו, אנחנו נתקלים במחזה לא קל: בין הכנסיות המרהיבות וכיפות הזהב עומדת שורה של טנקים ומשוריינים שספגו פגיעות אנושות - ונשרפו לגמרי. באחד המשוריינים נראה חור כניסה של טיל נגד טנקים, וטנק סמוך מוטל קרוע לשניים. בצד עומד רכב ירוק מנוקב כדורים, שבשמשתו חור בגודל ראש אדם. במושב הקדמי שלו זרוקה מטרייה הרוסה.
"אמנם עברה שנה מהפלישה, אבל אנחנו כבר שנים ארוכות במלחמה", מסביר אולכסנדר טקצ'נקו, שר התרבות והדתות של אוקראינה. כמו הנשיא זלנסקי, גם הוא לובש בגדי עבודה ולא חליפה. "אנחנו עובדים בשתי חזיתות - של מלחמה ושל עבודה ושלום. יש בכך לא מעט דמיון למה שקורה בישראל, וגם העימות מול האיראנים משותף לנו.
"אני מאמין ששיתוף פעולה בין אוקראינה לישראל הוא חשוב ביותר. אנחנו רוצים ללמוד מהניסיון שלכם בנוגע לביטחון ולטכנולוגיה. יש דרכים שונות שבהן ניתן לשתף פעולה ולהוכיח שמדינות יכולות להתאחד נגד הטרור.
"במלחמה נהרסו או הושמדו עד כה יותר מ־1,500 מבני תרבות היסטוריים, שבהם כ־600 אתרי מורשת. יש לא מעט בתי כנסת ריקים באוקראינה, ואני מעוניין לחדש את הפעילות בחלק מהמבנים המרהיבים האלה ולהציל אותם".
בלב שכונת מגורים בצד המזרחי של קייב, במבנה משופץ ומחודש שבו פועל בית ספר יהודי, אנחנו פוגשים את הרב מרדכי לבנהרץ ואת רעייתו דבורה, שמכהנים כשליחי חב"ד בעיר כבר 20 שנה. עד פרוץ המלחמה ניהלו, עם צוות שכלל שבע משפחות שליחים, קהילה של אלפי חברים ובית ספר שמנה כ־400 תלמידים. היום הם השליחים היחידים שנותרו בקהילה היהודית הקטנה שנותרה באזור. בנם הצעיר, דובי (11), לומד עם עוד ילד יהודי אחד בלבד בכיתה.
"ביום הפלישה שמענו טנקים, אנשים נורו כאן ברחובות", נזכר הרב לבנהרץ. "אספנו יחד כ־100 אנשים בשבת וישבנו במרתף. היה לחץ אדיר מישראל ומחב"ד שנצא מאוקראינה. מדי פעם הייתי עולה מהמרתף למעלה, מתפרק בבכי, ואז יורד ומחזק את כולם".
אחרי כמה ימים יצאו בני הזוג לבנהרץ עם ילדיהם מאוקראינה והגיעו לישראל. כעבור חודשים ספורים חזרו, ללא רוב ילדיהם, מתוך הבנה שהם מהווים עוגן לקהילה שנותרה. "אנחנו מודעים היטב לאיום", מספרת דבורה. "המתקפה הרוסית האחרונה התרחשה לפני כשבוע. לנו יש כבר שיטה לזהות: אם שומעים בום, זה יירוט, אבל אם האדמה רועדת - זו נפילה של טיל.
"בכל שבת אנחנו ישנים כאן, במשרד, עם הדרכונים ועם מזוודה קטנה מוכנה. ברור שהחשש קיים, ואנחנו לא טומנים את ראשנו בחול. בכל יום אנחנו מוציאים 60 מנות אוכל לחיילים - יהודים או לא יהודים, זה לא משנה. חשוב לנו לעזור לכולם".
אברהם צ'רנאוסוב יושב בראש השולחן ומביט בדפים שמולו. בחודשים הארוכים שעברו מאז נמלט ממריופול, אחת הערים שספגו את הנזק הכבד ביותר במלחמה, הוא מנהל מעקב אחרי הפליטים שמגיעים מהאזור, כדי לספק להם תמיכה. עיניו מתרוצצות וניכר שהוא לא שלו. בני הזוג לבנהרץ מספרים שככל הנראה הוא סובל מפוסט־טראומה. הוא עצמו מודה שקשה לו פסיכולוגית.
"חייתי חודשיים תחת הכיבוש הרוסי במריופול. אזור הלחימה היה בתוך הבתים, סמוך אלי. ראיתי אנשים מתים, קברתי עשרות בידיים שלי", הוא משחזר.
קודם לפלישה שימש אברהם משגיח כשרות בשני בתי כנסת בעיר, וגם אחריה המשיך בעבודתו. "המורדים הפרו־רוסים עוד היו בסדר ביחס לצ'צ'נים, שהם חיות אדם", הוא מספר. "יום אחד הלכתי ברגל אל בית אמי, ופתאום הם התחילו לצעוק עלי, רצו סתם לריב. הם דחפו את קנה הרובה שלהם לבטן שלי ודרשו דרכון. כשביקשתי אותו בחזרה אחד מהם חבט בי בפנים ארבע פעמים. זה קרה ביום ההולדת שלי. כך חגגתי 53.
"קברתי במו ידיי לא מעט אנשים, כי לא היה מישהו אחר שיטפל בהם ויעזור. אלמלא קברתי את הגופות, הן היו נרקבות בצד הדרך. יום אחד ראיתי מזרן שרוף שעליו גופה שאיבדה צלם אנוש. מפוחמת לגמרי. כשנגעתי בה, היא התפוררה. חפרתי לבדי קבר וטמנתי אותה. זה היה סיוט.
"את מריופול עזבתי כשבתי הכנסת בעיר חדלו לפעול, אבל אשתי ובתי נותרו שם. אני חושש לגורלן, אבל אשתי לא רוצה לצאת מהעיר, כי היא חוששת לוותר על כמה דירות שבבעלות אביה שנהרג. לכן קשה לי להיות כעת בקייב ולא איתן. המצב הנפשי שלי מקשה עלי מאוד".
מנסים לסייע,
אומן "אי אפשר לחיות כל הזמן בתחושת חרדה"
בשעות הערב המאוחרות אנחנו יוצאים לכיוון אומן. ולנטין נוהג במהירות מסחררת בניסיון להגיע לעיר לפני שעת העוצר. את הלילה אנחנו מעבירים באומן, ולמחרת מגיעים לציון קברו של רבי נחמן, ברחוב פושקינה, שמלא כולו שלטי חוצות בעברית וביידיש - מראה שמזכיר את בני ברק. לא מעט ישראלים ויהודים מתגוררים עדיין במקום, או מגיעים מפעם לפעם לציון.
לא מפחיד כאן? אני שואל, והם משיבים: "רק מהחדשות אפשר להבין שיש מלחמה. נכון, היה מפחיד בהתחלה, בגלל אי־הוודאות, אבל בפועל שום דבר לא קורה כאן. אנחנו רואים את התמונות בעיתונים ובאינטרנט, ולא מתעלמים מהמלחמה, אבל אי אפשר לחיות כל הזמן בתחושת חרדה".
אני יוצא לכיוון הגבול עם מולדובה, ונתקל שם באתגר. בן־לילה הוחלט לאסור את חציית הגבול ברגל, ולכן אני עולה לטרמפ שמציע לי מכר של נהג המונית שמחכה לי מעבר לגבול. לפתע פונה אלי מהמושב האחורי במונית צעירה דוברת עברית. קוראים לה רות, סטודנטית לתואר שני במדעי הרפואה באוניברסיטת תל אביב, שעלתה לפני שש שנים מאודסה שבאוקראינה.
זו הפעם השלישית שרות חוזרת לאוקראינה מאז הפלישה. הפעם הזו, היא מספרת, היתה רגועה יותר. "כשהייתי בספטמבר האחרון באודסה, עשרות מל"טים רוסיים תקפו את העיר בכל יום. החלונות בבית רעדו, וזה היה מפחיד. הפעם רק כמה מל"טים חדרו לעיר".
הוריה הם גמלאים שדירתם משקיפה לנמל המפורסם של אודסה. כשאני שואל אם היא משכנעת אותם לעלות לישראל, היא נאנחת: "אני כבר לא מנסה".
אנחנו שותקים כשהתנועה מזדחלת אל הגבול. בצד של מולדובה דרכינו נפרדות, עד לטיסה חזרה ארצה. המסע העיתונאי שלי תם, אך מאחור, באוקראינה, המלחמה רחוקה עדיין מאוד מסיום.
הפילוסוף ברנאר־אנרי לוי במאמר ל"שישבת":
רוסיה חייבת להפסיד במלחמה. אסור שתהיה שנה שנייה של הרס וחורבן
שנה של ערים ושל כפרים הרוסים, של אזרחים שנעשו למטרות והופצצו, של ילדים שגורשו מבתיהם.
שנה שהופעלה בה אסטרטגיה של אדמה חרוכה (להרוס הכל לפני שעוזבים את המקום) ושל קברי אחים (להרוג, להרוג עוד ועוד, להרוג כמו שאנחנו מבראים יער, כי האוקראינים הם "רוסים קטנים", "תתי־אדם", "חרקים מזיקים").
שנה שמעצמה מסוימת, חברת קבע בוועדת הביטחון של האו"ם, מפירה את החוק הבינלאומי, בָּזָה לחוקי המלחמה ומשמשת דוגמה לכוח ברוטאלי, חסר רסן ונטול עכבות. מעצמה המוכנה לבצע את כל המעשים המפלצתיים כדי לעצב מחדש את הסדר העולמי לטובתה האישית.
שנה שהאיראנים בוחנים, שהטורקים אורבים בצד, שהאסלאמיסטים סופרים את הנקודות ותוהים עד כמה ירחיק המערב לכת כדי להגן על ערכיו ועל האינטרסים שלו, שנה שסין בוחנת מחדש את תוכנית הפלישה שלה לטייוואן. האם הפלישה לאוקראינה תצליח, האם היא תיכשל? מה יהיו הלקחים מהמלחמה באוקראינה, בסופו של דבר? האם התקדים שייקבע יהיה: "אין בעיה, ארה"ב היא אימפריה חסרת יכולת, אימפריה סוררת הדועכת ללא תקנה", או שמא הוא יהיה: "קברנו מוקדם מדי את ארה"ב, הסתמכנו בטעות על המוות המוחי של נאט"ו ושל אירופה, אבל תגובתן הנוקשה באוקראינה היא הוכחה שעלינו לבטל, או לכל הפחות לדחות, את הפעולה המתכוננת בטאיפיי"?
ולבסוף, שנה שהצבא האוקראיני מחזיק מעמד מול ההפגזות הרוסיות, מול הגלים האנושיים שמאיימים על החזיתות המזרחיות והדרומיות, אך בראש ובראשונה מול החיילים הבינוניים של מיליציית ואגנר, המורכבת מפושעים בורים, שיכורים מוודקה, שיצאו מהכלא כדי להישלח לשדות הקטל בחזית. שנה שהצבא האוקראיני מתחפר בקרקע ובבוץ, ובשעה שהוא מחליט, מתוך ביטחונו באנשיו ובאמצעים העומדים לרשותו, יוצא למתקפות נגד, משתלט מחדש על השטחים שאבדו ונחלץ לעזרתם של עקרונות הדמוקרטיה והחירות - כפי שתיעדתי במצלמתי.
אבל עכשיו יש לעצור את המלחמה הזו.
אסור, בשום מחיר, להיכנס לשנה שנייה של הרס וחורבן.
וצריך לעשות הכל כדי שחבורת הדיקטטורים לא תגרוף רווח מהמצב שנוצר כדי לפתוח חזיתות חדשות, פרצות חדשות - מי מהם בטייוואן, מי מהם בעיראק ומי מהם במדינות הבלקן או באי יווני מסוים. עלינו לעשות הכל כדי ליצור את המצב ההפוך, כלומר לגרום לכך שההתנגדות האוקראינית תהדהד כמו אזהרה ל"חמשת המלכים", לשוליות הקוסם, שמתפתים לקחת דוגמה מפוטין וללכת בדרכיו הניאו־אימפריאליות.
הריסות באוקראינה כתוצאה מהתקפות הרוסים, צילום: רויטרס
במילים אחרות: פוטין חייב להפסיד במלחמה הזו.
בשם האינטרסים של האוקראינים, אבל גם בשם האינטרסים של שאר העולם, פוטין צריך להפסיד במלחמה, לנחול מפלה במהירות וללא עוררין.
ובפתח השנה השנייה ללחימה, בעלי הברית של האוקראינים צריכים להכריז על שינוע וגיוס כולל, ללא עיכוב או דחיות, של מצבורי הנשק שלהם ושל האספקה שלהם. כך אמר הנשיא מקרון בנאומו במינכן. כך פעל הנשיא ביידן כשנסע לפגוש את מקבילו זלנסקי בקייב באמצע "יום הנשיא", יום הולדתו של ג'ורג' וושינגטון.
מדובר בתנודה גדולה ורחבה ששולחת את פוטין, באבחה אחת, למחנה של המוגלים מהחברה, לצד בעלי בריתו האחרונים והלא זוהרים: איראן, הטליבאן, האסלאמיסטים הצ'צ'נים, צפון קוריאה והטורקים שמתגעגעים לקולוניאליזם העות'מאני.
אני שומע בבירור את נביאי הזעם שמזהירים פה ושם מהסלמה במצב, ואני יודע שבמילה "הסלמה" הם חושבים על תגובתה של החיה הפצועה, שהוסגה לאחור, אך שבכל זאת מחזיקה באמתחתה כלי נשק קטלניים שטרם נראו.
אבל אחרי שהקשבתי במשך שנה לכל מה שאמרו, משני הצדדים, בנוגע לנשק לא קונבנציונלי, בכל החזיתות באוקראינה או כמעט בכולן, השתכנעתי רק לגבי שני דברים:
1. אוקראינה, שהיתה מעצמה גרעינית עד שחתמה על מזכר בודפשט מבשר הרעות ב־1994 והסכימה, כחלק מתנאיו, להעביר את מצבורי הנשק שלה לטריטוריה רוסית - עודנה מלאה מומחים שמכירים את הנושא, מומחים שחקרו את עניין הגרעין וטענו בפניי ללא יוצא מן הכלל: פוטין לא מחליט לבד. הדיקטטור שאצבעו מונחת על הכפתור ומסוגל להביא לחורבן מוחלט לבדו, הוא רק דימוי נאיבי. שרשרת הפיקוד במוסקבה בנויה כך ששיגור טיל גרעיני אחד כולל 100 איש, אולי אפילו 200, וכמעט 20 מקרבם יכולים לעצור הכל בכל רגע נתון.
2. But there is also a greater risk of a possible rabies attack of an animal on the run.
If Putin's blackmail pays off and the terror he inspires in us makes us submit to even a small part of his demands, there is no doubt that we will see all his imitators, all the tyrants and tyrants of the planet, exclaiming aloud: "Is that all it takes? Atomic weapons give you the right to do Everything? Too bad we didn't know about it before! Come on, we have to quickly make up for the time we lost."
In such a situation, the nightmare dream of Karl Jaspers and Albert Camus will become a reality, the whole world will cross the nuclear threshold without us having the means to stop it, and humanity will run to destruction once and for all.
The problem can be tackled from all directions.
But at the point where we are, we must defeat Russia.
And it is necessary, as mentioned, that its defeat be without question, without reservation - a crushing defeat.
(Translation: Hod Yehuda Halevi Birdogo)
were we wrong
We will fix it!
If you found an error in the article, we would appreciate it if you shared it with us