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‘There was no time to sleep’: 4 Jews reflect on a year of helping Ukrainians at war
(JTA) — In the months after Russian tanks rolled into her country last February, the music largely stopped for Elizaveta Sherstuk.
The founder of a Jewish choral ensemble called Aviv in her hometown of Sumy, in the northeastern flank of Ukraine, Sherstuk had to put singing aside in favor of her day job and personal mission: delivering aid to Jews in Sumy.
“There was no time to sleep,” Sherstuk recalled to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency recently. “All my team members worked the same, 24/7.”
A year later, Sherstuk is still hustling as the Sumy director of Hesed, a network of welfare centers serving needy Jews in the former Soviet bloc. But she has also begun teaching music classes again, too — with performances sometimes held in bomb shelters.
Catch up on all of JTA’s Ukraine war coverage from the last year here.
Sherstuk’s story reflects the ways that Russia’s war on Ukraine has affected Jews in Ukraine and beyond. The conflict has killed hundreds of thousands, left even more in peril and fundamentally altered the landscape and population of Ukraine, forcing millions to flee as refugees.
But the war has also mobilized the networks of Jewish aid and welfare groups across Europe, leading to a Jewish organizational response on a massive scale not seen in decades. And Ukrainian Jews who have remained in the country have recalibrated their lives and communities for wartime.
Here are four stories about Jews who stepped in and stepped up to help, and a taste of the on-the-ground situations they found themselves in.
‘I was needed there’
Enrique Ginzburg, second from right, is shown with Ukrainian doctors in Lviv. (Courtesy of Ginzburg)
Since nearly drowning at 23, Dr. Enrique Ginzburg has felt he “had to pay back” for the extra years of life he was granted.
Now 65, the professor of surgery at the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine and its trauma division has lent his critical care expertise in Haiti, Argentina, Kurdistan and Iraq, in various emergency situations. But until last year, he had never been to a war zone.
The Cuba native felt drawn to Ukraine because his grandfather is from Kyiv, while his grandmother is from nearby eastern Poland. So early on in the conflict, he called Dr. Aaron Epstein, an old friend and the founder of the nonprofit Global Surgical and Medical Supply Group.
“Get yourself a flak jacket, a helmet, a gas mask and come on over,” Ginzburg said Epstein told him.
He has been to Ukraine twice under the nonprofit’s auspices, last April and July. Ginzburg’s explanation for why he flew across the world to put himself in danger: “I was needed,” he said.
His base was an emergency hospital in Lviv, a city located west enough that it became a major refugee hub. He consulted with front-line Ukrainian physicians, many of them young and inexperienced, and hospital administrators, watching the doctors in action. He also visited patients in hospital wards and helped to treat gunshot wounds and assorted combat injuries.
Ginzburg’s bags were packed with meaningful supplies. Some had been requested by his Ukrainian colleagues for medical use, mostly specialized catheters. But he also brought tefillin, the phylacteries used by Jews in their morning prayers. Ginzburg, who studied in a yeshiva while young but no longer considers himself Orthodox, wrapped them every day while in Ukraine.
Even though Lviv was far from the fighting, he could hear air raid sirens and the explosion of the Russian missiles, sometimes feeling the earth shake. When intelligence reports warned Ginzburg’s medical team of impending missile attacks, they sought refuge in safe houses.
“Today,” he told the Miami Herald last June, “I was calling my life insurance [company] because I have young sons and my wife, so I’m trying to make sure I have good coverage.”
By the end of his trips, Ginzburg lost count of the number of doctors he helped train and the number of patients he saw. “I’m sure it’s hundreds.” He plans to make a third trip sometime this year.
‘This is our new reality’
Karina Sokolowska is the director of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee’s activities in Poland. (Courtesy of the JDC)
As the director of the JDC, or the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, in Poland, Karina Sokolowska has heard countless harrowing stories over the past year. But one sticks out in her memory.
It involved an elderly Ukrainian couple she met at the Poland-Ukraine border in late spring. The husband was in a wheelchair, and Sokolowska helped push him — back towards Ukraine. They had spent three months in a shelter in Poland but eventually “realized we cannot go looking for jobs, we cannot restart our lives. We are too old,” the woman said.
“If they are to die, they’d rather die back home,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a story of hopelessness. They are so vulnerable.”
Last year, about 8 million Ukrainian refugees made their way to Poland, the bordering country that accepted the most refugees. Early on in the conflict, Sokolowska contacted and visited Jewish communities throughout Poland, investigating the availability of places where the soon-to-be-homeless refugees could be housed. She also traveled to some of the border crossings where the Ukrainians entered, to arrange transportation to venues in Poland and to oversee the conditions in which the refugees would begin their new lives.
Later she would help with, among other things: arranging legal advice for the people who arrived with few identification documents; lining up medical care and drugs; finding them short- and long-term housing; connecting them to psychological counseling; providing kosher meals; and even caring for the refugees’ pets (“dogs and cats with no documents”).
According to JDC statistics, the organization “provided essential supplies and care” to 43,000 Jews in Ukraine and “aided 22,000+ people” there with “winter survival needs … more than double the amount served in previous years.” The welfare organization also claimed to provide “life-saving services” to more than 40,000 refugees in Poland, Moldova, Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria and other European locations. It also helped evacuate about 13,000 Jews from Ukraine. (Israeli Foreign Minister Eli Cohen recently said 15,000 Ukrainian Jews in total have immigrated to Israel since the start of the war.)
Karina Sokolowska, JDC director for Poland and Scandinavia sits in her office down the hall from a hotline room, in early March 2022. (Toby Axelrod)
At the height of the refugee flood, Sokolowska said her monthly JDC budget ballooned to more than what she previously spent in an entire year. Her office went from having a few employees to over 20. The amount of sleep she got decreased in tandem; she started taking sleeping pills to get rest when she could.
“This is our new reality” in Poland, she says of the JDC work with Ukrainian refugees. “This is our life now.”
Sokolowska, the granddaughter of Yiddish-speaking Holocaust survivors, became active in Jewish life during college, when a classmate heard her pronouncing some German words with a Yiddish accent and persuaded her to lead the Polish Union of Jewish Students. As JDC director for Scandinavian countries in addition to Poland, she typically organizes educational conferences and helps Jewish families learn about traditions they had not learned while growing up in the communist era.
Today, her sense of optimism has been ground down.
“Everything changed when war came to Ukraine — there is less hope,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a totally new everything. Every aspect of our life changed. Our hope for this to be over soon is going down, down, down. Nothing will change.”
‘It could [have been] me’
Tom and Darlynn Fellman volunteered in Krakow in October 2022. (Courtesy of Tom Fellman)
Sometime in the late 1890s, Harry Fellman, about 20 years old, left his home in Ukraine. According to family legend, he was a sharpshooter in the Ukrainian army and was about to be sent into active combat. Instead, he emigrated to the United States and settled in Omaha, Nebraska, where he became a peddler.
His grandson Tom Fellman — whose middle name is Harry — doesn’t know all the 120-year-old details, but he knows that he is grateful that Harry Fellman decided to leave Ukraine when he did.
“It could [have been] me, if my grandparents had not left when they did,” said Fellman, a successful real estate developer and philanthropist in Omaha.
In October, at 78 years old, Fellman made the reverse trip across the Atlantic to pitch in to the relief effort. He also wanted to pay what he sees as a debt to the memory of his late grandfather and to help the current generation of Ukrainian Jews.
He and his wife Darlynn served as volunteers for a week at the Krakow Jewish community center, joining hundreds (possibly thousands) of volunteers from overseas who have gone to Poland and the other nations in the region over the last year to participate in humanitarian programs on behalf of the millions of Ukrainian refugees. Fellman worked nine hours a day with a half-dozen fellow foreign volunteers in the basement of the community center, transferring the contents of “big, big” sacks of items like potatoes and sugar into small containers to be distributed to refugees in the building’s first-floor food pantry. His wife spent her time in an art therapy program that was set up for the refugee mothers and children to raise their spirits.
Fellman is “not particularly religious” but supports “anything Jewish.” In 1986, he accompanied a rescue mission plane of Soviet Jews headed to Israel. “It was the most rewarding experience of my life,” he recalled.
Fellman says he plans to return to Poland, in June, for the JCC’s annual fundraising bike ride from Auschwitz to Krakow.
What did his friends think of his septuagenarian volunteer stint? “They thought it was cool,” he said. “But none of them are going too.”
‘Everything was a risk’
Elizaveta Sherstuk runs a branch of Hesed, a network of welfare centers, in Sumy, Ukraine. (Courtesy of Sherstuk)
Sherstuk’s parents would have sent their daughter to a Jewish school in her early years if they had had the option. But Jewish education was not permitted In Sumy during the final years of communist rule in the Soviet republic. Sherstuk was exposed to Jewish life only at home.
Her parents infused her with a Jewish identity, she said, and her grandparents used to talk and sing songs in Yiddish. That inspired Sherstuk’s first career as a singer and a music teacher, during which she founded Aviv and took it on tour throughout the region singing traditional Jewish songs. Later, she became the director of Sumy’s branch of the JDC-funded Hesed network.
Sumy, an industrial city with a population of 300,000 before the war situated only 30 miles from the Russian border, was one of Russia’s first targets. In the days before the pending invasion, Sherstuk stockpiled food, which was certain to become scarce in case of war, and arranged bus transportation to safer parts of the country for hundreds of vulnerable civilians, mostly the elderly and disabled. The bus plan fell through for safety issues.
As the bombing started, it became dangerous for members of the local 1,000-member Jewish community, many of them elderly, to venture outside of their apartments. Sherstuk, working out of a bomb shelter, assisted by a Hesed network of volunteers, coordinated food and medicine deliveries.
The situation grew more dire, and she coordinated the Jewish community’s participation in a brief humanitarian corridor evacuation of vulnerable civilians that the Russians permitted. She communicated with Sumy residents mostly by smartphones provided by the JDC — the Russian attacks had cut the landlines — and accompanied the busloads of Sumy Jews to western Ukraine. Some of them eventually moved on to Israel, Germany, or other nearby countries, she said.
Sherstuk stayed in western Ukraine for a while (“The humanitarian corridors are only for one-way trips,” she noted), moving from place to place, keeping in touch with the Jews of Sumy and waiting for Ukraine’s army to make the trip back safe. But Sumy, like many Ukrainian cities, has come under frequent Russian rocket attack.
“Everything was a risk,” she said. “We were following whatever our hearts told us to do. We had to save people. I was the one who had to do it.”
Last May, Sherstuk was among 12 men and women (and the sole one from the Diaspora) who lit a torch at the start of Israel’s Independence Day in a government ceremony on Mount Herzl. During two weeks in Israel, she spent some time with members of her family, and held a series of meetings with JDC officials, government ministers and donors. “It was not a vacation,” she said.
After going back to Sumy, at the suggestions of her choral group members and fellow Sumy residents, she organized concerts in Hebrew, Yiddish, Ukrainian and Russian — some in person, some in a bomb shelter in the city’s central square, some online. She has now resumed her music classes, too, and it has all boosted morale. “I [teach] all the time,” she said.
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The post ‘There was no time to sleep’: 4 Jews reflect on a year of helping Ukrainians at war appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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FIFA Takes No Action Against Israeli West Bank Settlement Soccer Clubs but Fines IFA for ‘Discrimination’
Soccer Football – FIFA Club World Cup – Group D – Esperance de Tunis v Chelsea – Lincoln Financial Field, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, US – June 24, 2025, General view of the FIFA logo before the match. Photo: REUTERS/Lee Smith
FIFA has rejected formal complaints by the Palestinian soccer federation to suspend its Israeli counterpart but has fined the Israel Football Association (IFA) on disciplinary charges related to “discrimination,” “offensive behavior,” and “violations of fair play,” the international governing body of soccer announced on Thursday.
At the 74th FIFA Congress in Bangkok in May 2024, the Palestinian Football Association (PFA) presented a proposal to sanction Israel’s soccer teams, including its national team, because of what they claimed were international law violations committed by Israeli forces in the Gaza Strip. The proposal also called on FIFA to take action against Israeli soccer clubs that the PFA claimed were based in Palestinian territory, particularly settlements in the West Bank.
The PFA further said that FIFA should address what it claimed was IFA’s failure in taking decisive action against alleged discrimination and racism. The Palestinian fedeation has claimed for years that Israel violates FIFA rules by allowing teams from settlements in the West Bank to play in its national league.
FIFA’s Disciplinary Committee ruled on Thursday that it will not take action against Israeli soccer clubs in West Bank settlements because of the “unresolved” legal status of the West Bank under international law.
“FIFA should take no action given that, in the context of the interpretation of the relevant provisions of the FIFA Statutes, the final legal status of the West Bank remains an unresolved and highly complex matter under public international law,” the committee said in a statement. “FIFA should continue to promote dialogue and offer mediation between the Palestine Football Association and the Israel Football Association at an operational level. In this context, FIFA will continue to facilitate structured engagement and monitor developments.”
However, FIFA’s Disciplinary Committee has fined the IFA 150,000 Swiss francs – which is almost $190,000, – for committing “grave and systematic violations of FIFA’s core principles.” The IFA is being sanctioned for “offensive behavior and violations of the principles of fair play” as well as “discrimination and racist abuse.” The fine was issued following FIFA’s investigation into complaints about the IFA’s handling of discrimination and racism in soccer. FIFA said the Israeli association had not taken enough action against repeated racist behavior by supporters of certain Israeli soccer clubs, including Beitar Jerusalem, and offensive and politicized public statements by Israeli soccer officials and clubs.
“The committee finds that IFA’s conduct has created a perception of impunity and selective enforcement, which is incompatible with the principles of fairness and universality that underpin the sport,” the panel announced. “In particular, by failing to condemn or remediate discriminatory practices and exclusionary policies — particularly those affecting Palestinians — the IFA has become institutionally complicit in a system that violates the core values of the game.”
One-third of the fine must be used to implement “a comprehensive plan to ensure action against discrimination and to prevent repeated incidents,” with a focus on certain areas including monitoring and educational campaigns. The IFA must also display a “significant and highly visible banner,” approved by FIFA, that says “Football Unites the World – No to Discrimination” alongside the IFA’s logo at its next three A‑level FIFA competition home matches.
The committee said it “cannot remain indifferent to the broader human context in which football operates,” and that the sport “must remain a platform for peace, dialogue, and mutual respect.”
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Move over Thomas Edison, this deli savant is the Garden State’s newest inventor
First, in 1876, Thomas Edison opened up his “invention factory” in Menlo Park, New Jersey. Then, in 1941, Alexander Graham Bell’s Bell Labs moved its headquarters to Murray Hill at the northern end of the state.
In 2021, another wide-eyed tinkerer set up shop in Jersey City, though his inventions would be molded out of rye, wheat and cured beef, not aluminum and tungsten.
The maverick’s name is Jason Stahl, a 48-year-old father with a career in publishing. He operates his food business under the name Hank Schwartz’s Delicatessen and Appetizing, cooking out of a ghost kitchen in Jersey City. And he does things with smoked fish that would make your bubbe blush.
Take his “Smoked Salmon Tartare,” for example. He mixes up capers, lemon, dill,and Dijon mustard so their breezy tartness lightens the Baltic smoke of nova. The pink concoction is a revelation, balancing out the fish’s brininess so that a diner would be tempted to eat an entire half-pound of the stuff in one sitting.
I speak from experience. I first tried Stahl’s cooking at Jersey City’s Riverview Farmer’s Market last fall, where he slings mind-bending, Jew-ish sandwiches, tartare, whitefish salad, olives, and various other noshes on a biweekly basis.
On a sunny day at the Farmer’s Market, a steady stream of customers poured in. One customer, a middle-aged man, asked about Stahl’s brisket sandwiches — Stahl had made shredded brisket and mixed it with horseradish mayonnaise to make a pulled meat sandwich, then layered it with caramelized onion jam.
Stahl was sold out. “Curse you,” the customer exclaimed.
From home cook to deli master
At the market, Stahl spoke softly to the people who came to his booth, greeting customers by their first names and chatting with boys about their favorite sports teams. His gentle cadence and warm smile bely what he says is an anxious disposition that his wife, and his cooking, help to temper.
Stahl says that, until recently, he had been more of a weekend warrior than a professional cook. “I’m not going to pretend I have this amazing culinary background, right?” he said. “I came into this more with a passion, and I’m learning.”
Still, he has hovered close to the restaurant world for a while. He has worked in media for decades, sometimes in food-adjacent roles (most recently as Food Editor at 1-800-Flowers.com). Stahl’s wife, Theresa Gambacourt, manages restaurants and writes cookbooks for a living.
Stahl learned to cook in part from studying cookbooks he got for free as a media professional. In his early days out of college, “I was always experimenting,” he recalled. “I messed up a whole bunch.”
Theresa showed him the tricks she picked up in restaurants, like using infused fats to make a confit. He uses that technique in his zaatar olives, which are submerged in a citrus garlic confit that adds a layer of refreshing depth to the Mediterranean staple.
Over time, his cooking became more and more elaborate. His wife asked the chef at Del Posto, a since-closed Italian fine dining stalwart, if Stahl could stage there; the chef agreed, and Stahl spent every Sunday evening for a year learning the ins-and-outs of the kitchen — including how to cure gravlax and slice meat.
Italy figures heavily in Stahl’s modern deli. His chopped liver, for example, is made with chopped capers and braised with red wine (he makes a mushroom version for those who fear chicken parts).
In around 2019, Theresa gave him Pastrami on Rye: An Overstuffed History of the Jewish Deli for his birthday, and the book planted an idea in his head: “What if we did this?” Stahl asked Theresa about the deli business.
What, she replied, would an amateur cook be able to contribute to such an endeavor?
“I can clean,” he recalls replying. “I’m really good at cleaning.”
Several years later, after the COVID-19 pandemic, he started selling pickles at Riggs Company Provisions, a vendor at the farmer’s market, and Riverview Wines, a nearby wine shop. Today, his pickles encompass classic dill pickles brightened with dried mint, spicy pickles spiked with habanero and Aleppo peppers (the latter a nod to Jewish communities in the Middle East), and sour green tomatoes with dill and celery seeds.
In 2023, the farmer’s market invited him to become a vendor, and he’s been selling there ever since. His repertoire has expanded beyond pickles to include such dishes as chopped liver, homemade sodas, and cured meat and fish sandwiches — all tweaked with the flair of a mad scientist.
Hank Schwartz’s gets its name from fictional characters that Stahl and Gambacourt made up years ago: Hank and Margaret Schwartz, two herrings who escape from a deli and go on adventures around New York City. In this imaginary world, Hank and Margaret hang out with their herring friends, like Charlie Goldberg, a bus driver, and the Crances, a bumbling couple.
A gallivanting, social fish is the perfect mascot for a cook whose relationships and wanderlust drive his cooking.
Take, for example, Stahl’s smoked salmon candy. Though readers in Alaska and the Pacific Northwest might be familiar with the salty-sweet treat, it has not yet taken off in the Northeast. In the Alaskan version, chunks of salmon are brined in brown sugar and salt before being smoked and glazed. Stahl has added dill to his in the past, and the week I tried it, he had rubbed in pastrami spices. The pink chunks were solid and slightly chewy — like firm gumdrops — and redolent of peppercorns, brown sugar and smoke: the type of addictive candy that the children of hipsters might clamor for in a 21st century deli.
‘This is a true story’
Stahl grew up on Staten Island eating sandwiches at both Jewish and Italian delis.
When I asked him how far a dish can veer from Jewish tradition while still being considered “Jewish,” he compared Hank Schwartz’s to the TV show Fargo, which starts with the line “This is a true story.”
Stahl once interviewed the series’ showrunner, Noah Hawley, who told him that in each episode, a single detail is pulled from a true story — for example, a news article about a dramatic car crash.
“In a way, like, I’m doing the same thing,” Stahl said — one Jewish element anchors each dish on his menu; the rest is up for his own interpretation.
During Super Bowl weekend, when the Seattle Seahawks played the New England Patriots, Stahl came up with a sandwich for each team. “The Seattle” consisted of citrus-cured gravlax (a Scandinavian relative of Jewish lox), scallion cream cheese and pickled cucumbers on pumpernickel with a teriyaki glaze, the latter a nod to Seattle’s Japanese community and its role in popularizing teriyaki sauce. “The New England” was Stahl’s take on a lobster roll — swapping in whitefish for treyf.
Stahl now holds a residency two days a week at the Cliff, a cafe in the same Jersey Heights neighborhood he has been plying with smoked fish and meats for the past few years. The pop-up helps him try out running a brick-and-mortar restaurant while he looks for investors and business partners to help him do just that. Surrounded by exposed brick and artwork, he slaps together irreverent sandwich combinations in front of customers. I tried the Schwartzøbrød, a cousin of the everyman Danish brown bread sandwich. Stahl makes his with a butter infused with lime, lemon and orange zest that glides through the heady flavor of cured salmon.
If there’s one element of the Jewish deli that Stahl seeks to maintain, it’s the deli’s status as a community hub. “In these times that we’re living in, people need more comfort. I feel like a Jewish deli is really needed,” he told me, as is “the warmth of a bowl of matzo ball soup. People just find comfort, they find nostalgia.” He recalled with fondness how the week before, the restaurant buzzed with customers enjoying his food and locked in conversation, rarely looking at their phones.
Stahl’s tight-knit community might be the perfect place for Jewish culinary innovation, for the same reasons that Menlo Park and Murray Hill served Edison and the company of Graham Bell. Proximity to New York affords you rare privileges — ethnic diversity and access to the titans of the Jewish-American deli, in Stahl’s case. But so, too, does distance. The sprawling brick buildings and saltbox houses of Jersey City offer cooks a little more room to breathe and try new things.
“Here, it’s less about the luxury” or “pretentiousness,” Stahl said. “It’s more about the care and the presentation of the food, right? They want to just offer the best dishes possible.”
The post Move over Thomas Edison, this deli savant is the Garden State’s newest inventor appeared first on The Forward.
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Czechs Investigate Fire After Reports of Anti-Israel Group Claiming Responsibility
Police officers and firefighters stand in front of a burned production hall at an industrial area in Pardubice, Czech Republic, March 20, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/David W Cerny
Czech investigators are probing an overnight fire at an industrial complex as potentially being a deliberate attack, officials said on Friday, following media reports that a group protesting against Israeli weapons claimed responsibility.
Firefighters said on X that they had responded to a fire at a storage hall in a complex in Pardubice, 120 km (75 miles) east of Prague. No one was injured in the fire, which spread to another building.
Czech news website Aktualne.cz reported that a protest group said it had set fire to a “key manufacturing hub” for Israeli weapons in Pardubice to end its role in the “genocide in Gaza.”
Czech defence firm LPP Holding in a statement on its website said it had confirmed that a fire broke out at one of its facilities on Friday and it was cooperating with authorities.
The company, with a location in the complex, announced plans in 2023 to cooperate with Israeli company Elbit Systems on drone production.
“At this time, we will not speculate on the causes or circumstances of the incident and will await the official conclusions of the investigation,” LPP said.
Police initially said they were investigating whether the fire was intentional and checking public claims of a “concrete group,” without naming it.
They later said investigators with security services were probing the incident under a section of the criminal code dealing with terrorism.
“Based on what we know so far, it is likely the incident may be related to a terrorist attack,” Interior Minister Lubomir Metnar said.