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Dramatic stories of survival, endurance and escape reign as Ukrainian Jews mark 1 year of war
(JTA) — Most of the passengers on the flight from Chisinua, Moldova, to Tel Aviv earlier this month were subdued.
Some had just witnessed scene after scene of hardship on a tour of war-torn Ukraine organized by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. Others, about 90 in all, were Ukrainians in the process of moving permanently to Israel, talking in hushed tones about being on a plane for the first time, their uncertain future and the loved ones they left behind.
Alexei Shkurat was not subdued.
Bespectacled and bearded, he was standing in his seat, making wisecracks that caused the elderly woman in the seat next to him to guffaw despite herself.
“I like joking and communicating. It’s my life, why waste it being nervous?” Shkurat told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in English.
“And anyway, I’m happy, happy, happy I will soon see my sons again,” he added.
Switching to Russian, Shkurat’s brow furrowed and his voice lowered when he recounted how, on Feb. 28, 2022, he had risked his life to transport his sons, 14 and 12, to the border with Poland with their mother and grandmother. From there they would move to Israel.
Shkurat could not go with them. The borders were closed for military-aged men, so Shkurat was forced to drive back to his hometown of Odessa. What happened next, as he recounts it, was harrowing: As he passed an empty field near Lviv, he encountered two Ukrainian soldiers, their AK-74 rifles trained on him. Shkurat raised his hands and was told to step out of his vehicle. He knew that if he made one false move, he would be shot.
The soldiers searched the car and interrogated him, asking him why he was traveling alone after curfew and even asking if he was a Russian spy. Shkurat later learned that 40 Russian paratroopers had recently landed in the area and had stolen ambulances and police cars. He answered the soldiers in Russian, which only raised their suspicions. Ukrainian is the dominant language in western Ukraine, but as a Jew from Odessa, Shkurat’s native tongue is Russian.
“I was terrified. I know that they were only doing their job, but the situation was so scary. Everything I ever knew in life had changed,” he said.
Catch up on all of JTA’s coverage of the Ukraine War here.
By a considerable stroke of luck, Shkurat, a street artist, was able to prove his identity by showing the soldiers his Instagram page, filled with posts of his art in locations all over Odessa.
But according to Shkurat, the story was far from over. The next chapter of his life was far more hair-raising, he said. Pressed on the details, Shkurat grinned and switched back to English.
“I can’t tell you a thing,” he said. “I want to sell the story to Netflix.”
Whatever cinematic experience Shkurat might have had, his fellow passengers surely had made-for-the-movies stories of their own. They had made it through nearly a year of war before deciding to move to Israel, making them the latest of 5,000 new immigrants from Ukraine facilitated by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, working in collaboration with Israeli government entities such as Nativ and the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration. Approximately 15,000 Ukrainians in total have immigrated, or made aliyah, in the last year.
Ukrainian Jewish refugees who fled the war in their country wait on a bus upon arrival at Ben Gurion Airport near Tel Aviv, on an airlift of medically needy passengers made possible by the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, Dec. 22, 2022. (Gil Cohen-Magen/AFP via Getty Images)
According to the group’s vice president, Gidi Schmerling, if there is any upside to the war from Israel’s perspective, it’s that many middle-class Ukrainians — doctors, engineers and high-tech employees — who wouldn’t have otherwise made aliyah are now choosing to do so.
But IFCJ’s mandate also includes the Jews who stayed behind. Since Russian tanks first rumbled across the border a year ago, the group has raised more than $30 million dollars — primarily from evangelical Christians from North America and Korea — for the main Jewish organizations in Ukraine including the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC, and Chabad. (Both groups do extensive fundraising of their own.) This week, the anniversary of Russia’s invasion, it announced another $4 million in planned spending.
In Odessa, more than 7,000 people currently receive aid from IFJC via local Jewish groups. The Jewish community, once 50,000 strong, now stands at 20,000, according to the city’s chief rabbi, Avraham Wolff. Seven thousand food packages are distributed every month in Chabad centers. Many of the beneficiaries are older — among them some 187 Holocaust survivors — but not all. Several hundred are people who were displaced from surrounding cities, such as Mykolaiv, which was hit much harder by Russian shells, and some are the so-called new poor, those for whom the war has plunged into poverty from loss of income and rising inflation.
Ala Yakov Livne, an 86-year-old widow, is one of many who lined up recently to receive a box with oil, flour and other basic necessities. For Livne, the part that stings most about the last year is the sense of betrayal.
“[The Russians] were our neighbors. Many of them were our friends,” she said.
“Times have changed but some things never change,” Livne went on. “Back then, we were under occupation under the Nazis, back then, they tried to kill us, and now again, we are under occupation and they are trying to destroy us.”
Yelena Kuklova survived the Holocaust by being hidden by non-Jewish neighbors. “We started our lives in war and we’re finishing them in war,” she said. (Deborah Danan)
It was a refrain that would be repeated several times over the ensuing days. In a trembling voice, 85-year-old Holocaust survivor Yelena Kuklova, who as a child was hidden by her non-Jewish neighbors in a suitcase in a closet, echoed the sentiment.
“They killed us then because we were Jews. They are killing us today because we are Ukrainian,” she said, a slow cascade of tears spilling over her cheekbones. “We started our lives in war and we’re finishing them in war.”
And so it was in battle-scarred Mykolaiv, 140 kilometers northeast of Odessa. “What the Germans never managed to do, the Russians did,” said Eli Ben Mendel Hopstein, standing in front of his building, pockmarked from the shrapnel of a Russian missile.
Inside his home, Hopstein rifled through decades-old photos of himself in the navy. “I know danger,” he said, “and I don’t feel it now.” He describes himself as a proud Jew. “First, I am a Jew, then I am Ukrainian, and I never once hid this from anyone.”
Mykolaiv, pro-Russia before the war and now a vanguard of the south, has become a source of pride for its residents because of Russia’s failure to occupy it. Even before the war, Mykolaiv was a desperately poor city. But now, following eight months of daily explosions, destruction is everywhere and the city’s critical infrastructure has been badly damaged.
Damaged buildings are a common sight in Mykolaiv, which Russian troops pummeled during the first year of the war. So are people lining up for potable water. (Deborah Danan)
Like Odessa, the city has no electricity for up to 22 hours a day. For more than half a year, large swaths of the city had no water at all. Today, residents can turn on the tap and get a murky brown liquid known as technical water, but it is far from potable. For drinking and cooking, they are forced to collect safe water in plastic gallon bottles at water stations all over the city, many of which were installed by the Israeli nonprofit IsraAID.
Scenes of people placing buckets outside their houses in the hope of catching rainwater became ubiquitous in Mykolaiv. For its Jewish contingent, Chabad provides truckloads of bottled water. Hopstein credits the IFCJ and Chabad for keeping him alive.
“If it wasn’t for their help, I would have nothing,” he said.
Across the road from Hopstein, 82-year-old Galina Petrovna Mironenko, who is not Jewish, is not so lucky. A Russian S300 missile that appeared to be targeting a nearby university missed its mark and struck Mironenko’s home, decimating her every earthly possession. Mironenko said the only help she gets is a weekly loaf of bread from the government. Standing in her charred kitchen, her red and blue checkered headscarf offering the only color, Mironenko’s expression is almost childlike — a jarring contrast to the words she utters.
Galina Petrovna Mironenko stands in the wreckage of her home in Mykolaiv, destroyed by a Russian missile. Her Jewish neighbor credits aid from Jewish organizations for keeping him alive. (Deborah Danan)
“I have died three times in my life,” she said. “Once when my father died, again when my son died and a third time after the 20 minutes it took for my house to burn.”
Back in Odessa, the sun has set and the city is cloaked in darkness, a cue that soon it will be time to head indoors for the nightly curfew. But first, a visit to the Orlikovsky family who are packing their suitcases ahead of their emigration the next day. On the couch in the tiny living room sit four generations of Jews: Alina; her daughter, Marina; her grandson Andrey; and Andrey’s wife and daughter Viktoria and Sofiya.
Andrey recalls Feb. 24, 2022. “I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. I heard a terrible blast and grabbed my daughter and told my wife, ‘Let’s get out!’ I thought my house was going to collapse like a doll’s house.”
Participants of the Hanukkah celebration in Kharkiv, northeastern Ukraine, received a hot meal — part of the sustained aid that Jewish communities have distributed throughout the war there, Dec. 18, 2022. (Vyacheslav Madiyevskyi / Ukrinform/Future Publishing via Getty Images)
But it would take nearly a year to finally make the move, because of Viktoria’s late mother who was sick and because, in Andrey’s words, “you get used to the bombs.”
“We live without power, we live without heating, very often there is no hot water. We are living like insects,” Alina said. “My children told me, mama, we need to go.”
When the family finished speaking, the electricity came back and the lights turned on. Sofiya, 5 years old, laughed into her mother’s chest.
The first anniversary of the war marks two weeks since Alexei Shkurat and the other 89 new arrivals were greeted on the tarmac of Ben Gurion Airport by Israel’s new immigration minister, Ofir Sofer. Shkurat is on the lookout for a permanent home in a place where he can sell his art.
“I am getting to know the country and looking for new friends,” he said. “I want to do a lot of beautiful and bright projects. I want to draw a lot,” he said.
He deeply misses Odessa, which he called an amazing city, but being reunited with his sons has soothed the pain.
“Meeting with my children was the best event of the last year,” he said.
—
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They want Jewish life without Zionism. Now they’re building the institutions to match.
(JTA) — One year after Jewish Currents editor-at-large Arielle Angel called for “new Jewish institutions” that have no attachment to Israel or Zionism, more than 100 Jews crammed into a Victorian house-turned-event space in central Brooklyn in hopes of creating them.
The event was billed as a bootcamp for people hoping to get fledgling Jewish groups off the ground. Sessions focused on topics like staffing and funding, as well as discussions about who, exactly, is welcome in a space that is “anti-Zionist,” “non-Zionist,” “diasporist” and the like.
Many of the groups represented on Monday were minyans, which host prayer services in locations like people’s apartments or community spaces. They sought practical guidance for building their institutions, but also for defining who to welcome as their ranks expand.
“If we’re doing things right,” Angel said, “many of these small minyans will be synagogues in a few years.”
Esti, 27, who declined to share her last name to maintain privacy, is involved in leading an anti-Zionist minyan in Brooklyn. She said she has heard from “so many” attendees that they were relieved to attend services in a space without an Israeli flag.
“People are like, ‘I never thought I could be in a Jewish space like this, I never thought I’d see queer people leading, I never thought I could be in a Jewish space where they’re saying Free Palestine,’” she said. The minyan averages about 50 attendees at Shabbat services, she said.
Some of the speakers at the workshop detailed how they have refused to compromise their organizations’ politics. One panel led by Rabbi Brant Rosen, who helped found the anti-Zionist synagogue Tzedek Chicago, and Rebecca Vilkomerson, the former director of the anti-Zionist group, Jewish Voice for Peace, focused on the process of setting an organization’s “political boundaries.”
Rosen spoke from his own experience, saying that Tzedek Chicago was presented as “consciously not an inclusive community.”
“In other words, this is what we stand for, it might not be for you, it might not be for everyone, and that’s OK. There are many places out there that you can choose,” he said. Rosen added that potential members were not forced to agree in order to join, but rather that they were faced with the question: “Given that these are our values, is this a community you want to belong to?”
Esti spoke to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency on the sideline of the Urbane Arts Club event, which JTA attended on the condition that attendees’ in-session remarks throughout the day were kept off the record, though panelists’ remarks were all on the record.
Americans’ support for Israel has dropped writ large amid its military campaign in Gaza and the war with Iran. A survey by the Jewish Federations of North America found that 37% of Jewish respondents said they identified as Zionist, while 7% labeled themselves anti-Zionist and another 8% said they were non-Zionist. Another 18% said they weren’t sure, while 30% said none of the labels described them.
According to an AP-NORC poll from earlier this year, support for Israel is a less significant component of younger Jews’ religious identity versus Jews older than 45.
“These groups are starting up because of demand,” Rabbi Alissa Wise told JTA.
Wise is a co-founder of the Jewish Diaspora Movement, the group behind Monday’s bootcamp, which is itself in its beginning stages. She has previously worked for JVPe and in October 2023 founded Rabbis for Ceasefire, which has protested for a Gaza ceasefire and an end to U.S. military aid to Israel.
While JVP “played a pivotal role in building Jewish life outside of Zionism,” Wise said there was still a major gap in religious and cultural Jewish institutions that reject Zionism.
In addition to the represented minyans, which facilitate prayer services, and the havurahs, which offer events such as Shabbat dinners and other holiday celebrations, Angel said some attendees were looking to start projects including summer camps, educational offerings and cultural projects such as theater collectives.
Jen Kaminsky, an attendee who is part of the Buffalo Jewish Collective’s leadership team, told JTA that her organization welcomes “a range of Jews, many of whom have not felt comfortable in legacy Jewish institutions.”
“We say that we welcome anti-Zionists and non-Zionists, and people who are questioning Zionism and people who have a range of relationships to Zionism,” Kaminsky said. “If you are comfortable with the values that we put out, or you’re comfortable being in a room where those values are the dominant values, we welcome you.”
Vilkomerson told the group that there should be an attempt to grow membership by engaging people closer to the center in “left-liberal coalitions,” but without making concessions on left-wing values. She put the concept into New York City political terms, pointing to the political alliance between the anti-Zionist Mayor Zohran Mamdani and the liberal Zionist Brad Lander.
“Brad, as a liberal Zionist, was able to partner with Zohran Mamdani — but Zohran set the terms of the campaign, not Brad,” she said.
Also on Monday, Lissy Romanow — a co-founder of the group IfNotNow, which describes itself as “anti-occupation” — gave a nuts-and-bolts session on the first steps of creating an organization, including how to concisely conceive of a group’s DNA and how to avoid burnout among volunteers.
As groups look to grow and achieve loftier goals like setting up permanent locations and hiring paid staff, one clear obstacle stands in the way: funding.
“There’s only so much money on the Jewish left,” Angel told JTA.
Any anti-Zionist group is highly unlikely to receive funds from one of the country’s many Jewish federations, which often maintain deep ties to Israel.
Three left-wing Jewish donors — Liana Krupp, Deborah Sagner and Kathleen Peratis — spoke on Monday about the limited landscape of funding for Jewish anti-Zionist organizations.
“If we don’t flip liberal Zionists we’re not going to grow, because that’s where the money is,” Peratis said.
Participants on Monday, whose groups are mostly volunteer-run, did not have any illusions about that landscape.
“For now, the goal is to keep doing Shabbat in a sustainable way on a regular basis,” Esti said. But she also shared her long-term vision.
“I think it would be amazing to have a brick-and-mortar shul, a place we could call our definitive home,” she said. “But that’s way, way far down the line.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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After bronze win, judo athlete Raz Hershko tells JTA, ‘I stand for something far bigger than myself.’
(JTA) — Israeli judoka Raz Hershko, one of the country’s top athletes, missed a major opportunity in 2025 when the 12-day war between Israel and Iran closed Israeli airspace, preventing her from traveling to Budapest. Earlier this year, she withdrew from the Tashkent Grand Slam after the Shin Bet ordered the Israeli team to leave Uzbekistan.
But nothing could keep Hershko off the podium this weekend, when she won a bronze medal at the World Judo Championships in Baku, Azerbaijan.
Hershko, 28, burst into tears after winning the bout that secured her medal.
“Representing Israel has always been something that moves me, but at this moment, it carries so much more meaning,” Hershko told JTA. “At the end of the day, I step onto the mat alone, but I feel like I have an entire country behind me.”
Hershko dedicated her victory to the memory of Yonatan Gutin, an Israeli soldier killed on Oct. 7, 2023, as well as his family and the people of Israel.
According to his official memorial page, Gutin, a 20-year-old Israel Defense Forces officer, was killed fighting to rescue civilians during the battle for Kibbutz Be’eri. Judo was a central part of his life. He had trained in the sport for about 14 years and was a member of Israel’s cadet national team. Even during his military service, he occasionally returned to his judo club to coach.
Despite the achievement, Hershko made clear that bronze was not the result she had hoped for.
“I’m pretty disappointed that the day ended with a bronze medal, because I was aiming for gold,” she said. “But now it’s time to look ahead to the next goals.”
Hershko has established herself in recent years as one of the world’s leading judokas and one of Israel’s most prominent athletes. She won an individual silver medal at the 2024 Paris Olympics and a gold medal at the 2024 European Championships. She competes in the women’s heavyweight division.
Her latest achievement came just days after Israel marked the third anniversary of the Oct. 7 Hamas-led attacks, a date that has continued to shape the country’s public life and weigh heavily on its athletes competing abroad.
“Knowing that I was able to give people back home even a few moments of happiness, a smile, a sense of pride — that means so much to me. Especially during the times we’re going through, these are the moments that remind me why I do what I do,” she added.
The judoka said that “everything has felt different since Oct. 7” and that she can’t “disconnect” herself from the Israeli reality.
“Before that, I would go into competitions feeling immense pride in representing my country,” she said. “Today, that pride is even stronger. I’m much more aware of what the flag I wear represents, and of the fact that I stand for something far bigger than myself.”
Hershko, however, has little time to dwell on the medal. She told Channel 13 that she would take two days off before returning to training ahead of another competition next week. Asked by JTA how she has managed to stay hungry and focused after achieving so much, the Israeli athlete said she simply enjoys the journey.
“I really love what I do. I love judo, I love competing, I love the challenges, and I think that’s what keeps me hungry,” she said. “Of course, I’m proud of everything I’ve achieved, but I never feel like I’m done or that there’s nothing left to strive for. At the end of the day, the medals are incredible moments, but the journey is what builds me as an athlete, and I’m still enjoying that journey.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Jewish school educators cancel trip to Italy after Italian education program required participants to denounce ‘genocide’ in Gaza
(JTA) — Educators from Jewish schools across the U.S. canceled a study trip to Reggio Emilia, Italy, over whether the hosts would require participants to formally distance themselves from Israel’s actions in Gaza and the West Bank.
The controversy has drawn accusations of antisemitism from Jewish educators and from Italian Jewish community leaders. It has also sparked a political dispute in Italy.
In an email sent to participants on Oct. 9, the American organizers, the Paradigm Project, said they canceled the trip because of “antisemitic pressure being placed on the group.” In a Zoom call with the participants, the organizers also cited safety concerns amid the scrutiny of the Jewish school educators’ personal profiles by pro-Palestinian activists who were agitating for the declaration, a participant said.
In a leaked audio recording broadcast Monday evening by Italy’s Tg3 TV news program, the president of the host organization Reggio Children, Maddalena Tedeschi, discussed asking participants to sign declarations distancing themselves from the “occupation of territories and genocide.” The recording is of an Oct. 6 meeting of the city’s early childhood education council.
In an interview with the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, Reggio Children spokesperson Francesca Severini said the request — intended to appease local pro-Palestinian activists — had never become an official participation requirement, but acknowledged that the additional wording had been discussed.
The Paradigm Project, a professional development network for Jewish early childhood educators, organized the trip for 68 Jewish educators. A separate delegation of 22 educators from Israel arrived in Reggio and was participating in the program this week.
“Now, more than ever, we must bring back the light and keep the bridge between us strong,” the Israeli educators said in opening remarks Monday.
Reggio Children, an educational organization partly owned by the municipality, promotes the city’s internationally influential approach to early childhood education and provides training for educators. Reggio Emilia Mayor Marco Massari and the city’s education official Marwa Mahmoud did not respond to requests for comment.
The cancellation, which came in a phone call from Paradigm to Reggio Children on Oct. 7, follows months of tensions in the city, where pro-Palestinian activists had protested the participating schools’ ties to Israel. During the weeks preceding the trip, activist Cosimo Pederzoli had publicly accused some of the schools of supporting the Israeli military.
At the Oct. 6 meeting, Reggio Children presented a charter, titled “For a Democratic and Participatory Education,” asking visiting groups and partners to uphold human rights, oppose discrimination, reject war, and condemn genocide. The charter, which was approved and is now on the organization’s website, also opposes violations of human rights in occupied territories worldwide, without naming Israel or Gaza.
Severini, the spokesperson, said that activists, teachers and parents had pressured Reggio Children and the municipality to take the charter one step further and requiring participants to agree to the statement: “I … hereby declare that I distance myself from the occupation of Gaza and the violation of children’s and human beings’ rights in occupied territories as well as every place in the world.”
Severini said that the wording was included as “material for discussion” in a private WhatsApp group. The American organizers were not in the chat, she said, and subsequently received the wording without the context that it would not, in the end, be official language.
Her account contradicts Reggio Children’s earlier public statements. On Oct. 7, the organization acknowledged that the educators had been asked to explicitly distance themselves from the policies of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government in response to concerns raised in the city. Mayor Marco Massari also acknowledged the additional commitment in a public statement, which says, “This Charter will be signed by all delegations visiting Reggio Emilia in the coming months and years.”
In an email to parents, leaders of Wilshire Boulevard Temple’s early childhood centers in Los Angeles said seven of their educators had been scheduled to join the trip and expressed support for Paradigm’s decision to cancel.
“Paradigm, on behalf of our educators and dozens of others, rightfully refused and canceled participation in the study tour and conference, due to the refusal to sign and other security considerations,” read the email. “All participants were notified on October 7, 2026.”
Pesha Kletenik, head of Manhattan Day School, had planned to join the trip. “This was one of the most painful experiences I’ve had,” Kletenik told JTA. “I never felt so targeted as a Jew before in my life. I’m an American citizen. I have one passport. I’ve lived here my entire life.”
Kletenik said she had hoped to adapt the Reggio approach to Jewish teaching and practice, including their model Passover seder, because “it aligns so beautifully with Jewish values.”
Steve Freedman, head of Solomon Schechter Day School of Bergen County, New Jersey, said his school withdrew an educator from a separate trip planned for November. In a letter to families, he criticized the demand for a political declaration while affirming the school’s commitment to the Reggio approach.
The council of the Jewish Community of Modena and Reggio Emilia, a single institution based in nearby Modena that serves both cities, condemned efforts to boycott educational and cultural initiatives involving Jews. It described the conflation of diaspora Jews with Israel’s government as antisemitic.
The Reggio Emilia approach, developed after World War II by educator Loris Malaguzzi and local families, places children’s exploration, expression, and participation at the center of early childhood learning. It gained wider international recognition after Newsweek named one of the city’s preschools among the world’s 10 best schools in 1991.
Severini said Reggio Children’s relationships with American Jewish and Israeli educators stretch back roughly three decades. The Israeli liaison first visited in 1996, she said, and educators from Reggio have also traveled to the United States and Israel.
The organization has hosted educators from all over the world, Severini said, including China, Russia, and Iran. She said she knew of no comparable controversy involving other visiting groups, including previous delegations from Jewish schools.
Reggio Children, she said, hoped to continue its dialogue with the American educators. For Manhattan Day School’s Kletenik, the cancellation stood in stark contrast with the educational values that had drawn her to the approach.
“How are we to navigate rejection by the very experts we collectively idealized—the gatekeepers of the sensitive worldviews and teachings we trusted to nurture our most tender children?” she wrote in a message to her school’s board.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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