I woke up last night barely being able to breath, hearing sounds of bombs and ammunition. Luckily, I was in my own bed in Pikesville, and it was only the news blaring in the background.
Born in Odessa to two parents who both lived through the horrific German invasion and massacre of 1941 – all the stories I’ve grown up with came rushing back. These past two weeks have triggered memories that many of us have wanted to forget and never imagined that we would be reliving again in our lifetime.
In 1975, I too was a refugee, seeking asylum from the oppressive, antisemitic, dictatorship of the former Soviet Union regime – the difference, I was not fleeing a country under attack. Nevertheless, the anguish of leaving behind loved ones, with no money to your name, and all your worldly possessions, seems almost unimaginable to me today.
I still wonder, how we muscled the courage to do it. However, looking at my fellow Ukrainians today, I now know the power of my countrymen and women – we are made of fortitude and grit.
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