There are disparities: Jim, 78, is city-bred from Minneapolis; I’m a farm boy from southern Ohio, about a decade younger. Jim collects fine art from around the world; I accrue McDonald’s wrappers on the floor of my car. Jim is a devout Jew; I’m an evangelical Christian. But over the course of our 25-year friendship, we have generally found ourselves in agreement.
The Russia-Ukraine war is an exception.
I believe that Russia’s hostilities are appalling, and that the United States should ally itself with Ukraine to every reasonable degree. But I’m concerned that threats facing our own country are being given short shrift while we focus attention and resources on a long-simmering European conflict. The United States should not be — can scarcely afford to be — the world’s cop.
Jim has a more visceral response. When not biting his lip during our disagreements, he has unleashed tirades against Vladimir Putin, the attack on Ukraine and the duty of the free world — especially the United States — to repudiate Russia’s aggression at any cost short of American troops on the ground.
I wondered: As closely aligned as we were on most topics, how could we be so far apart on Ukraine? Why did Jim seem to have an almost personal stake in that faraway war?
I was about to gain a deeper understanding.
Slightly over a year ago, Jim’s wife of 52 years, Carol, passed away after a long battle with ovarian cancer. A retired professor of art history, Carol was a soft-spoken woman whose gentle good humor and courage throughout her illness were inspiring, and for the seven years following her diagnosis Jim devoted himself to her care.
Since her death, Jim had at times seemed restless and unsettled. Increasingly, his ruminations focused on the news coming from Ukraine: the successes and setbacks, the debates in Congress over funding and military aid.
Then, this past January, Jim gave voice to an idea that had clearly been bouncing around his head for a while. During a casual lunch, he suddenly announced, “I’m thinking of going to Ukraine.” He reiterated his views on the war, but nothing he said helped me understand how his presence in Ukraine — at considerable financial expense and personal risk — could make a difference.
In an email a few days later, Jim wrote: “This video clip is reason enough for me to go.”
A link led to a video of the Ukrainian army choir somberly singing the Hebrew song, “Eli Eli” (“My God, My God”) on International Holocaust Remembrance Day. It was performed at the ravines of Babyn Yar, where, as an essay in Time magazine described it this year, “33,771 Jewish men, women and children (were) forced to dig the pits where their warm corpses would be piled, still shivering, not quite dead” in one of the worst massacres of the Holocaust.
Jim shared the story of how a poem by the Hungarian Jewish partisan Hannah Szenes was turned into song, and added, “I’ve never heard it done in a more moving fashion — and from non-Jews who are in the midst of their own fight for freedom.” Unsure about restrictions on entering Ukraine, he added, “If they will let me, I’m going. Hopefully, they will let me go all the way to Kyiv so I can visit Babyn Yar.”
Soon after, Jim announced that he was proceeding with his plans. He engaged a travel agent who helped him make contacts within the country for lodging and other logistical assistance. To ensure he had the stamina for the journey, he did a test run, making a solo, 12-day car trip to visit friends in New England.
Over the spring and summer, we often discussed his plans. There were times when I thought — when I hoped — the news coming from the region of conflict and carnage might dissuade him. But while I sensed at times that he was anxious about the unknown, he never reconsidered his decision. In mid-August, he boarded a plane in Cincinnati for the first leg of his journey to Ukraine.
On Aug. 16, Jim sent the following email to a few close acquaintances:
At 11:10 local time, after more than six months of planning and anticipation, I cleared passport control and stepped foot on to Ukrainian soil.
I don’t know what will happen over the next three days; to some extent, that is mere detail. What matters is that I’m here.
I decided to come to Ukraine for no other reason than to show my support for the Ukrainian people as they battle Putin’s naked aggression. I believe that what is happening here may well be one of the defining moments of our time. A vital chapter in the never ending struggle between freedom and tyranny.
It’s time to take sides.
I was relieved to get this news, though still concerned for his health and safety. But Jim was on a mission, and he wasted no time fulfilling one of his goals. The next day, he wrote to us again:
Today was one of most emotional since I began this journey, and it had nothing to do with the Ukraine-Russian war. I visited BabynYar. … Like many of my generation, the holocaust was an indirect experience. Friends whose parents wore the tattoos that marked them guests of the Nazis at Auschwitz; friends who had siblings or relatives that died during the Shoah. This was my first direct encounter with an actual Nazi killing field. It was painful.
Jim and I had discussed the Holocaust many times, including conversations about the works in his art collection that are centered on it. Upon visiting Babyn Yar, “it was painful” was all he needed to say.
Over the next several days, Jim described the paradox of Kyiv seeming at times an ordinary, bustling city, with crowded restaurants and normal daily activities — only to be interrupted by vivid reminders of the dangers lurking at every doorstep. One photo he emailed to us was of a partially collapsed apartment building that had been struck by a drone attack. Five people were killed, Jim wrote, including a young pregnant woman and her husband.
The following day, he emailed a photo that at first seemed to represent a lightr mood: Jim holding a cat and smiling broadly, as was the woman standing next to him. But his accompanying note was more somber.
Alesya runs an animal shelter in a small town not too far from Bucha. She has around 40 cats and six dogs. Soon after the Russian advance had taken Bucha, three volunteers delivered badly needed dog food to Alesya. On their way home they were shot dead by Russian troops for no apparent reason. I’m arranging for a good quantity of dog food to be sent to Alesya in their memory.
I knew well Jim’s love for animals. In the face of the all-consuming horror of war and the sense of helplessness it brings, I was not surprised that he found this small but tangible way to make a difference.
As Jim’s guides showed him various landmarks and told him stories of the bravery of outmanned and outgunned Ukrainian forces, they also were conduits for Jim to poignantly experience the emotions of the war — and leaving him more impressed with the Ukrainians’ resolve.
My tour guide and I were having a good time yesterday. He got a message on his phone. He looked. His eyes teared up. A missile had just hit the center of Chernihiv. A city he knew well. 7 dead including a 6 year old girl. But they refuse to let it govern their lives. They refuse to live scared. In this way they are very much like the Israelis.
Thankfully, Jim remained safe throughout his visit and left the country on Aug. 20 with no real difficulties except a 13-hour ordeal on the Ukrainian side of the border to reenter Poland, involving multiple checkpoints and a random full-vehicle X-ray, which alone took an hour.
En route home, he reflected on his trip and the war in general — including a nod toward a likely endgame that was surely painful for him to suggest.
Ukraine is battling a deeply entrenched Russian force protected by massive minefields that will continue killing Ukrainians long after the war ends. … (Russia’s) supply of manpower and material, even with the crippling Western sanctions, far exceeds that available to Ukraine regardless of the level of western support. …
No matter how much I might wish for a full Ukrainian victory, I just don’t think it is possible. Most likely there will need to be a negotiated settlement and Ukraine’s leaders will need the wisdom and courage to realize they cannot have all they want.
He even acknowledged the possibility of Russian triumph — but insisted that Ukrainian hearts would remain undefeated.
It may be possible that Putin can still defeat Ukraine on the battlefield, especially if support weakens in Washington, but he will not be able to defeat the Ukrainian people. His own aggression has created a unity that is now unbreakable. Now, all Ukrainians, regardless of their home region, readily exchange the same Ukrainian patriotic greeting:
“Slava Ukrayini.” (Glory to the Ukraine.)
The traditional response is: “Heroyam Slava.” (Glory to the heroes.)
After my few days spent in Ukraine, a slightly different response seems equally appropriate:
“Slava narodu Ukrayiny!” (Glory to the Ukrainian people!)
Americans are often guilty of talking past each other. In truth, the extent of U.S. involvement in any foreign conflict is always a source of doubt and conflicting emotions. No one should be demonized for their stance, but, by the same token, we should all be open to changing our minds based on new developments — or new perspectives.
While Jim’s views on Ukraine are much influenced by his Jewish faith and spiritual connection to Israel, they are also grounded in a sense of outrage common to all caring and fair-minded people when horrific injustices are perpetrated on vulnerable populations.
Today, I see the Russia-Ukraine war in ways more nuanced than were possible before a close friend whose views I respect acted on an emotional connection to this battle 6,000 miles away. It leaves me awestruck — and, frankly, still a little bewildered.
But I know this: If a dear friend cares this passionately about something, shouldn’t I at least try to understand his point of view? Shouldn’t we all try harder to comprehend why people often care so deeply about things we don’t easily understand?
I’ve come to realize that Jim’s journey didn’t start this summer when he boarded that plane in Cincinnati. Nor did it begin in February 2022 when Russia invaded Ukraine. Its footprints can be traced to those collective moments in his life when he realized the importance of standing up to be counted. Such moments come to us all, with mixed results.
When Jim traveled to Ukraine, his trip did not make headlines, and few took note of his presence. But after stepping onto Ukrainian soil, he wrote, “I’m here!” When such moments beckon, may we all find the courage to make the same declaration.
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