War in our lifetime

When you arrive on the border of a war zone, you expect to be doing a certain kind of work. You could understand my perso

nal frustration when I was placed for the day as psycho trauma personal for the Moldovan synagogue / United Hatzalah of Israel headquarters, where countless refugees of all faiths and creeds are being housed and fed, until they either fly to Israel or move onto their next destination. They are safe and free from bombings, but the conditions are not easy for anyone.

So I decided to do what I do best, chat with people. Somewhere between my Hebrew and English and their Russian, we find a way - because human is human.

I am a therapist which says two things about me;

1. I often hear sad stories

2. I look for places of repair or healing.

And yet… what do you say to a 15 year old girl who has lost her home, said goodbye to her father, is living essentially on a random mattress in an over crowded room with one small bag, waiting for a train to Germany - she thinks.

She is grateful for the “Jewish” who have given her where to be, cries every time we offer her a blanket or food.

School? Friends? Home?These are things of some other life that is no longer hers.

The elderly? I don’t even know where to begin. They are fragile and frail and at a stage of life where becoming a refugee overnight is still a reality they cannot contain. Eyes brim red with tears barely held at bay. Their is a grief that has no where to go. It’s hard for me to look in their eyes.

There is Lara with her son Kirrel, they are not Jewish and don’t want to go to israel, they are trying to wait out the war so they can go home. They have little money. We have no idea how she got to the synagogue - but they are here and Lara volunteers in the kitchen to pay her way. Kirell is super cute and super bored - so the hatzala team try and play soccer with him and the inadequate ball.

Lara confides In me that she can’t find shoes for Kirell, even though we have a room full of donated clothes - nothing is his shoe size. He has blisters on his feet.

I slip her some cash, she refuses 3 times… only when I explain to her that she can pay it forward does she concede… she has difficulty making eye contact for the rest of the day.

And then there is Iryna - in the world of crazy Jewish Geography she is moving to my city, her uncle lives 3 streets away from my home. She is a Doctor of psychology, comes from upper class Ukraine- traveling with her 10 year old twin girls and unable to speak about her beloved husband who she has left behind.

She is so grateful that they have beds even if they are in the dinning room!

We become instant friends - she is funky as anything and a rockstar, by the end of the day she is using her english and Ukrainian to help almost everyone around.

I message my Israeli friends - she

cries when I tell her there is a tribe waiting to meet her.

I see them onto the bus the next day, we hug and cry… I’ll see you in Israel, your people are waiting for you!

I didn’t realize that the border is just mid way through the story of a life not fitting for any human being. Yesterday was a privilege, a smile or a warm word from me - was met with such gratitude and yet I was keenly aware of my endless tears and the frustration that I couldn’t repair or heal.