Like most of us, my thoughts these days have been on Ukraine and the horrific slaughter that is happening there. Even though I have no memory of it, Ukraine is the country of my birth. In October 1943, when I was only four and a half months old, our family had to leave under similar circumstances as people are leaving now -- very quickly and with only the barest necessities. We were fortunate to be able to travel by train, as many fled on foot and died en route. Death and destruction were everywhere but I was safely tucked away at my mother's breast, unaware of the danger in which we found ourselves. My two-year-old brother was probably more aware, as were my parents, my grandmother, and my two teenage uncles travelling with us.
That was a long time ago. In 2012 Hardy and I went to Poland and Ukraine to visit the countries of our birth. I will never forget Kyiv and its ornate monasteries that looked like something out of a fairy tale with their colorful domes.
The Monastery of the Caves has a special memory for me. I somehow got separated from the tour group but found my way back. The Ukrainian guide told me that the group was inside the caves and that I would find my friends there. I wandered around in the labyrinth of mummified bodies and felt pure panic and claustrophobia. Finally, I saw the light of day and the tour group was already outside! I was so happy to return to the land of the living! It felt like a resurrection!
