This Jewish family became refugees because of the Russia war — twice

A man stands on the rubble of a house destroyed by recent shelling during Ukraine-Russia conflict in Kharkiv, Ukraine March 7, 2022.

Boris Bezubov and his family are refugees twice over. They fled the Donbas region in 2014 when conflict erupted in the breakaway Ukrainian province. When the conflagration expanded with the 2022 Russian invasion, the Bezubov family again had to leave behind their lives, escaping the beleaguered city of Kharkiv to Poltava.

The family had lived in a village near the city of Donetsk, to where Boris commuted to his job as a teacher at the university.

Boris said that he grew up there attending Jewish after school programs where they would learn about their heritage and tradition.

In 2014, “different military people appeared and it became chaotic,” he recalled.

Donetsk Jews who could leave, did, but those who couldn’t, such as many of the elderly, stayed. One of them was Boris’ grandfather. Conditions were difficult in the area; Boris had managed to go back to visit him, and found the 90-year-old living without running water.

The refugee absorption center set up by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee for Jews from Ukraine and Romania. (credit: JDC)

The refugee absorption center set up by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee for Jews from Ukraine and Romania. (credit: JDC)

Volunteer workers from Hesed, a charitable network for the former Soviet Union formed by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, have been helping his grandfather, according to Boris.

The family’s history

Fleeing Donetsk in 2014, the Bezubov family attempted to settle in the calm parts of Ukraine, though they still had hoped that the situation would stabilize back home.

Boris said that many people in the rest of the country “didn’t think it would spread to wider territories,” but he notes that if a city is just 50 kilometers away, “anything is possible.”

His university moved to Mariupol, but Boris believed that the conflict could eventually expand to there, which it did, the city being captured by Russia in May 2022 after heavy fighting. Boris’ wife went to Kharkiv where she had family. Boris would spend half of his week in Mariupol, and half in Kharkiv. The new commute was logistically very complicated – the railroads passed through Donbas, so he was forced to use buses and taxis, while also navigating military checkpoints.

There was little improvement when the university moved again to Kramatorsk. However, the 2019 COVID pandemic allowed him to stay in Kharkiv more often, since everyone was learning online.

In 2015, Hesed launched support for internally displaced Jews in Kharkiv, helping families purchase food. Boris also got back in touch with his Jewish roots, connecting to the Kharkiv Jewish community through Jewish cinema, theater, and different holiday events.

The family’s life in Kharkiv did not last, however. In 2022, Boris saw fireballs rising from the airport. He understood there was a crisis, and just how widespread it was when his wife called him saying something was happening in the city. They lived in a district that was hit hard in the initial attack. On the city outskirts, as the Russian forces approached, “so many houses were destroyed,” he lamented.

In the first days of the invasion the shops closed, and those that remained open didn’t have goods or had long lines.

His six-month-old daughter Carolina – he remembers her sitting up for the first time around that time – was sick, but it was difficult to buy medicine, because the pharmacies weren’t receiving shipments.

“I felt that we should leave and find a way to survive,” he said.

Leaving Kharkiv was not easy. There was no public transportation and taxis wouldn’t venture into his part of the city. The family seized their opportunity when relatives fleeing with a car had two spare seats. They decided to escape with them, leaving behind almost all of their belongings, taking along only essentials like diapers. They fled to Poltava, which at the time was the nearest relatively safe town. They again hoped it would be temporary.

It proved difficult to find a place to live, especially with rent prices so high. In 2022 when the university stopped working for two months – offering no salary, just stipends – it was “barely enough for food, let alone everything else.” After beginning to receive a limited salary, he still needed Hesed’s help to pay the rent, due to inflation.

“I want to give a huge thank you because I know things are difficult in Israel and the rest of the world,” Boris said to those who donated to charities helping Jews in Ukraine.

Boris said that charity is an important part of Jewish community life, which is why in Poltava he began to volunteer with Hesed. He helps with manual labor that a man is needed for, such as unloading boxes and delivering wheelchairs to the elderly.

He is also a regular blood donor; he tried to get his blood delivered to Israel when October 7 occurred, but it wasn’t possible. And there was too much demand for it from the Russia-Ukraine frontlines.

Boris said that everyone deals with the stresses of war differently, and as a man, he was stressed to provide for his family.

Boris’ wife doesn’t leave the house much. She feels the need to protect their daughter, so she stays with her at home and doesn’t let her go to kindergarten.

The family misses their old life; they tried to move back to Kharkiv, but it was still too dangerous, with “too many explosions,” and infrastructure in ruins.

They still hold on to a hope that the future will hold a return to their home town of Kharkiv, or even to Donetsk.

In the meantime, Boris takes solace in the past. He proudly shows documents detailing his family’s history. He showed copies of his great-grandmother Eda Zeidel’s identification, which shows that she was born in 1907. Her nationality is listed as “Jewish.” She was from a big family with traditional roots, but grew up during a period of revolution, her great-grandson said, and it was not good to display and live a traditional Jewish life.

“People were afraid of pogroms during these times,” Boris said.

Jews were only allowed to live in certain areas, and his great-grandmother lived in Mykolaiv, a territory where there was always uncertainty about their residency status. They lived in stress about the possibility of leaving, a worry he now understands all too well.

The next generation, which lived all their lives in the Soviet Union, also learned to hide their Jewish identity. Boris remembers his grandfather saying how difficult it was to preserve the memory of family and tradition. He was proud that he was able to save documents of his family.

“It’s important as a Jew to preserve these stories and memories,” said Boris.

Carolina, now three and a half, walked into the bedroom with a toy in her hand. Her father was uncertain about the future, but hoped for the best.

In the future, it will be her turn to pass on the memories of her family’s history, tradition, and flight from marauding forces – a Jewish story as old as the Jewish people themselves.