Most of the world’s population viewing the stunning and heartbreaking images coming from Ukraine after Russia’s unprovoked and horrendous invasion have been moved to sadness, tears, anger or possibly action. My emotions align with those reactions reinforced by the fact that my paternal grandparents and great grandparents arrived in a welcoming Texas from Russia more than 110 years ago.
From the small village of Parichi (pronounced Pa’rich) on the beautiful Berezina River, Chazkell Gorelik (Americanized to Haskell Harelik and later to “Pop”) traveled to Bremen, Germany, buying steerage on a ship to Galveston, Texas and America. My grandfather preceded his bride and his family, sent by his parents to escape the czar’s efforts to kill or conscript into military service young Jewish men. My grandfather had already joined a resistance movement in what is now Belarus and my great-grandparents were sure he would be punished and, thus, be safer in America.
The Jewish population in Russia in the late 1800s was treated poorly. Their rights to certain work and to live in certain areas were limited. The Russian czar’s supporters periodically staged pogroms to threaten the Jews and keep them subservient. It is no wonder so many left Russia for better lives.
I marvel at the courage it must have taken for a poor Jewish young man to leave his family, some of whom he never saw again, and travel to a new country to encounter a new, unknown language, with but a few rubles in his pocket. Upon landing, Pop’s brother-in-law, who had preceded him, found him a job selling bananas on a covered wagon. Learning a few words in English, Pop was off to make his name in the land of opportunity, something he couldn’t have hoped for in Mother Russia. I see that courage amplified today in the spirit of the people of Ukraine.
Had Pop not left for the new world, I can only imagine what he and his family would have faced. The brutality of the Russian government would have been experienced many times over. How fortunate are we, their descendants, that we live in a democracy.
I can’t help but think of my Russian ancestors as I view the daily images: destroyed churches and Holocaust memorials; bombed hospitals; families in bomb shelters; thousands at crowded train stations trying to evacuate from Ukraine; women and children refugees trying to cross Poland’s borders; courageous Jewish Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky speaking to his countrymen as well as to national congresses and parliaments; a young woman playing the piano on a Ukraine town square; a Ukraine military band playing for a city’s courageous patriots; the Ukraine colors adorning world famous buildings and bridges; and the Ukraine flag adorning photos of worldwide Facebook users.
If my grandparents were living, I know they would be proudly flying the American and Ukrainian flags, grateful to be living in the country that welcomed them, reared them and offered them the opportunity to live freely while remembering a land with which they had a kinship. My grandparents never spoke Russian in my presence; they vowed to learn English when they arrived in Texas and not only did so but were also able to eliminate any hint of a Russian accent. Nevertheless, I know they would be completely supportive of Ukraine today.
Their Russian kinship is shared with later Harelik descendants. But for the courage of our grandparents to leave Russia, and the grace of our good Lord, go we. The stories and songs and remembrances of our grandparents were passed to their children and grandchildren. And as the video of that young girl singing “Let It Go” in the Ukrainian bomb shelter came into view, I was reminded of a melody and words my grandparents used to sing. A song reflecting their memories of coming to America and their refugee families who followed, it was called “Di Grine Kuzine,” Yiddish for “Country Cousin”:
Zu mir is gekommen a Kuzine (My country cousin just arrived)
Shayne vie gelt iz zi geven de Grine, (Pretty as gold is she)
Bekelecht vi royten pommerantzen, (With cheeks like red pomegranates)
Fieselech vos beten zich tzum tantzen. (And feet to happily dance.)
Today, the millions of refugees fleeing from their homes and loved ones are not crossing borders with dancing feet and rosy cheeks. They are running for their lives, eyes filled with tears and fear, hearts filled with sadness of loss. Citizens of the free world must do all they can to support the masses who are running as well as the millions who dare to stay in Ukraine to defend their country. I personally am making my donations to support organizations helping the people of Ukraine and I do so proudly in honor of my grandparents and in support of the courage of the citizens of Ukraine.
How sad it is that the horrors of “old world” Russia have been thrust, once more, on Ukraine and, indeed, the entire world. In opposition to Russia, I stand with the forces of democracy. I stand with the hope of peace. I stand with Ukraine.
Harry Harelik, a native Wacoan, was a self-employed CPA and foundation executive director till recent retirement. He is a longtime supporter of local nonprofit organizations.
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