A series of essays….
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MY UKRAINIAN GRANDPARENTS ON THEIR WEDDING DAY:
ANTONE AND ALEXANDRIA MOSHAK |
….as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E Hughes
Russian forces bombed a maternity and children’s hospital in Mariupol in southern Ukraine on Wednesday. Babies, pregnant mothers, women in labor were all inside! The attack came despite Russia agreeing to a 12-hour pause in hostilities. “How much longer will the world be an accomplice ignoring terror?” asks President Zelenskyy of Ukraine.
I believe that good gives everyone and all actions the benefit of the doubt while evil immediately takes over, suffocates everything good with its lies and brute force, and removes all semblance of good and its imminent possibilities. Timing is everything, my friends. This is dedicated to the bold determination of the Ukrainian people!
At the beginning of this unprovoked, horrendous war orchestrated by Vladimir Putin, I sat listening to the Ukrainian negotiation delegation holding a press conference in Lviv with foreign and Ukrainian news media. My mind wandered back in time to my grandparents home in Mishawaka, Indiana and me asking questions about this rhythmic, Slavic language singsonging in my head; holding me hostage in the past and now, doing the same in the present.
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THE HOME PAPA BUILT ON CEDAR STREET IN
MISHAWAKA. HE DUG OUT THE BASEMENT
AND LAID EACH BRICK HIMSELF. |
Antone and Alexandria. According to the sound of their names, they could have ruled their own Slavic nation and brought goodness into an evil world. Actually, after having twelve children plus enduring three miscarriages, they could have easily populated their little nation, as well.
Frustration at not being able to understand what my grandparents were saying to one another prompted me to ask my Papa Moshak to teach us, his grandchildren, the language he brought over from his homeland. Because he did not speak English well, he always hesitated to comply. Oh, how I wish he could have taught us this major part of our heritage! He had brought over language course books but told my Mother they were all in Russian, not Ukrainian. I didn’t know the difference. But, he certainly did. He told my mother that it was all he could grab before leaving his homeland for America.
We were given tantalizing bits and pieces here and there, for example: Give me a little kiss (дай мені трохи поцілунку), hush your mouth (заткни свій рот) this was usually accompanied by the contact of my mother’s foot on our shin under the dining table, I love you (я тебе люблю), which was, of course, the best one of all!
Mother and her eleven siblings were not taught to speak Ukrainian either. Sadly, Ukraine was a place they all wanted to distance themselves from as they were Americans, born and bred. Papa and Grandma only reminded them of a life to run away from; one with no future possibilities, one best to leave behind.
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MY MOTHER, OLGA, STANDING SECOND FROM
THE RIGHT IN THE SECOND ROW WITH MOST
OF HER SIBLINGS. I AM THE BABY SITTING
ON MY GRANDMOTHER’S LAP. |
As this complicated sounding language flowed from the TV into my head, I had to wonder what the difference is between the Ukrainian and Russian languages. Despite their similar origins, there have been enough factors to push these languages into their distinct branches today, including time, culture, and politics. Papa told us that the Ukrainian language was greatly influenced by the Polish language. Recently, through Ancestry.com, I’ve learned that the small village grandma grew up in, Strae, Ukraine, is located a short distance from the Ukrainian/Polish border.
Grandma’s delicious dumplings, pedaheh, were our ultimate comfort food, filled with cheesy potatoes, or dried plums, or sauerkraut, they were similar to Polish pierogi but, lovingly made just for us by grandma. Her borscht was never my favorite meal with its sour taste, deep purple color, and dollop of sour cream on top. I remember crushing as many saltine crackers into it as possible to create something palatable and always under the scrutiny of grandma’s penetrating gaze.
Thinking about all of the things we’ve seen, learned about, discovered, wondered about, and often failed to discern in one human lifetime only makes me wonder even more about everything we know absolutely nothing about and may never learn within one go around on this fragile planet.
During his State of the Union Address, President Biden spoke about our veterans being exposed to burn pits; the toxic equivalent to Agent Orange during the war in Vietnam. The first I’d heard of burn pits was when our troops evacuated Afghanistan this past year. And, even then, I had to do some research to fully understand what was going on. I suppose it does make sense to destroy everything you’ve touched and utilized during the occupation of another country in order to erase your information and undermine its influence on your enemy. But, at what cost?
Isn’t Russia playing by its own rules in the attempt to destroy everything touched by the Ukrainians, especially the children, in a blatant act of erasing them as people altogether?
What many veterans are having to live through now, with their health in jeopardy, is merely one true cost of war, I know. (Making mental lists as I type this article.) Having knowledge of the use of burn pits, even after the fact, has enlightened many of us to the hazards of war created by the one institution that should always have the welfare of all of its people in mind—the Federal Government. As Commander in Chief, President Biden is introducing a bill to aid all veterans suffering from the lasting affects of burn pits.
As this unprovoked war on the kind people of this beautiful country of Ukraine wages on, many of us who have this noble blood flowing through us intensely react to their deep pain and sorrow. We pray for ultimate reasoning and fundamental peace to emerge from the ashes of this nonsensical conflict. May the uncompromising spirit of the president of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, spread its strength across the nation as he displays both bravery and media savvy during the Russian invasion.
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VOLODYMYR ZELENSKYY
PRESIDENT OF UKRAINE
A TRUE WAR HERO |
Now, I don’t know if Antone and Alexandria, my Ukrainian grandparents, ever stepped foot in the historic and beautiful cities of Kyiv, the capital city, or Odessa (Odesa), the port city on the Black Sea in southern Ukraine. I hope they did. They were both born and raised in separate villages that bordered on Poland and were quite a distance from the capital city of Ukraine. Leaving your small village to travel around your own country was considered a luxury and one not readily available to all Ukrainian citizens. By the time they both escaped the terror reigned upon them during the Bolshevik Revolution beginning in November of 1917 and led by Vladimir Lenin, whose regime would soon create the first communist country called the U.S.S.R., they met one another in the United States. Each escaping the terror of their homeland in order to create a better life here, they married and raised a large family in upstate Indiana.
Olga, my mother, was the kindest most sensitive parent any child could have and with her fiery red hair framing porcelain skin sprinkled with sun kissed freckles, she epitomized the ‘Daughter of Ukraine’ in so many ways. When grandma passed at the early age of fifty-six, my mother lost her best friend; her true tie to the land she would never visit.
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VLADIMIR LENIN, FORMER PREMIER AND
DICTATOR OF THE SOVIET UNION |
Photo courtesy of The Guardian
Given the current war instigated by yet another brutal Russian dictator, as well as the many conflagrations foisted upon the Ukrainian people during, as well as since she and Papa fled to the west, Alexandria could explain to my mother firsthand the important role that the western countries of Europe have taken in aiding refugees fleeing Ukraine. Olga could learn, via her own parents, how history constantly repeats itself.
Now is not the time to let up; Putin must fail. Since the end of the Cold War, we took our eyes off the ball and allowed people to harm one another, again. This time around we are defending democracy and the right of an independent nation to embrace the freedoms they had worked so hard to obtain.
Will this latest war open up our own eyes to the possibility of losing something as precious as our own democratic beliefs? Will it help to pull our country together and make us understand how important our freedoms truly are? What is Putin’s endgame? These are the questions we should be asking. I see a lonely, confused, and desperate man seated at the end of one of his long tables in the Kremlin.
Yes, I wish I had been taught how to speak the Ukrainian language by my grandparents, if only to bring me that much closer to a heritage that I am so proud to be a part of. As my distant cousins, perhaps sleeping in metro stations and basements in an attempt to survive another day, hold their children close as they wipe away their tears, my arms are opened wide letting them know it will be okay; we are here for you.
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ST. ANDREW’S CHURCH -
KYIV, UKRAINE
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Courtesy: Art, Culture, and Civilization
Believing in Antone and Alexandria keeps hope alive. There is a stronger, better world that will outshine the rocket’s red glare and bombs crushing the life from the Ukrainian people today. However, their spirit, so far, remains intact and we must all help to keep it this way until the monster hiding under the bed (behind the Kremlin walls) is defeated!
I thank you, Grandma and Papa, for your courage so long ago. The darkness and shame people carry having to leave a place in fear for reasons of self preservation surely must have been eased by your love for your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We feel blessed by your courage every day of our lives.
The more love you put out in the world, the more you get back..
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WITH LOVE TO UKRAINE
AND HER AMAZING PEOPLE! |
Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
