The Ukraine Diaries - Entry #5

1- 2 November 2025

Lviv, Ukraine - Kraków, Poland

Larissa and I were introduced by a Ukrainian writer during the first year of the war. I was looking for a way to bring RISE to Ukraine and she was my first point of contact. She’s an American who moved to Kyiv some time ago and made it her home. When Russia began its full scale invasion, she lifted her proverbial middle finger to the approaching army and stayed right where she was. Three and a half years on, she’s still there. She translates Ukrainian war poets into English and has developed a following for her own wartime writings on her Substack, “a kind of refugee.” She’s come to Lviv to see RISE. Last night at the gig was the first time we’d met in person.

We go to a jazz bar and sit upstairs in a nook made of brick and stone that pushes out against a window ledge that hangs over the street. The round stone walls are covered in messages written in permanent marker, and stickers for bands and brands. Downstairs is an art gallery and a café. While I ask her about Ukraine, she asks me about Israel. We’re in similar positions: We both care about the other’s country. We want to know about the respective wars, and from a distance our only access point is through media. Media tells a story; we want to know the truth. So we check our narratives against the actual experience and insight of the other. We talk for a couple of hours, then I leave for the hotel and the final event of the conference.

I sit next to Vlada who translates bits of the speeches from the leaders of the various Jewish organizations represented. Then an incredible duo takes the stage - a pianist and singer paired with an insane violinist - and they tear the stage the shreds. And that’s it. The conference is over.

I try to sleep. I wake up early. I take more I-don’t-know-what-because-the-ingredients-are-in-the-cyrillic-alphabet cold medicine. I meet Sergey and Vlada in the lobby. We take a cab to a studio. We record a podcast. I walk back to the hotel, aware of how comfortable I’ve become with this corner of Lviv and already anticipating missing it.

After checking out, I meet up with a group of Russian speaking Israelis. We pile into a van, ten of us in total, and hit the road. We drive through Lviv, through the outskirts of the city with its homes of plaster and stone and chickens in gardens. We reach the countryside and the forest that stretches out from both sides of the highway, thick and autumn burnt. Then we reach the border and the waiting begins.

There are maybe a hundred yards between us and Poland, and a short line of cars, but nothing moves. We get out and walk around. A couple hours later there is movement and we get back in the van and drive forward to the first checkpoint. The passports are taken. The vehicle is searched. The passports are returned, then taken again. The luggage is searched. We are photographed. We are fingerprinted. By the time we role through the final checkpoint, night has fallen, the temperature has dropped, and (I do a double take to the clock on the dashboard) six hours have passed.

We drive on into the countryside of Eastern Poland, past signs for Belzec, through forest and farmland, and finally back to Krakow. As we role into the city center, I see a sign for Kazimierz, the old Jewish neighborhood, and, on instinct, I reach for the Star of David that hangs around my neck, purchased in Kazimierz years ago. I feel it through my shirt, each of the six points.