Ukraine's kids need safety, comfort — and answers

When I was a kid growing up in Romania, my grandfather, from Ukraine, told me stories about how he and his family fled Ukraine in the 1930s when Soviet dictator Josef Stalin carried out mass starvations. Russia’s ongoing invasion of Ukraine is bringing those stories to the forefront for me as I witness Ukrainian families leaving their homeland — again.

As a chaplain at a children’s hospital, my days and nights are steeped in children’s challenges. I’m present for them and their families during their toughest moments, helping them through fragile medical, emotional and spiritual times. I experience joy with these families, too. But these days there’s an extra strain for me because the children of Ukraine also need assistance — and I find myself limited in the ways I can help.  

I’ve encountered those limits before.

Before I became a hospital chaplain, I sponsored an orphanage in Ukraine near Chernobyl, where a nuclear reactor exploded in 1986. The accident caused several dozen deaths, created a cascade of acute radiation syndrome, and contaminated large parts of Ukraine, Belarus and Russia. Even 35 years after the disaster, some women have been  delivering babies with medical conditions stemming from the explosion. The orphanage cares for these children because their families aren’t able to care for them.

My connection with the Ukrainian orphanage continues; my Ukrainian church in Manhattan collected and sent clothing, diapers and women’s toiletries to families who’ve fled the fighting. Many have escaped to places like Romania and Moldova and need help paying for shelter and food, so we’re raising money. Our church basement has refilled with additional donations.

Though the orphanage and the families we’ve helped are grateful, it doesn’t offset the realities of war. One of our young parishioners lost her brother in the fighting. He was in his 20s — not much older than some of my patients at the children’s hospital.

The children in Ukraine are asking difficult, justifiable questions. They want to know why they have to leave home and say goodbye to loved ones. They want to know why they have to shelter in basements. Too many are saying goodbye to their fathers, who remain in the country.

I ask myself, “Am I doing enough?”

When a child comes to the hospital here after having experienced a trauma, doctors, nurses, social workers — an entire team — show up for them. There’s no such system in place for the kids of Ukraine. Not now.  

As I pray for that to change, I think about how I’ve seen children pray.

They offer their prayers with innocence, purity and sincerity. Children tend to not care about what’s going to happen in two weeks or in 10 years — they want to know how they’re getting through this tough moment. Now. I can send clothing and other necessities, but I’m not always sure I can offer these kids the peace of mind they seek.  

Kids in Ukraine want what every child wants and needs: safety and comfort. That’s difficult to come by when they can see and feel fear and uncertainty in their parents’ eyes. I hope I can get to the childlike part of myself to offer wholehearted prayer for the reassurance this war has taken from them.