In Odesa, Ukraine, a little boy named Denis lives with a disability that renders him immobile. He relies on a specialized chair to support his head during frequent seizures. He and his mother, Natalia, live on the third floor, which means that when missiles strike with only a minute’s warning, there’s no running to shelter.

“We usually just hide between the walls in the hall and wait,” Natalia shares.

Thanks to our support, Natalia has access to a personal generator — ensuring Denis gets heat and hot food during the relentless blackouts.

Even for children without complex health challenges, immense hardships remain.

For five years — between Covid and the war — a great many Ukrainian children have not been able to attend school in a traditional setting. Added to this, their fathers are serving on the frontlines, and their mothers are shouldering the double burden of caregiving and providing for the family. Extended family may have made aliyah to Israel, only to find themselves leaving one war for another. Some have loved ones on the front in Ukraine and loved ones fighting in the IDF. They live with constant worry about them too.

And yet, more than three years after Russia invaded Ukraine, the day-to-day struggles of Ukrainian people rarely make headlines. Much of the world has moved on.

We have not.

For three years, we’ve helped support Ukrainian children and their families, ensuring they receive vital aid. Working with agencies on the ground, we’ve provided more than $26 million, including to our largest overseas partners — the Jewish Agency for Israel and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), which provided Natalia and Denis with the generator — making life a little more bearable. 

Helping women get jobs with flexible hours. Setting up “warm houses” in JCCs and Hesed centers, so people without electricity can get a hot cup of tea and power up their computers. Equipping safe rooms that can be used as learning centers. Sustaining Jewish life.

On Monday, seeking to spotlight the continuing need, we hosted a Ukraine Solidarity Summit, where many of these stories were shared.

One attendee, Vlada, had traveled from Ukraine, where she runs Project Kesher, an organization that empowers Jewish women. She revealed that as she was preparing for the trip, her doctor called, asking her if she could please make a donation of her rare blood type. She contemplated what was involved — a long, out-of-the-way trip to the city where her blood was needed before her flight. The night before she had run into a shelter as missiles fell.

But Vlada didn’t hesitate to do what was needed.

We also heard from Oksana and Natalie about how the preparedness of JDC and the Jewish Agency, respectively — fueled by our ongoing support — helped mitigate the crisis from day one. Partner organizations had food, water, and medical kits already on hand. Transit centers were already being set up. Vulnerable community members were already on their radar, allowing for swift aid distribution.

Mobilizing rapidly, the Jewish Agency housed 20,000 people at Ukraine’s borders and organized 200 charter flights to safety.

We’re also funding Jewish life in Ukraine, where the hunger for community mirrors what many of us feel in a post-October 7 world. Hillel participants say that Shabbat gatherings bring them peace and joy — they feel protected when they are together. 

Here in New York, we’ve played a critical role in resettling Ukrainian Jews. While some have returned, those who remain rely on our partners — at NYLAG, JCH of Bensonhurst, Commonpoint, HIAS, and others — for legal and financial support.

Admittedly, reading these stories of heartache and war on Purim — the most joyful of Jewish holidays — may feel a bit jarring. But let’s remember, we’ve had either pandemic or war during the last many Purims. And still, we found a path to joy. 

More fundamentally, the Jewish people’s salvation on Purim, as recounted in the Megillah, is a unique Jewish story. The Megillah is the only book in the Tanach (the Hebrew scriptures) that doesn’t mention God’s name once.

The miracle of the Jewish people’s salvation on Purim isn’t supernatural: no seas split, no plagues inflicted, no manna falls from the heavens.

Salvation comes through human action:

Esther’s bravery. Mordechai’s wisdom. The unity of the Jewish people who stood together.

And so, too, in our times: Vlada’s selflessness. Natalia, Oksana, and Natalie’s dedication. And the unity of our Jewish community standing there with them, refusing to look away from what is hard and what is necessary. 

Shabbat shalom and Purim sameach