Resilience and Faith: Leading Kyiv’s Jewish Community

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/05/14

Rabbi Ariel Markovitch, Director of JCC Beit Menachem and founder of Shabbat Young Professionals Kyiv, shares his journey as a Jewish leader in Kyiv, Ukraine. Formerly a business development manager in Shanghai, his experiences abroad strengthened his Jewish identity and inspired his leadership. Rabbi Markovitch emphasizes the importance of Holocaust remembrance, interfaith dialogue, and education in combating antisemitism. He reflects on the challenges of community-building during wartime, the spiritual resilience of Ukraine’s Jewish community, and the relevance of traditional teachings in modern life. He discusses how faith, trust, and community have helped many navigate the psychological toll of war. Markovitch draws wisdom from Torah and Talmud, advocating values such as selflessness, compassion, and restorative joy, primarily through life events like weddings. The conversation concludes with reflections on ethical living, the importance of rest, and gratitude for meaningful connection in uncertain times.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we’re here with Ariel Markovitch, a Jewish community leader based in Kyiv, Ukraine. He serves as the Director of JCC Beit Menachem, a Chabad-affiliated Jewish community center. He is the founder and director of Shabbat Young Professionals Kyiv, an initiative to engage young Jewish adults within the Chabad-Lubavitch movement. Before this, he worked in Shanghai as a Business Development Manager at a CLOV company. Ariel received his education at a Chabad yeshiva affiliated with the Talmidei HaT’mimim network. He actively participates in Holocaust remembrance and other Jewish community events. He often appears alongside prominent figures, including Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, to promote Jewish heritage and resilience in Ukraine. Okay, first question: What inspired you to pursue a leadership role within the Jewish community, and how has your upbringing influenced your approach to leadership?

Rabbi Ariel Markovitch: First of all, I believe this—well, it’s hard to say maybe it’s destiny—but I see it as a responsibility. We all have a role in improving the world, and I do what I can. I think, and hope, that I contribute positively by being a Jewish leader in Kyiv, Ukraine. That’s how I came to this work and what I feel called to do.

Jacobsen: What was a pivotal moment in your career that shaped your commitment to Jewish advocacy and community building?

Markovitch: It started when I was in China—specifically in Shanghai. Before that, I had studied in a Chabad yeshiva and received semicha, rabbinical ordination. I was far from my roots when I moved to Shanghai to work in business development. That distance helped me realize the importance of the Jewish community and identity. I felt a strong connection to Jewish life even more deeply from afar. I loved that feeling, and I realized that it was meaningful and fulfilling to share it with others—so I brought that energy back to Kyiv.

Jacobsen: In Shanghai, what did you learn about business development? Did you find any similarities between Chinese and Jewish cultures?

Markovitch: First of all, I hope I understood your question fully. When I arrived in Shanghai, many people told me how similar Chinese and Jewish cultures are. They noted that both ancient civilizations deeply respected tradition, family, education, and community. I loved China. There were some cultural adjustments, of course. One challenge, for example, was hospitality. In Chinese culture, offering food when welcoming someone to your customary home is impolite—it is rude if the guest does not eat.

But I keep kosher, so this creates a dilemma. What we did was simple: Before visiting someone’s home, either I or a colleague would call in advance to respectfully explain the dietary restrictions and ask if we could bring kosher food. Everyone understood, and we found a way to respect each other’s traditions. It worked well, and I still think very highly of Chinese culture—it’s beautiful and rich in values.

Jacobsen: What drew you back to Kyiv? More on an emotional level—when you look at the past three years, if not the last eleven, how do you see Jewish culture’s and people’s resilience within Ukraine?

Markovitch: Over the last eleven years, people in Ukraine—Jews and non-Jews alike—have become more Ukrainian in identity. You hear more Ukrainians being spoken in the streets. Growing up in Kyiv, I didn’t hear Ukrainian in the city. Over the past eleven or twelve years, that’s changed. You hear the language more often; people talk about it more openly.

Of course, that shift has accelerated, especially in the last two years. But one thing that hasn’t changed is that Kyiv is not only a beautiful city—it’s full of very kind and welcoming people. You can feel that.

For example, it was difficult for my wife at first. She had studied a bit of Russian before we arrived, but people in Kyiv told her, “Now you’re in Ukraine, you need to speak Ukrainian.” For me, Ukrainian is a new language, so it was challenging.

But what stood out was people’s reactions. You can see it’s not about rejecting you when you speak with someone. It’s not hostility. If anything, they accept you as you are. Maybe the right word is “respect.” So overall, the experience has been very positive. It’s made things much more manageable.

Jacobsen: As the Director of JCC Beit Menachem in Kyiv, what are the most pressing needs of the Jewish community you serve?

Markovitch: Over the past three years, the most frequent requests we’ve received have been for humanitarian aid. Unfortunately, since the war began, most of our programming has focused on distributing food, clothing, medicine—whatever we can offer. That’s been the primary focus. Before the war, we had various programs. We operated a school and a kindergarten and had many initiatives for youth and older people. But since the full-scale invasion, the urgent need has overwhelmingly been humanitarian relief.

Jacobsen: When you hear propaganda—which seems to have diminished somewhat recently—particularly in the early days of the invasion, around the narrative that President Zelensky is a neo-Nazi, what was the reaction within the Ukrainian Jewish community?

My interpretation, personally, is that it’s absurd. Zelensky was a comedian before entering politics. And now, Russia has essentially turned him into a living punchline to one of the most surreal jokes in Eastern European history—accusing a Jewish president of being a neo-Nazi during wartime.

What kind of commentary did you hear among the Jewish community in response to this propagandistic claim?

Markovitch: First of all, my personal feeling comes from family history. My father was born in Ukraine, and my grandparents were born in Uzhhorod, Ukraine. The entire family was taken to Auschwitz by the Nazis and their collaborators. Most of the family did not survive. Some did. I’m named after my great-grandfather, who was in Auschwitz.

So when people talk about Nazis, it’s not just a historical topic for me—it’s deeply personal. These are horrific stories. There are no words to describe the pain and loss. And to call someone a Nazi—it’s completely disconnected from reality. It’s a powerful word that should not be used lightly.

Frankly, there’s nothing to comment on. It’s not related to the truth in any way. And unfortunately, it’s not even something one can laugh at. It’s too painful, too serious.

Jacobsen: How do you balance traditional Jewish values with the modern, dynamic environment of Kyiv’s young professional scene?

Markovitch: That’s a good question. The younger generation in Ukraine is very dynamic and highly developed. This is reflected in the IT sector and the many international companies based here—especially in Kyiv.

Judaism here isn’t just about a Bar Mitzvah or coming to synagogue for major holidays or family events. In Kyiv, our Jewish community is like a home. We have many programs—even a soccer team, for example. People can do what they love while surrounded by good friends who respect and care for them.

Often, not just individuals connect but their families as well. It feels like a big extended family. It’s a home.

Jacobsen: How has the ongoing conflict affected antisemitism in the region?

Markovitch: I can mainly speak about Kyiv since I live here. From my perspective, I haven’t seen an increase in antisemitism. What I do see, unfortunately—including in myself—is that people are less patient. After three years of war, that’s understandable. It wears people down. However, I haven’t noticed anything that suggests an increase in antisemitism as a result of the conflict. That’s my personal experience.

Jacobsen: In your experience, what has been effective in combating antisemitism?

Markovitch: Education. Punishment is already too late. We need to prevent antisemitism before it starts—and that begins with education in schools. People need to know the facts.

We’ve discussed conspiracy theories, such as those involving the Rothschilds or others. When people are educated and know the truth, even if someone makes a joke, they recognize that it’s unreasonable and likely won’t repeat it.

Of course, we’ll never achieve 100% prevention, but education can significantly reduce the likelihood. Also, we should give voice to people who’ve suffered for their identity—not just Jewish people but anyone who has been persecuted for their faith or background. We should have lessons in schools and universities that make these experiences real and human for others. I believe that would help.

Jacobsen: What role do Holocaust education and remembrance play in your work?

Markovitch: I believe education is essential—not because people necessarily know nothing, but because we can always give people more knowledge, more depth, especially about the Holocaust.

In Kyiv, unfortunately, we have Babi Yar, the site of one of the largest massacres of Jews during the Holocaust. Many people were murdered there. Our community has a few survivors who lived through Babi Yar. They come and speak with people—especially young people—so they understand that this is not just a slogan like “Never again” without substance.

It already happened. And it did not occur a thousand years ago. It happened during the Second World War—just a few generations back. So first, we help people understand that the Holocaust was real.

Unfortunately, if we do not remain vigilant, something similar could happen again. That is why remembrance is so critical.

Jacobsen: How do you ensure that these efforts resonate with younger generations? Regardless of culture or tragedy, keeping memory alive is always a challenge—to instill a sense of history and the importance of preventing it from repeating. How do you make sure that message connects with young people?

Markovitch: First, we record videos and audio interviews with survivors. We share these stories directly with the younger generation so they can hear them firsthand.

Second, after every lecture or program, we asked the participants what they liked and didn’t. We gather feedback so we can improve future programs. We want the message to reach them truly—to enter the heart, not just the ears. And we adapt each time to make it more meaningful.

Jacobsen: Can you share a personal or family story about the Holocaust that continues to inspire your advocacy work today?

Markovitch: Yes. Probably the most challenging story for me is one my grandmother told me about her mother—my great-grandmother—who was taken by the Germans from her home in Uzhhorod, Ukraine, to Auschwitz.

Three times, they tried to kill her.

The first time, a Nazi soldier aimed and fired a gun at her—but somehow, the bullet did not go off. She was miraculously saved.

The second time, they announced they would execute a specific number of people—I don’t remember the exact number. Everyone stood in line, and she was the person just after the last one to be selected. For example, if they said they would kill ten people, she was number eleven.

The third time, something similar happened again. And each time, she survived.

She used to say, even in the darkest moments, you can see—when it is your time, it is your time. But when it is not your time, you survive, perhaps because you still have something meaningful to do.

Jacobsen: Regarding misinformation and propaganda—earlier, you mentioned that sometimes the appropriate response is no response because of how absurd such claims can be. But how else do you respond to misinformation or propaganda that distorts Jewish history or fuels antisemitism?

Markovitch: If someone wants to do something harmful, of course, that’s not acceptable. But in many cases, it’s not because we avoid the topic when we say we do not wish to comment on it.

It’s because once you begin to comment or debate something that is entirely false or absurd—like calling a Jewish leader a Nazi—you’re already legitimizing it by treating it as something reasonable enough to argue over. By entering the discussion, you open the door for someone to say, “Maybe it’s true,” or “Maybe it’s not.” And to me, that’s completely illogical.

There is no basis for it and nothing to respond to. It’s harmful, but it is so far from reality that even debating it risks giving it a false sense of legitimacy.

Jacobsen: What strategies have you found effective in fostering interfaith dialogue and cooperation in Kyiv, especially during times of crisis? You mentioned rabbinical work earlier—what has worked well in dialogue, particularly between the Jewish and Orthodox Christian communities?

Markovitch: I have several friends who are pastors and religious leaders in other communities. We’re on excellent terms—we’re friends.

I think that when someone truly believes in what they do and is a sincere and good person—someone with integrity and kindness—then dialogue becomes natural. I feel that way about them; they feel the same about me.

We may have theological differences, but we have mutual respect. That’s the key. Building bridges between communities, even during challenging times, is possible with respect and genuine goodwill.

Jacobsen: Let’s say you believe in a Creator, in God—and at the same time, there’s a long history of persecution of the Jewish people. That’s putting it mildly. Within a theological or eschatological framework—whether or not one believes in the coming of the Moshiach (Messiah)—you may still think there is purpose: a purpose for the world, a purpose for you as an individual, and a purpose for your people within the faith.

How do you make sense of that? How do you interpret such a history through a theological or humanistic lens?

Markovitch: First of all, I ask myself the same question. If you meet Him before I do—hopefully not before I turn 129!—or if you meet someone who has met Him, please ask and let me know.

I do not have a clear answer because, honestly, I don’t think there is one—not one we can truly understand.

But I believe the question of antisemitism is part of a broader question: why is there evil in the world? Why are people unkind to one another? Why do we have theft? Why do people kill? It is the same root issue. And I, like many, would love to have an answer.

There’s a well-known rabbi—Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, the Chief Rabbi of Great Britain. Someone once asked him the same question: how can evil be in the world? He responded, “I don’t know—and maybe it’s good that I don’t know.”

Because if we did know, we may begin to accept evil. If we had a logical explanation for it, maybe we would come to terms with its existence—as though it belongs. But we are not supposed to accept it. We’re supposed to question it, to oppose it, and to recognize that it’s wrong.

The fact that we don’t understand why evil exists keeps us from tolerating it.

Jacobsen: Do you find any aspects of promoting Jewish identity—or navigating its complexities—difficult?

Markovitch: Most things about Judaism, I feel, don’t need to be—I don’t know the exact word in English—maybe “sold.” There’s no need to sell it because the core message is universal.

If people were good people—not necessarily keeping every detail of Jewish law, like observing Shabbat or eating kosher—but good people who followed the basic moral teachings, the world would be much better.

If people had followed even the Seven Noahide Laws—more general ethical principles for all humanity—the world would have been much improved.

Teaching those values is not hard. Most people agree when you explain them. The challenge comes not in accepting the ideas but in implementing them. Finding someone who understands or agrees with the values is not difficult. The more complicated part is helping people live by them.

That part—not always easy.

Jacobsen: Do you have difficulties maintaining multicultural unity within the Jewish diaspora? This may be a strange question. For instance, say you’re in Kyiv and meet people of the same faith and shared background. Still, they come from France, Morocco, Canada, Portugal, Uruguay, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Somalia, etc.

Do you encounter challenges in those multicultural contexts? For some people, it’s an issue. For others, it is not.

Markovitch: I do not see this as something related explicitly to Judaism but rather to people in general. Anyone who has lived in a place for several generations—say, Ethiopia or France—will naturally adopt aspects of the local culture.

When, for example, someone from France, someone from Belgium, and someone from another country are all in the same room—even if they all believe in one God—they will still have different jokes, manners, and ways of interacting. That is cultural, not religious.

But today, we are blessed to live in a time when we can travel, connect with people from many countries, and experience the rich diversity of Jewish life. For me, that’s a big plus.

Jacobsen: Are there different types of antisemitism that members of Reform Jewish communities face compared to those in Orthodox or Conservative communities?

Markovitch: I think that over the last year and a half—as we mentioned earlier—a lot of Jews have experienced antisemitic incidents, regardless of denomination. It has had nothing to do with what they believe.

In many cases, the individuals affected could not have cared less about religious observance. I’ve heard stories of people being targeted even though they had never been to a synagogue—and in some cases, they did not even know they were Jewish.

For example, children at school might say to them, “You have a Jewish name, so you must be bad.” That was the moment some of them realized they were seen as Jewish.

These incidents increased sharply, especially after October 7th.

Jacobsen: What lessons have you drawn from your work in Israel, and how has your engagement with international figures like Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis or Meir Ezri Han influenced your approach to leadership?

Markovitch: When we encounter people from different countries and different perspectives, it is not just that we can learn from them—we must learn from them.

The more people, cultures, and identities we engage with, the better we understand one another. You mentioned Rabbi Mirvis, the Chief Rabbi of the UK. He is a brilliant and insightful leader. Speaking with someone like him is not just a chance to learn—it also deepens your appreciation for your community and communities abroad.

In this case, we spoke specifically about the Jewish community in England, and I gained a new perspective from that. Encounters like these broaden your point of view.

Jacobsen: What lessons did you learn from leading your community through the Russian invasion in 2022?

Markovitch: “Believe in good, and it will be good.”

It’s a straightforward sentence, but living by it is incredibly difficult.

I stayed in Kyiv with my parents, wife, and three children when the war started. We stayed together as a family, and it was tough. At one point, my wife looked at me and said, “Promise me that we will not die.” We could hear bombs outside. There were gunshots.

It was not pleasant.

I do not know—maybe it was a mistake—but I told her, “I’m not God. I can’t promise you that.” She did not like that answer, understandably so.

We went through several challenging moments. It was not easy at all. But what kept me grounded was something I learned from my grandmother, a survivor of Auschwitz: If you are still here, then you must do good. You must try to change the world.

And that starts with your immediate surroundings. That’s where your impact begins.

Especially now, I believe in being good. When we focus on good things, we don’t just shape our internal mindset—we change our environment. The people who come to us, speak with us, and share our space are affected by it—and we are, too.

I learned that from the war. I should have taught it earlier. I don’t know, but this is what that moment taught me.

Jacobsen: How do you help your community cope with the spiritual and psychological toll of the conflict?

Markovitch: We work with psychologists who come to the community to support people. A few months ago, there was a rocket attack near our school—the school my parents founded 25 years ago, the school I attended as a child.

We had a rocket strike there.

Unfortunately, it’s not the first time something like this has happened. But psychologists came to the school to help the children. Talking with the kids was hard work—especially for the professionals.

Even for me, speaking with children about what’s happening is incredibly hard. But of course, we do it. We must do it.

Especially now—in 2025—we understand that helping someone is not only about providing physical needs like food or shelter. Emotional support is just as important.

Sometimes, it’s even more critical. And we see now, more than ever, how crucial that support is. The last three years have been more complicated than I imagined when I first became a rabbi in Kyiv.

Jacobsen: What passages in the Torah have you found particularly helpful—for yourself or others—when words of encouragement have been needed during the conflict?

Markovitch: One of the most potent verses is the Shema: “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad.”

“Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”

This verse teaches that there is one God; we must know that. My English may not be perfect for translating this entirely, but it is a core part of our belief.

Many people have asked me, especially those outside Ukraine, “Have you seen miracles? How can you be thankful when there is so much suffering?”

Yes, it’s true—so many people are going through unimaginable hardship. But nearly every person I’ve spoken to, from Kyiv and other parts of Ukraine, has a story of how something happened in a dark moment—something small, sometimes meaningful. And they felt God’s presence. They saw how God helped them.

If you zoom out, it may look like endless chaos. But when you zoom in, you see individual stories—moments of grace and connection, moments when someone felt they were not alone.

That’s what people have shared with me.

Jacobsen: How do you explain tragedy to your children?

Markovitch: That’s a good question. There are two aspects to it.

First, there’s the broader question of why there is evil in the world—and as I mentioned earlier, I do not have an answer to that. We all continue to wrestle with it.

Second, perhaps more critical for my children to understand is that even though tragedy exists, they must be vigilant, aware, and responsible. They must do whatever is in their power to help prevent such things from happening again. That awareness is essential.

Jacobsen: How do you collaborate with Ukrainian authorities and international organizations to counter antisemitic narratives or incidents?

Markovitch: We work closely with the Ukrainian government, and I can say this not just from personal opinion—it’s something I’ve seen consistently at every level of government: the Presidency, the Prime Minister’s Office, and the municipal level, including city mayors.

Whenever we raise concerns—if there is an antisemitic incident or something questionable—the authorities respond immediately. They act quickly to address the issue, stop the person responsible, and also take steps to prevent future incidents. I’m sincerely grateful for their continued support. They do a lot.

As for international partnerships, we work with several Jewish communities and interfaith organizations worldwide. But when it comes specifically to addressing antisemitism in Ukraine, most of the coordination happens directly with the Ukrainian government.

And because the government has been so responsive, we’ve not had much need to involve large international religious organizations in these cases.

Jacobsen: Here’s a trickier one—how do you distinguish between incidents where people are reacting emotionally to something that only seems antisemitic versus cases where it is antisemitism?

Markovitch: That’s an important distinction—and yes, we’ve encountered it. Just a few months ago, we had a situation in Kyiv where someone wrote antisemitic graffiti in multiple locations.

When we discovered it in the morning, my father, the Chief Rabbi of Kyiv, contacted the authorities immediately. They investigated, checked security cameras, and soon identified the perpetrator.

It turned out to be a 14-year-old boy.

The authorities brought him in for questioning and asked my father to come as well. When they spoke with the boy, they realized that he had been influenced—someone had reached him through Telegram, or maybe TikTok, and told him to do it.

This is what we discussed earlier—often, people act out of ignorance, not hate. They don’t know who Jewish people are or what Judaism stands for.

In this case, the boy did not appear to have malicious intent. He was misguided and very young. I do not remember the final decision, but I believe the authorities planned for him to participate in some educational programming instead of facing criminal charges. The Jewish community chose not to press charges.

My father felt—and I agree—that sending this boy to prison would likely ruin his life. He’s still a child. From what we saw, he’s not inherently bad. He needs to learn.

Yes, we do make distinctions. Some cases are explicit acts of hatred, and others—like this—are acts of ignorance. We have to find different responses for different situations. I hope we can continue to do that with wisdom and compassion.

Jacobsen: Not every part of life has a clear conclusion. Much of life feels more like James Joyce’s Ulysses—you never really know what’s happening or how it ends. There’s much incompleteness in the world.

It’s almost as if life combines a Rorschach inkblot test and Gödel’s incompleteness theorems—open to interpretation, yet fundamentally unresolvable in parts.

Are there any incidents you’ve encountered that seemed like antisemitism—had all the markings—but you never got a conclusive answer? Something that left you wondering?

Markovitch: When something happens, it’s important to remember that two people can witness the same event and come away with entirely different interpretations of what happened.

Many times, if it’s not a clear-cut, harmful, or explicitly antisemitic act, then we have to ask—maybe it’s just us. Perhaps it’s how we saw it.

Of course, we cannot accuse anyone without evidence, especially if we are not even sure anything happened. So yes, there are ambiguous cases, and we’re left with maybes.

Jacobsen: What do you think is the role of Jewish cultural heritage in shaping Ukrainian national identity?

My professional example is that our mutual colleague Anna Vishnikova pointed out that some Christian communities wanted only Christian symbols to memorialize Maidan Square or Independence Square. To them, only the cross represented Ukrainian identity.

They believed there should not be menorahs. And to me, that’s not correct.

In more nuanced terms, how do you see Jewish cultural heritage being integrated into Ukrainian national heritage?

Markovitch: I don’t know the exact details of the story involving Maidan. But in general, in every country—and especially in Ukraine, which is very democratic—there is space for people to live together peacefully.

It’s essential to have interfaith meetings and dialogues so that people can get to know one another or at least understand that we are not just individuals living in one country. We are Christian Ukrainians, Muslim Ukrainians, and Jewish Ukrainians—and that’s okay.

That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. That’s what a democratic society looks like. So I don’t just think we should have that level of integration—I believe we already do.

Jacobsen: How do you integrate Chabad’s spiritual teachings into your daily leadership?

Markovitch: Just one quick correction—it’s Chabad, not Sha-Bad.

Jacobsen: I anglicized it—I’m Canadian. I’m foreign. I don’t know any better!

Markovitch: [Laughing] I thought it was Sha-Bad before someone told me, so it’s okay. As for Chabad, the Talmud contains many stories that shape how we see leadership and relationships. For example, there’s a story about one person building a house, and then his neighbour also builds a house… There’s a story in the Talmud that initially seems simple.

Two neighbours build houses next to each other, and suddenly, one wants to make a wall between the homes—either to block the view or mark property lines. One neighbour wants the wall, and the other does not. They argue.

That’s the entire premise. And yes, it’s a long story, but that’s the situation we study today in the Talmud.

People ask, “Why should I care? This story was written over two thousand years ago. What does it have to do with me?”We might even joke about it: today, we talk about a wall between the U.S. and Mexico—why should this ancient wall matter?

But every story in the Talmud has layers. At first glance, it seems like a story about two neighbours—disconnected. But the truth is, it’s not just a story—it’s a framework for law, and it’s deeply relevant.

For example, in that story, one neighbour says: “I don’t like when my neighbour can see into my house. He opens his window and watches what I do. I want to build a wall.” But the wall would benefit both of them, so he wants shared responsibility—he does not want to pay for the entire wall himself.

The Talmud says that if the wall is one or two meters high, both neighbours must contribute financially—it’s a shared interest. But if one wants the wall to be even higher, that neighbour must pay for the additional height himself. It’s fair, proportional, and balanced.

From that single story, we derive so much modern legal wisdom.

For instance, what if someone looks at your computer screen, reads your messages, or invades your digital privacy? What if someone looks at you in a way that makes you uncomfortable? Is that a crime? What kind of boundaries should exist?

We can trace the roots of these questions back to Talmudic principles. At first, they may seem outdated, but when you understand the spirit of the law, you see how powerful and relevant it remains today.

So yes—when we reduce these stories to surface-level anecdotes, they seem unimportant. But digging deeper, we find ethical structure, legal precedent, and moral insight that still guide us today.

Jacobsen: What facets of Judaism are uniquely Jewish regarding ethics? Perhaps even the aesthetic of that ethic—its moral symmetry, the way it looks and feels in daily life. 

Markovitch: Of course, we can start with someone like Moses, especially now—we’re just a few days away from Passover, the Jewish holiday of Pesach. So, of course, we can talk about Moses. He was the great figure of that time—the leader, the liberator.

But if I look at recent history or even what’s happening in the present, I think of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe. He was born in Ukraine, later moved to the United States, and became the leader of the Chabad movement, which now includes Chabad Young Professionals.

He fundamentally transformed Judaism. He didn’t see it as ancient or static. He emphasized that we should live Judaism today, in 2025, just as meaningfully as it was thousands of years ago.

That’s one part of his legacy. The second is that he envisioned a Jewish community in every country—and, in many cases, in nearly every city. It’s not everywhere yet, but in so many places, you can arrive and find a community, a spiritual family waiting for you. That is a massive gift to Jewish life.

Jacobsen: What would you rank as the highest value in Judaism?

Markovitch: Not me. The highest value is not about me. 

Jacobsen: So selflessness—to live for something greater than yourself. That’s what I thought. Thank you for bearing with me—I’m making this conversation more than just about antisemitism. I’m trying to explore the deeper dimensions of Jewish thought, heritage, and resilience.

So now we’ve talked about God—particularly the theological premise of divine attributes, like benevolence and all-encompassing goodness.

But antisemitism isn’t just a personal experience; it often strikes at something more profound. For Jewish people who are practicing or connected to their faith, when they’re confronted with an antisemitic slur or act of violence, it can trigger a crisis of faith.

This happens in many religions. Have you seen it happen? Do people come to you struggling with faith under these circumstances?

Markovitch: Yes, of course—it happens.

The most powerful example we have is after the Holocaust. We saw so many people respond in entirely different ways. Some people began to believe more deeply, while others moved away from belief altogether.

I’ve noticed here in Ukraine, especially over the last three years, that more and more people have started to believe more, not less.

And maybe it’s not precisely belief—perhaps something more profound. People have told me, “We’ve started to understand that we are not in control of anything,” even when we think we are.

If you look at just the last five years, we had so many plans—career plans, travel plans, business goals—and then came COVID. And with it, we realized that nothing is really in our hands.

Even now, some countries still haven’t fully recovered from the pandemic. And then came the war in Ukraine. We started again—new plans, new ideas—and once more, everything was disrupted.

So what happened? Many people began to believe, or more accurately, to trust.

There’s a big difference between belief and trust. Belief is intellectual. “Yes, I believe in God—why not?” But trust is different. Trust is knowing in your heart that there is something, someone, more significant than yourself at work in the world.

According to Judaism, trust does not mean sitting at home waiting for good things to happen. You still have to work hard, take action, and do your part. But at the same time, you come to that work with humility. You are not the king. You are not the one who decides everything.

So yes, I’ve seen this shift—especially over the last five years, but even more recently. More and more people are beginning to believe and trust.

Jacobsen: How do you comfort your children in difficult circumstances—war or hardship?

Markovitch: It depends—it depends on their age. Of course, there’s a big difference between what you can explain to a two-year-old versus a ten-year-old.

But what we do know—unfortunately—is that we don’t live in a perfect world. There’s no question about it—we’ve seen it more clearly than we ever wanted to. This is not an ideal world.\ But that realization shows how much more work we have to do. We cannot just live in our little space and do nothing for society.

This moment in history shows us that we must engage. And the truth is, it’s easier today than ever before. As you mentioned earlier, even if someone lives in a small town in Canada, they can still change the world.

With the Internet and platforms like Skype, we’re connected—it’s the same as living in a major city. Everyone has an opportunity to contribute. So yes, the world is far from perfect. But that means we must all do our part to make it better.

Jacobsen: Let’s close on a hopeful note. Do you still perform weddings during the war?

Markovitch: Yes, we do.

Jacobsen: That’s incredible. Do you try to lighten the mood during those weddings, even in the middle of a war?

Markovitch: Of course, it’s a different atmosphere. You have your mood, and then there’s the general mood around you.

But I think it’s essential for all of us to pause occasionally and work on our emotional state—to improve. It doesn’t mean we care less when in a good mood; being in a good mood helps us function better. Think about an exam—if you’re in a good state of mind, you’re more likely to remember more. It affects the brain.

I’m not talking about going to nightclubs or anything like that. But weddings—that’s a form of joyful resilience. It’s pure happiness. It brings life into the world and gives us hope for the future.

This kind of happiness? I’d gladly have it every night.

Jacobsen: To wrap up, what are some of your favourite lines from the Talmud or your favourite phrases of Jewish wisdom? Even just words of comfort—whatever you feel would be a meaningful close.

Markovitch: There are two that I love.

First: “What you do not want others to do to you, do not do to them.”

I hope that’s clear. If you don’t want something done to you, don’t do it to others. It’s a simple phrase, but it carries so much meaning.

Of course, it teaches you to be a good person, but it also pushes you to think about others—to consider how they will feel and how they might perceive your actions. Even though it’s phrased negatively, it’s deeply empathetic.

The second is from the Torah, which speaks about Shabbat. It says, “Six days you shall work, and on the seventh day, you shall rest.”

I love that the Torah doesn’t just say, “Don’t work on Shabbat.” It says, “Six days you must work.” In other words, you must do your part, contribute to the world—and then rest.

It’s a balanced ethic: work with intention and then rest with purpose.

The Torah teaches: “Six days you shall work.” That means you actually must work. You must do whatever you can to succeed in your field—whatever that may be.

If you’re a student, you must study with dedication. If you work—whatever your profession—you should give it your full effort, 100%.

But then comes the seventh day—Shabbat—and you must rest.

The idea is that we rest because God rested on the seventh day. That’s why we pause and stop our work.

And it’s not always easy. We’re often in the middle of something, and stepping away is hard. But just as we put our whole emotion, energy, and focus into our work for six days, we must also internalize that not everything depends on us.

We must understand that we need God’s help to be successful in what we do. That’s part of the balance—work hard and let go.

Jacobsen: All right. Thank you very much for your time, Ariel. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. I hope you have a meaningful and fun Passover coming up.

Markovitch: Thank you very much.

Jacobsen: We’ll be in touch.

Markovitch: Thank you. Bye-bye.

Jacobsen: Thank you.

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