Valeriia Kholodova: Ukrainian Jewish Resilience in War

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/09/21

 Valeriia Kholodova is a Ukrainian non-profit program manager who leads regional programs for Hillel CASE (Central Asia & Southeastern Europe), coordinating Jewish student life across Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Belarus and Azerbaijan. Born in Donetsk, she moved to Kyiv in 2014 and later to Israel, continuing her Hillel work remotely. Her portfolio spans student engagement, educational and cultural programming, and community support. Kholodova has been affiliated with Hillel since at least 2010 and appears in coverage of Jewish communal responses to the wars in Ukraine and Israel. She previously studied at Donetsk National University. She organized regional events and training.

In this interview with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Valeriia Kholodova contrasts 2014’s shock with 2022’s full-scale war, describing Ukraine’s Jewish community evacuating thousands, delivering food, cash-like certificates, blankets, power banks, and water to besieged regions, while sustaining traditions and programs. Students face disrupted schooling, isolation, and trauma, yet volunteerism grows and Hillel expands group therapy and safe spaces. Ties to Israel are intimate, but attention follows immediate danger. Language shifts to Ukrainian/English, and collaboration with civil society deepens; identity increasingly fuses as “Ukrainian Jewish,” symbolized by Tryzub-Magen David jewelry. Regional ties persist despite limits (e.g., Belarus). Jewish solidarity strengthened. Amid devastation, resilience and conscious identity harden under pressure.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: People may know—or may not—that there is a sizeable Jewish heritage in Eastern Europe, and Ukraine is one of those places as well. When the war first started in 2014, and then really escalated in February 2022, what was the reaction of the Jewish community at those times? How have people found solidarity in community, helped the war effort, and drawn inner strength from tradition, for instance?

Valeriia Kholodova: The situations in 2014 and 2022 were completely different. When it happened in Donetsk and Luhansk, I was living in Donetsk with my family. At that time, nobody understood that it would be a protracted conflict. We helped a lot—we supported Jewish people and stayed connected with them. The most vulnerable group was older adults who could not leave their homes. They were not active; they were afraid. We were in touch with them every day, checking what was happening.

I remember that I was working in HACED, a charity foundation, and we helped many people evacuate to other parts of Ukraine. At that time, the Dnipro, Kharkiv, and Kyiv regions were safe places. But even though it was a local conflict, it was excruciating.

For example, that summer I participated in Taglit. Do you know Taglit? It’s a program for young people—ten days in Israel. In that group, we had 40 students. Only five of them returned to Donetsk. People tried to survive. We didn’t really understand what was happening. It was a shock for us. After that, I moved with my family to Kyiv.

Before the full-scale war, I lived in Kyiv. Honestly, I couldn’t believe it could happen. My supervisor from Israel called me, because at that time I worked in a Chabad charity foundation. He asked if he should prepare an extra budget in case something happened. I told him, “No, it’s not possible, there’s no way.” But he asked, “What do we need to be ready for if it does happen?” I told him, from my experience: “You need cash. If it happens, you won’t be able to do transactions or use the banking system. If you want to help Ukrainian Jewish people, you need to have cash.”

Unfortunately, it did happen. I was in Kyiv. I woke up at five in the morning because my friend called me. I asked, “Alina, are you crazy? Why are you calling me at five in the morning?” She told me, “Valeria, it’s happening.”

I was very calm. At that time, I lived in central Kyiv. I didn’t hear planes or any other noise. That is my private story—it’s not about what the Jewish communities were doing at that moment.

We tried to stay in a safe place for one week with my friends and my supervisor. But what did the Jewish community in Ukraine start doing at that time? They consolidated around this problem. They began evacuating people. I don’t know how many buses and how many planes went to Israel.

At that time, we organized buses to travel to Kyiv twice a day. I can speak about Kyiv, but I know this was happening across Ukraine—to Moldova, Romania, Poland—many different directions. That was the first thing. The second was helping people with food.

Before the war, I had already established a system to assist those in need every two months. It was my charity project, although I was the chief of the project, not the founder. Every two months, we would give people certificates so they could purchase food or other necessities. When the war began, we expanded this. Everyone who asked for help received food certificates. I remember we bought many blankets and other basic supplies. It was tough to organize.

I think it was April or May, I don’t remember exactly. At that time, the Chernihiv region was under occupation, and we provided food for the Jewish community there. It was not very easy. We used all our connections with the army and with volunteers, because it was a border region. I don’t know how many cars of humanitarian aid we sent there. But whatever we could do, we did. It was a tremendous and organized effort.

After that, the situation kept changing. Every day, we created new ways to help people who remained in Ukraine, because every day and every month brought new challenges. For example, in one winter, there was a blackout. Our primary targets then were to provide power banks, lamps, batteries, and other things that would help people survive.

In Mykolaiv, they had a problem with water because Russia destroyed the water pipes. We sent as much water and as many water-cleaning supplies as we could to that region. We constantly monitored what people needed and tried to provide it. Unfortunately, now it has become almost routine.

At the beginning, during the first few months, it was a shock, and we were trying to survive. Now, people are still trying to survive, but also continue their lives. Almost all Jewish organizations in Ukraine continue their work—not only with humanitarian aid, but also with values, traditions, programs, and engagement. They are trying to continue their everyday life in this wild world.

It is not very easy. For example, a few days ago, I just returned from Ukraine. We organized a camp for Jewish families with children who have trauma. But in reality, now 100 percent of people in Ukraine are living with trauma. We had some critics, but it was important for these families.

Many families lost a father or a mother, leaving children alone. It is tough to see what has happened to people during this period. They are trying to live their lives, but now they need more than just material help. They need strong psychological and social support.

Jacobsen: What about the student experience through all of this? You have contact with students. How has their experience of studies been? For many people, studies are a crucial part of intellectual, emotional, and social development. It is where they interact with intelligent peers pursuing different and diverse fields. How has this situation impacted their sense of self at this time of life, as well as the logistics of studying?

Kholodova: If you want, I can tell you about one student—my son. I have an adult son; I am not so young. When the war started, he was 15. Now he is 18. For me, it feels like a lost generation, because it has been very complicated.

Before, there were three years of COVID. They stayed home, studying online. Then the war started. I don’t know how many months of education they missed, because many families tried to send their kids out of the country, and universities and schools worked only online. Even now, many schools and universities continue online. This generation has missed the skills to communicate face-to-face. They are afraid to go out and form social circles.

I can speak about students in general, not only Jewish students. In this situation, Jewish organizations like Hillel and others working with Jewish youth and students are doing a great job. They work with students face-to-face, offline. They talk to them, help them, and create safe spaces for communication and for their needs. This is very important now, but still very difficult. I don’t know what will happen in two or three years with this generation.

All situations are different. Some young people adapt to this situation much better than others. However, during these three and a half years of war, this generation, specifically the student community, has become increasingly active in volunteer projects. They try to do something, not only ask for help. There are many volunteer projects both inside the Jewish community and across Ukraine.

We will see in time. Now it is very complicated to say more, because many psychologists describe this as post-traumatic stress disorder. But it is not post-trauma—we are still in trauma. Post-trauma will come later, I hope, after Ukraine wins this war.

It doesn’t matter if students live inside the country or outside. Believe me, it is not very easy. I have been a refugee once or twice. I changed my life, but I was an adult. My son has changed his life one, two, three, four, even five times. The war first started when he was seven. It is tough. He doesn’t know where his house is, where his belongings are, where his friends are, or where his safe place is.

Jacobsen: How do students with a connection to Israel view things? People often assume they all do, but not everyone with a Jewish background necessarily has that connection. Some may have citizenship, while others may not, but they still feel a sentimental bond. Others, however, don’t have geopolitical considerations at all—they care about their lives in their own country. People are complicated, and their circumstances are unique.

So, in terms of how they see things, but for Ukrainian Jewish people who know the war in Ukraine, and then see the war in Gaza, do they feel a sense of solidarity around both of these wars? Or do they tend to focus on whichever war is closest to them—if they’re in Israel, they focus on Israel; if they’re in Ukraine, they concentrate on Ukraine?

Kholodova: First of all, Jewish life in Ukraine is a little different from Jewish life in Western Europe. Thank God, and thanks to our work, the level of antisemitism here is lower. That is very good. I have been working in the Jewish community for over twenty years—possibly twenty-two or twenty-three, I don’t remember exactly. We have numerous projects and programs, and we frequently engage with students and the broader community about Israel.

For us in Ukraine, Israel has never been seen as an aggressor. For us, Jewish life and Israel are equal values. After October 7, of course, we provided much information about what was happening. Our students were monitoring closely because a very high percentage of Ukrainian Jewish people have direct connections to Israel. Maybe your grandmother, your grandfather, your uncle, or your friend lives there. Maybe someone you knew from Taglit or Hillel lives there. The connection is direct and very strong.

But when you are sitting under bombs in Ukraine—in Kyiv, Kharkiv, Dnipro, or another region—of course, you are worried about yourself. It is excruciating, yes, what happened on October 7, what happened in Gaza, or what happened in Jerusalem during that terrible terror attack. But when you are under bombardment in Ukraine, your focus shifts to your own problems and survival.

That does not mean what happens in Israel is not essential. It is necessary, but your focus changes. In Ukraine, we work very strongly with Israeli topics. We have programs because it is necessary for us to make sure antisemitism in Ukraine does not grow. We know that even in Israel, there are antisemitic people, but we want Ukraine to remain a safe place for Jewish people and students. We want it to continue being a place where being Jewish is an honour.

I can also speak from my personal experience. When I was in Israel under Iranian bombardment, of course, I was less worried about what was happening in Kyiv at that moment. But when I was in Kyiv under Russian bombs, my focus was on surviving there.

The connection between Israel and Ukraine is powerful. First, because for many years our programs have had direct ties with Israel. Second, because of the close, personal connections, face-to-face. I don’t know a single person in the Jewish community in Ukraine who doesn’t have some near relative, friend, or even a neighbour in Israel.

Jacobsen: What support has Hillel provided to students and communities since February 24, 2022? And what are things that students and communities want but you can’t provide because of the circumstances?

Kholodova: Initially, when the war began, we focused on providing our students with necessities, such as food, food boxes, and safe places to stay. I can give you an example. Ukraine is not a small country, and it is beautiful—I love Ukraine. But the western regions, like Lviv and the Carpathian Mountains, were much quieter. In contrast, Kharkiv is very close to the Russian border, and it faced daily attacks.

When the war started, many students from Kharkiv evacuated to Lviv. They stayed in apartments with Lviv students. For us, Lviv became a hub. It was a gigantic form of support. We couldn’t afford apartments at that time, but Lviv students invited those in need and provided them with a place to stay. For many months—maybe up to a year—Kharkiv students lived in Lviv thanks to this solidarity.

We also opened a program for psychological help. It wasn’t private consultations, but group therapy. Now, all Hillel branches in Ukraine have something similar to a psychology club or meetings with psychologists to try to provide help. For example, less than a few weeks ago, we had a large summer forum in the Carpathian Mountains. Before that, we received training from the Trauma Coalition in Israel, which worked with our staff. We are doing what we can, but you must understand: the people working in Jewish organizations in Ukraine are in trauma, too. Sometimes they burn out even faster than participants.

It’s not like the situation where you live in a safe place, come to Ukraine, help people, and then return to your “unicorn reality.” For example, I live in Israel. In June, I took my son there for the summer holidays. Just a few days later, the Iranian war began. We sat in our apartment, and my son, who is always joking and trolling me, said, “Come on, what’s next? Somalia?” You try to find a safe place to live, and every time something new happens. I guess I am a fortunate girl.

It’s our reality now. But you know, for example, I feel very safe when I am at home in Israel. I’m not afraid. When I am in Ukraine, it is much scarier to see what happens. Even when you check the news or sit under the Shahids—the drones—you know what it is, and it is not very comforting. But every morning you wake up and try to live.

Jacobsen: What about young people who are still developing their core Jewish cultural identity and sense of self while war is happening? It’s a tricky question—how does that work for them? What issues come up?

Kholodova: It’s exciting—really, a very interesting question. My husband is Israeli, and he’s not from the former Soviet Union. His grandparents came to Palestine before. He is Ashkenazi Jewish, and you need to understand why I start with this story.

He always asks me, “Lerochka, I don’t understand why people want to be Jewish. I was born Jewish. I had no choice. I live in Israel, and I am Israeli. I don’t even know what happened on my eighth day when I was circumcised; nobody asked me who I am. But I don’t understand why people who live outside of Israel—people who for twenty years didn’t think of themselves as Jewish, didn’t even know they were Jewish—suddenly want to become Jewish. Everybody hates us.”

For him, before he met me, he didn’t even know what Jewish life outside Israel was like. So when a Ukrainian girl in Israel told him about Jewish community life, he was shocked. He asked, “What is this?” It was a funny story, but I think it explains something.

Why do people want this identity? Because for them it is essential. Jewish life in Ukraine is exciting. When I started working twenty-five years ago, Jewish life in Ukraine had always offered many more opportunities than ordinary life—seminars, camps, activities, and good speakers. It was a very bright life at that time. Even before the war, and during the war, Ukraine has maintained a high level of social life. You can still find many activities. But if you work with Jewish values, and you live them, then people want to be Jewish and proud of being Jewish.

It is not complicated—if you believe that being Jewish is something to be proud of, you can share those values with your community, your students, and the people around you. They begin to share your values with you. And thankfully, in Ukraine, being Jewish is now safer than, for example, in France, Italy, or other countries.

Jacobsen: I have a question less about the core and more about the periphery. Hillel works in Belarus, Moldova, Georgia, and Azerbaijan. How does the war context affect people in those countries—people who, at least as far as we know, are not being bombed daily by UAVs, ballistic missiles, and so on?

Kholodova: For example, we cannot speak directly with Belarus. We have excellent private relationships between staff and students, but we cannot organize common programs or projects at this time. First of all, Ukrainian society would not understand. We cannot explain, “Listen, Jewish life is separate from the war.” It is too sensitive. And it is also dangerous for people in Belarus, for students and staff. They cannot show that they have connections with us.

In other countries—Moldova, Georgia, Azerbaijan—the situation is different. The general position of these countries is much closer to us, so communication is not a problem. Georgia especially tries to support us, because they know—they were in the same situation, and even now they are in a similar situation, as their government is a proxy of Russia.

We have had problems, but believe me, they were inside our own circle, inside our staff. We solved them and found solutions. Now, it has become more complicated. Before the full-scale war, and even before 2014, we used Russian as a universal language. Now in Ukraine, we use only Ukrainian. Our colleagues often do not understand us, so we try to use more English. That is how we have found a way to move forward together.

Jacobsen: You’re a refugee. I’ve known other Ukrainian Jewish refugees. Do you see parallels between Jewish cultural narratives in history and the current displacement experienced by Ukrainians?

Kholodova: I connect my refugee experience more with Ukrainian history. It feels like a different context. I am a refugee, yes—but it is more tied to Ukraine’s story.

Jacobsen: That’s actually a perfect point. How do Jewish communities and institutions like Hillel work with wider civil society organizations during the war?

Kholodova: We do much collaboration. During the war, many volunteer organizations opened in Ukraine. They help in many spheres—supporting the military, assisting refugees, and caring for animals. Ukraine has become like a big volunteer hub. Everybody is collecting money, food, and power banks.

Before 2022, Hillel already had many volunteer projects. However, perhaps 90 percent of our volunteer activity took place within the Jewish community, as that is our mission. Now, in every city, every Hillel, every organization has powerful connections with other volunteer and social foundations. It is important.

You are not only Jewish in Ukraine now—you are Ukrainian Jewish in Ukraine. People here carry both identities, and sometimes they are equal. Before the war, being Ukrainian was natural—nobody wanted to kill you for that. They targeted you because you were Jewish. Now they want to kill you because you are Ukrainian. So you hold both identities.

I know many Jewish students who wear jewelry with the Magen David or the Hamsa. But now I also see much jewelry with the Tryzub—the Ukrainian trident—combined with the Magen David. It has become very natural: “I am Ukrainian Jewish.” Just like in Israel, you are Israeli Jewish; here, you are Ukrainian Jewish.

Of course, we’ve expanded our social activities, and our students are very active in volunteer projects. For us, this is natural. It is crucial for Ukraine, but it is also essential for the image of the Jewish community, to show we are not separate.

I’m sure you have heard of Rabbi Asman in Kyiv. He continues his work. His community is very active. He is a fascinating person.

When the war began, Rabbi Asman started helping not only Jewish people but all Ukrainians. Why? Because you need to show that Jewish people care not only about their own close circles, but also about the country they live in. It creates a perfect image. Especially after October 7, with antisemitism always present, it is essential to show we are not separate.

It is the same with Hillel. Of course, our mission is to work with Jewish students and communities, but you cannot live in this country and say, “Don’t touch me, I’m not involved.” If you are Ukrainian Jewish, you must also share Ukrainian values—especially now.

I am talking about the Central Synagogue in Brodsky. Asman works very effectively in the political sphere. He meets with Budanov and Zelensky, invites them to the synagogue, travels to Washington, and has connections with Trump and other spiritual leaders. It is essential—he does excellent work.

Jacobsen: I was thinking about that the other day. Whether someone is secular or religious, the political and interpersonal importance of religion—and the tactful use of religion—is critical in building and maintaining ties when it is such a central factor in so many people’s lives.

Lessons you can teach us. What can the global Jewish community learn from the responses of Ukrainian Jews in their moment of crisis—not only over the last three years, but also in the years preceding it? How can they learn from you in terms of the type of response you have given to this war and the crisis that follows it?

Kholodova: First of all, we always feel a powerful connection with the international Jewish community. It is not only about Ukraine and Israel. For example, Hillel in Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia are all part of Hillel International.

And I remember how, from the very first moments, they called us many times, trying to support and help us. In life, some crises destroy relationships, but some crises make them stronger. This crisis, this terrible situation, worked in the second way. It brought the Jewish community closer, even more than before.

I feel this strongly. Hillel in Poland, for example, was pleased to help our students when they fled to Poland. And not only Poland—they stayed in touch with us, asking what we needed. The Jewish world is global, and it is exciting. I am happy that we are strong and we are together, no matter what happens around us.

Jacobsen: That leads to a very tricky question. What about relations between Jewish communities that share identity as Jews, whether Reform, Orthodox, or Conservative, but who live in countries at war with each other?

Palestine and Israel are different—there are not many Jewish people in Palestine, as far as I know. But in Russia, there are a lot of Jews. In Ukraine, there are a lot of Jews. Canada has many Jewish people. America has many Jewish people. If Canada and the United States went to war with each other, the same question would apply. How does that complicate cultural maintenance and cultural identity?

Kholodova: Yes, it’s a tricky question. You want to catch me! I can’t really answer now what I think about such a situation. I hope it will never happen, because believe me, I don’t want to see it become true for our state.

But I can share a joke. With my refugee experience, one day I asked my husband, “Maybe we should move to New Zealand.” He asked, “Why New Zealand?” I said, “Nobody knows about New Zealand. I think it’s the one safe place in the world.” He said, “Don’t go to New Zealand—if you go there, something will happen there too!”

You need to understand the reality. Who is guilty in this situation? For example, if you had asked me fifteen years ago about my thoughts on Russia, I would have said, “They are our brothers. I speak Russian. I live in Donetsk,” and so on. But the context changes depending on what happens.

If Canada attacked the United States, you would be guilty. If America attacked, you would be guilty. You need to understand the situation—what happened before, what the reasons are, whether you are defending or being attacked.

I hope—and I wish for all people in this world—that they never experience what I have lived through. I had to start life over twice as an adult. Starting life again and again is very difficult. I managed it—I am happy I met my husband in Israel, I continue my work, and I love what I do. But it is painful, and not everyone can do it. Not because they are not strong, but because it is simply very tough and painful.

Jacobsen: Let me wrap up with this question. One thing I’ve taken from some of the travels I’ve faced is an analogy: with languages, every language on the surface looks different, but underneath there is a shared structure that allows us to learn, speak, and, with education, write a language.

I feel more and more that people are the same way. Cultures may look very different, but when you interact one-on-one—especially now that translation removes language barriers—you find the same frustrations, the same joys, and the same humanity.

What positives have you taken away from this war? I know it feels strange to ask about positives in the middle of such devastation, but in terms of resilience, what have you seen in people as they rebuild identities, sometimes fusing them? For example, the way many Ukrainian Jews mix those identities into something new.

Kholodova: The example of jewelry I gave earlier is about something you can touch—a symbol you can see. But I think identity is also built inside—in your soul, in your heart. Usually, you become conscious of your identity when someone tries to destroy it.

Before 2014, I never gave much thought to my identity—whether I was Ukrainian or Russian. I spoke Russian because it was normal for me at the time. I didn’t face the kind of situation that forced me to reflect on it.

It may sound strange, but this is why Jewish people preserved their identity for thousands of years. They were forced to. They couldn’t relax; they had to think about who they were. And now it is the same with Ukrainians. Unfortunately, identity often becomes stronger in the most challenging situations.

You start to understand who you are, and you need to make a choice. Not everyone in Ukraine has made this choice, but I’m sure that 95 percent of Ukrainians now understand that they are Ukrainian—or Ukrainian Jews. Some people sit and wait. Perhaps they wait for communism to return; I don’t know.

However, this is not just about Ukraine; it’s about the entire world. For example, if you went out tomorrow morning, had your coffee, and asked 10 or 15 people what they would do if war started in their country, half of them would probably say they’d look for ways to get to New Zealand.

That’s human. It’s not “normal,” but it is part of human nature.

Jacobsen: Any closing thoughts or quotes based on the conversation today?

Kholodova: In Hebrew, there is a phrase: “Over, over, God.”

Jacobsen: Excellent. Valeriia, thank you very much for your time today and for participating in this. I greatly appreciate it.

Kholodova: Yes, thank you. Good night.

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