For a millenium the askenazi heatland more jews than africa, germany, poland or entire mid east
Ukraine - European Jewish Congress
European Jewish Congresshttps://eurojewcong.org › CommunitiesIn the 1990s, many Ukrainian Jews emigrated to Israel. In spite of this Aliyah, the Jewish community of Ukraine is today the fifth largest in the world ..
The Ironies of History: The Ukraine Crisis through the Lens of Jewish History | Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies
History Is Not Destiny: Thoughts about the Russian War against Ukraine and the Jewish Past in the Region
Elissa Bemporad, Queens College and The CUNY Graduate Center
As a scholar of Eastern European Jewry, I am intimately familiar with some of the darkest pages in the history of the Jewish communities of Ukraine. I’ve recently written about the pogroms of the Russian Civil War, an exceptionally brutal conflict that broke out following the October Revolution of 1917 and lasted until 1921, between different armies and troops vying to control the territories of the former Russian Empire. Among them were Ukrainian troops, desperately struggling for independence against the Red Army. I’ve chronicled the violence experienced by many Jewish settlements west of the River Dnipro, as Ukrainian forces resented Jews for their alleged pro-Communist position, as saboteurs of the Ukrainian dream of independence.
The tragic pages that tell the story of more than 100,000 Jews murdered in the towns and cities of Ukraine during the civil war are preceded by other painful ones: the anti-Jewish violence perpetrated during the 1648–49 Cossack uprising led by Bohdan Khmielnitsky—and then, more than a century later, the massacres carried out by Ivan Gonta, as both leaders fought against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Some of these pages have fortified Jewish collective memory for centuries, as Jewish identity and the history of these catastrophes became closely intertwined.
Other bouts of violence against the Jewish communities of Ukraine took place in the long nineteenth century, when waves of anti-Jewish pogroms occurred in the midst of extraordinary political upheaval: in 1881–82, unleashed by the assassination of Tsar Alexander II, and then in 1905, during the failed first Russian Revolution.
The culmination of the darkness came during World War II, when the Germans invaded the Soviet Union. With an estimated one and a half million Jews killed in Ukraine from June 1941–44, with thousands of Ukrainians assisting Germans in slaughtering their Jewish neighbors (deceived by the German promise of independence), the Holocaust remains the most somber page in the history of the Jews in the region. In his 1943 account the great writer Vasily Grossman described a Ukraine in which “there are no Jews. Nowhere—not in Poltava, Kharkov, Kremenchug, Borispol, not in Iagotin… Stillness. Silence. A people has been murdered.”[1]
It would, however, be an immeasurable distortion to reduce the history of the Jews in Ukraine to a narrative of pogroms-cum-Holocaust, imposing on the region a teleology of anti-Jewish violence. The towns and cities of Ukraine were far from being mere sites of destruction and suffering; most of the time they were places of coexistence, where Jews produced some of the greatest chapters in the history of Eastern European Jewish life, achieving a grandeur and originality in the spheres of culture, religious life, and politics, ranging from Hasidism and Hebrew poetry to Yiddish literature and Socialist Zionism.
The names of the same towns and cities that form such an important part of the Eastern European Jewish past have been resounding consistently in the media since February 24, 2022, when Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine: Uman, Cherkasy, Kyiv, Dnipro, Odessa, Zhytomir, Lviv, Chernivtsy. The horrific war of aggression against the independent state of Ukraine, which is but the latest link in the chain of Russian and Soviet imperialism, as well as a continuation of Putin’s war of 2014 that resulted in Russia’s annexation of Crimea, is having a deep effect on Jewish life and history. The war, which has already triggered the greatest refugee crisis in Europe since World War II, with its indiscriminate shelling of civilians, also affects the approximately 100,000 Jews living in Ukraine today.
When reading accounts about Ukrainians taking refuge in a mikvah in Uman together with their Jewish neighbors, or about Hasidic Jews taking up arms to defend their country alongside Ukrainian soldiers, one might be tempted to explain all this by calling attention to a common enemy, which can eliminate preexisting tensions and heal the wounds of the past. But the truth is that following the collapse of the Soviet Union, Ukraine has not only become the most democratic state in the post-Soviet landscape outside of the Baltics, it has also inaugurated a new chapter in the Jewish history of the region, reminding us that history evolves and should not always be written through the specter of the violence of the past.
The peak of this evolution over the past thirty years has been the democratic election of a Jewish president, Volodymir Zelensky, who in 2019 won with an overwhelming majority of 73 percent of the votes—something implausible in any other country in Eurasia—and whose Jewishness was never instrumentalized by his political opponents in Ukraine, but only recently by Putin and his puppet government in Belarus. Zelensky not only passed a law against antisemitism, which was approved by the Ukrainian Parliament in the fall of 2021, but also dedicated the Ukrainian government’s support to fund a memorial complex at Babyn Yar, the site of the single largest massacre in the history of the Holocaust. The site was neglected and abused for decades under the Soviets, and has recently been damaged by the Russians in their indiscriminate shelling. While antisemitism does exist in Ukraine today, all things considered, life might be more dangerous for Jews in American cities than Ukrainian ones.
I’ve visited Ukraine multiple times over the course of twenty years, to conduct archival research and teach, and have come to appreciate these changes by engaging with the wonderful scholarly communities of students in Kyiv and Lviv. Siding with Ukraine today does not entail in any way dismissing or forgetting the dark pages of anti-Jewish violence in the region. It is rather a reminder that we can start turning those pages, writing new ones in the book of the Jews of Ukraine.



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