The night before I visited the synagogue, 50 cruise and ballistic missiles and 297 drones and loitering munitions were fired into the country. Of these, about 200 were Shaheds launched by the Russians but designed in Iran.
When you’re Jewish, you can’t move for symbolism in Ukraine and, as world events pick up pace, it all becomes more relevant every day.
Take Babyn Yar near Kyiv, where I was staying. In the “Holocaust of bullets” which took place on that site in 1941, almost 34,000 Jews were executed in two days. Fast-forward to January and about the same number of protesters – according to some estimates – were gunned down in Iran in about the same period of time.
Or take those drones. The fact that most of them bore the fingerprints of the Islamic Republic is deeply significant. The regime that hates the Jews the most stands in alliance with the world’s other most despicable, genocidal state.
The synagogue interior[Missing Credit]
The Brodsky Synagogue itself, which stands on a busy crossroads in the very heart of the pretty Ukrainian capital, is another such symbol. Built in the late 19th century in the Romanesque Revival style with money from sugar magnate Lazar Brodsky, it was requisitioned by the Soviets in 1926 as part of their repression of religion.
For years it was used first as an artisan club and then, weirdly, a puppet theatre. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, however, it was handed back to the Jews and in 2000, after significant renovations, became the beating heart of a 5,000-strong community.
On the afternoon of my visit, the prayer hall was being renovated. Money is tight, but a donation from a Ukrainian businessman enabled the community to fund the much-needed replacement of the floor.
Outside the prayer hall is an antique silver menorah, flanked by a photograph of the rebbe (this is now a Chabad place). In the basement there is a café, while adjoining the synagogue is a museum of Jewish life and a small shop, where I bought two sets of silver candlesticks as birthday presents for my mother and sister. Even on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, the building was full of life.
Andrew Fox, the former parachute regiment officer, and myself, had travelled to Kyiv to record an episode of our podcast, The Brink, to mark the fourth anniversary of Vladimir Putin’s invasion. Very kindly, the Brodsky officials allowed us to use the synagogue as a setting for our Substack live, which we conducted in the echoing prayer hall while workmen quietly replaced the flooring around us.
According to David Milman, a rabbi at the synagogue, whom I joined afterwards for instant coffee out of plastic cups in his busy office on the second floor, the history of the synagogue is more relevant now than it has ever been. “It shows how the fates of Jews and the fate of Ukraine are bound together in this war,” he said.
The synagogue in Kyiv[Missing Credit]
“The Soviets tried to destroy Jewry and the Ukrainians gave this place back. Now we have a Jewish president and support for Israel is very high as we battle Russia that is allied to Iran.”
Rabbi Milman, 63, has close connections with Israel, as his daughter and three grandchildren fled there after Putin’s invasion. Despite the war raging in Ukraine, since October 7 he has travelled to Israel many times to offer his support on the home front.
“It is a different story in Israel, but also it is the same,” he said. “Anybody who tries to associate Ukraine with the Palestinian cause knows nothing. We stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Israel in defence of democracy, whether the enemy is the ayatollah or Putin.”
The diminutive grandfather is more than just a rabbi. As a chaplain to the Ukrainian armed forces, he spends at least six months a year on the front lines, providing both spiritual and practical support to the troops.
He unlocked his mobile telephone and scrolled through some pictures. There he is in combat fatigues, comforting a wounded soldier. There he is with his arms around several men in uniforms, who tower over him. There he is posing with a group of armed fighters. There he is shooting a gun.
Rabbi Milman meets Ukrainian troops[Missing Credit]
Can he tell me some stories about the challenges he faced on the front? “I have been very lucky,” he said, simply. Then he fell silent.
Sitting in his synagogue office, the taciturn man with a large blue kippah cut an unremarkable figure.
Even on his day off from frontline duties, however, he was wearing olive green, and a military helmet nestled on the top of a bookcase of sefarim. Clearly, he felt this fight deeply.
Today, the Brodsky Synagogue plays a role in the war effort as well as offering a programme of services and lectures.
About 150 meals are served every day to people who have been bombed out or bereaved, both Jewish and non-Jewish, and Rabbi Milman and his colleagues strain to hold the community – which has shrunk to half its previous size since the 2022 invasion – together.
“Like everybody else in Ukraine, the Jewish community is suffering,” he told me.
“The Russians are attacking our energy infrastructure, trying to freeze us to death, so we rely on generators.
“There are rocket attacks and it is very dangerous for our children.
“Overnight, we all live in fear, the same as everyone else in the country.”
There are, however, specific challenges facing the Jewish community. “Shechitah (ritual slaughter) is a problem.
“Our shochet (slaughterman) fled to Germany and he isn’t coming back. So we have to borrow a shochet from Israel, who comes here several times a year.
“We freeze lots of meat, but if the electricity cuts out for too long, it rots, especially in the warmer months. Our sofer (scribe) also fled the country, so we need to get our mezuzot and tefillin from Israel.”
Despite it all, some young people refuse to let go of their dream of a free and peaceful Ukraine. “We still have occasional weddings in the synagogue,” Rabbi Milman said. “The last one was a year ago. Some young people still feel that their future lies here, but many do not.”
How do complacent Britain and Europe look when viewed from a synagogue in Kyiv? I asked. “When I was young, the Iran-Iraq war was raging,” he said. “I didn’t think about it. There was no emotional connection as it was so far away. Similarly, people in the West don’t have the experience of war to understand what we are going through. Their brains are cold, there is no emotion attached.”
It is impossible not to be reminded of Israelis when speaking to Rabbi Milman and other Ukrainians. Resilience, defiance, national solidarity and courage mark out two peoples fighting on the front lines of democracy.
The only upside, Rabbi Milman added, was that Jews in Ukraine suffer far less antisemitism than those in Britain. “Even though this is a warzone, we don’t need so much security outside our synagogues as you do in London. In Ukraine, we are all in the same boat. We are all together. Jews play their part like everybody else and we all pull together.”
The Brink podcast, presented by Jake Wallis Simons and Andrew Fox, is available now
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