“More Than Just Food”: This Shavuot, Feeding the Hungry in Ukraine

When the conflict in Ukraine began more than three years ago, Sofia Puchayeva knew she needed to help her fellow Jews. Soon, she found her calling as a volunteer at the JDC-supported Hesed Besht social service center in her native Lutsk, Ukraine. Through JDC’s Food Security Project — a program that provides healthy meals to internally displaced persons (IDPs) and others in need — Puchayeva found the Jewish community she’d always been craving. 

As Shavuot approaches, Puchayeva reflects on her Jewish journey and the many ways her volunteer efforts have sustained her and the Jews of Ukraine. 

There’s a saying that goes, “To keep from crying, I laughed.” 

Jews have a particularly grueling history, and our traditions reflect this difficult reality — particularly our music. Beneath our unrestrained joy, there lies a well of sadness, grief, humiliation, and tears. 

As Jews, we hold both our pain and our happiness at the same time, and this balancing act has allowed us to persist and even thrive.  

Growing up in the Soviet Union, I realized early on that being Jewish could be dangerous. Though my family didn’t hide our identity, I don’t remember publicly observing any Jewish traditions or celebrating the holidays.

In middle school, my classmates bullied me, calling me “Jewess.” There were many of them, and I felt alone in my identity. Though I didn’t fully understand the meaning of that slur, I sensed it was filled with hate. 

At the same time, I felt I had little to complain about. My mother grew up during the Nazi occupation, and being Jewish back then was a death sentence.

Because of this inherited trauma — and my own troubling experiences — I fully embraced my Jewish identity only after I turned 40. 

The first glimmer of Jewish life came through my mother. She has been a JDC client since 2000. An active member of the Yahad Club — a music group at our Hesed — she meets with her friends, sings in the choir, and has performed in Lutsk, Rivne, and Khmelnytskyi. For years, I would occasionally visit my mother at Hesed but not participate in their programming myself.

It would take a cataclysmic event to bring me closer to my Jewish heritage — the awful situation that began here in Ukraine on February 24, 2022. 

At first, I felt completely helpless. The most challenging thing for me to accept was that this was not a nightmare, but a harsh reality. I still can’t comprehend how, in the 21st century, when humanity is launching space programs and exploring the cosmos, Jews in Ukraine are enduring shelling and rocket-fire — a situation as barbaric as if we were living in the Middle Ages.

I knew I had to do something or I’d feel lost. My mother suggested I contact Hesed Besht and find a way to contribute. 

I’ll admit that I’m a bit of a homebody and not very social. But in the first few days and weeks of this terror, I made a promise to myself: If somebody asks me to help, I’ll say “yes” and do it. Tomorrow may not come, I reasoned, and there might be no one left to offer support. 

If I didn’t step up, I’d lose the chance to make a difference and regret it for the rest of my life. 

That’s what brought me to the Food Security Project. At the onset of this horrific period, many people fled to western Ukraine, becoming IDPs. Upon arriving in Lutsk, their most immediate needs were food, shelter, and medicine. The Food Security Project is one way JDC fills the gap by providing wholesome, delicious Jewish meals to those in need. 

Today, I work with a permanent team of around five people: Natasha, the cook; Dima, her assistant; Marina, an IDP from Kharkiv; and Olya, an IDP from eastern Ukraine, who bakes challah. 

Each of us is committed to fostering that sense of safety and Jewish community only food can provide. And since joining this project, I’ve experienced a sense of collective uplift with the Jews of Ukraine, uniting to help and support one another.

It’s about more than just food. The people who come here — most of them elderly — are also seeking comfort and companionship. They no longer have their own home, their own cups, their own spoons, or their own forks. Sure, they may have a roof over their head, but they have nowhere to make their own food or they lack the means to prepare their own meals. 

That’s why we work hard to cultivate a warm, family-like atmosphere. And for the Jews who enjoy these meals, this hospitality is the difference between feeling uprooted and feeling settled. 

I’ll never forget meeting one elderly man from eastern Ukraine. He had the bluest eyes, and as he was eating borsch we’d prepared, his eyes filled with tears. I asked him if he liked the dish, and he replied that the borsch reminded him of home. 

I realized that, though I couldn’t give him back his home, I could help him feel at home with that bowl of borsch. 

I hope that one day we will reclaim a sense of normalcy, and that the people we serve can proudly prepare their own meals in their own kitchens. Until that blessed day, they know there will always be food available through JDC, and we are ready to welcome them.

As I reflect on it now, no holiday better encapsulates the spirit of what we’re doing than Shavuot. This is a time when all Jews come together and celebrate the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai — a life force that sustains us physically and spiritually. 

Here in Lutsk, we mark the occasion by setting up rows of buffet tables and enjoying a meal as one Jewish community. My core belief is that it’s essential to find your people. Now, at Hesed Besht, among my fellow volunteers, I’m surrounded by those who feel close to me, people with whom I feel safe and happy, whom I’m fortunate to have found. 

That’s why, on Shavuot, I’m celebrating all the ways Jews sustain each other. 

The wisdom that unites Jews around the world is rooted in faith, hope, and persistence — even and especially in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Just as the sun rises again after a dark night, life continues to unfold in new and vibrant ways. 

My dear mother, Svetlana Ivanova, was just three years old when the Second World War began. She, along with her mother and older brother, walked to Kyiv, covering a vast distance while hiding from the Nazis. 

I can picture her small legs trudging along that hot, dusty road, and I wonder how they managed to survive. On February 24, 2022, when I was driving with my mother, I realized I was retracing that very path. I was named after my grandmother, and it occurred to me that in a sense, I was saving her once more.

What we’re going through right now feels like an unimaginable trial — but we’ve walked this path before. The real hero is my mother, enduring a conflict with dignity for the second time. The heroes are my grandchildren, who slept in a bathtub for three months without complaint, never asking why there was no light, why it was dark, or why there was no food. 

The heroes are the Jews of Ukraine, volunteering with JDC right at their side. 

How good and how sweet it feels to be with my people at last — on Shavuot and every day of the year. 

Sofia Puchayeva is a JDC volunteer in Lutsk, Ukraine.

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