“Reclaiming What Was Lost”: One Jewish Grandmother’s Dreams for the Future

Artist, babushka, and proud Jew, Inga Ptukhina has a lot to live for these days — namely, her daughter Inna and granddaughter Sasha. Before the Ukraine crisis began, Inga, 66, enjoyed spending time with Inna and Sasha in their shared hometown of Odesa, Ukraine. But the conflict would soon change all of this, upending their lives and separating them from each other.

In this reflection, Inga describes growing up Jewish in the Soviet Union, the challenges of living through the current conflict, and her hopes for her daughter and granddaughter, who now live as refugees in Warsaw, Poland. 

My life has been one long journey back to Jewishness — a path that, against all odds, my daughter and granddaughter continue to walk defiantly today. 

You could say we inherited it from my great-grandmother, a strong woman and a devout Jew. 

During one famine in Ukraine, someone killed a turtle and made some turtle stew. When she saw a paw floating in the broth, my great-grandmother screamed “Oy, gevalt!” and nearly collapsed. She cursed everyone involved. Nothing, not even starvation, could stop her from keeping kosher.

Unlike her, I grew up with only a hazy notion of what being Jewish meant. No one ever told me about my heritage or traditions. My parents didn’t want to talk about it. Like me, they were raised in the Soviet Union, where Jewish life was best kept behind closed doors and Jewish identity was a marker of challenge and difficulty rather than a point of pride.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that society had rejected me. People saw me as a Jew first and a human being second, often using slurs like “Jewess” to describe me. 

When I grew up and moved to Odesa, I felt the sting of antisemitism right away, though it was more muted at art school, where I surrounded myself with creative people.

It’s always seemed to me that artists are more liberated from prejudice. My classmates were educated, cosmopolitan, and free. Still, I sensed a deep-seated hatred within them — even these supposedly open-minded people couldn’t overcome their own latent antisemitism. 

Soviet life felt suffocating in other ways, too. After I graduated from art school, I got a job painting portraits of high-ranking party officials. Sure, I was getting paid to make art. But it also felt torturous. I couldn’t create what I wanted — I had to conform to their rigid standards. 

That’s why, when the Soviet Union collapsed and I lost my job, I felt free. Now I could create what I wanted without someone looking over my shoulder. Finally, I could breathe.

Well, almost. The fall of the Soviet Union also caused acute financial misery — so many people lost their pensions, their savings, everything they’d worked for, overnight. 

That’s when the JDC-supported Hesed social service center entered my life, through my late mother. For years, she received food and other life-saving aid from JDC. Decades later, JDC is a true lifeline for me, too. They help me survive and ensure I feel safe — I know they’re always there and will catch me if I fall.

We Jews need this safety net more than ever. With skyrocketing prices and ongoing shelling and uncertainty, the situation here in Ukraine feels overwhelming, and it’s snowballing. I’m just trying to adapt. 

All of these troubles began on February 24, 2022, a day that has divided the lives of all Ukraine’s Jews into a grim “before” and “after.” 

On that awful day, I first thought of my daughter Inna and granddaughter Sasha. They lived along the Mykolaiv highway — a particularly vulnerable place — and decided it was best to come to my home in the city center. They stayed with me for a week. 

Sasha means everything to Inna, and both of them mean everything to me. That’s why, that night, I moved their beds as far from the windows as I could. What if there was shelling? Shrapnel?  We couldn’t risk it — I elected to sleep near the window and keep them safe. 

We soon realized the situation was unsustainable. After the first air-raid alert, it was clear to us that my basement wasn’t a real bomb shelter. Sasha wouldn’t be protected. 

And so Inna made a difficult decision — she resolved to take Sasha and leave Ukraine by train.  

The station was chaotic. We struggled to get Sasha on the train and had to pass her over the heads of the other passengers. By a miracle, they found a place. 

Seeing them off, I pictured my mother and grandmother getting evacuated. That was during the Second World War. Who would have thought my granddaughter would be a child of conflict, too? Who could have imagined she’d have to flee into the unknown, abandoning her hamster, dog, and everything she loved, with nothing but a handbag and a backpack? 

My heart heavy with grief from the distant past, I stood on the platform and watched them depart, embracing an uncertain future. 

On the train, everyone slept side by side. Sasha lay on the floor for 40 hours. After a night without sleep, she was exhausted and disappointed. She was only six and had imagined an adventure; instead, she had walked into a painful reality. 

Inna and Sasha landed in Warsaw, and with JDC’s help, they found firm ground beneath their feet — food, accomodation, schooling for Sasha, and the warmth of a caring Jewish community. 

It would’ve been selfish to make them stay here with me and tremble with fear during bombings. As painful as it’s been, I’m glad my Inna chose to leave. I do my utmost to support them, and the only thing that keeps me going here is knowing they are in a safe place.

Today, the center of Sasha’s world is the Lauder-Morasha school in Warsaw, where JDC provides her with a scholarship. My daughter wouldn’t be able to afford a Jewish school otherwise. There, Sasha learns all about Jewish traditions and history and gets to light Shabbat candles and celebrate all the holidays.

Words fail to describe Sasha — you simply have to meet her in person. Everyone at school loves her, and they refer to Inna as simply “Sasha’s mom.” 

Sasha is a strong student, too. She learns quickly, and I know she will succeed. Life is full of discoveries for her. She constantly takes on new hobbies, and both she and Inna have mastered the Polish language. 

Above all, her school has given Sasha the Jewish life I never had. Each and every day, she’s reclaiming what my family lost and making it her own. This is thanks largely to JDC.

Helping each other is our strength — it’s what allowed the Jewish people to survive. We walked in the desert for 40 years. No one can take that from us. And just as they were there for my mother and me, I know JDC will be there for my Inna and Sasha. 

I’m proud that my family is full of strong girls, strong women, and strong grandmothers. 

Together, we can withstand anything. 

Inga Ptukhina, 66, is a JDC client in Odesa, Ukraine.

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