Column: Rabbi feeds Ukrainian refugees in Poland

By Rabbi Sanford Akselrad, Special to the Sun

Thursday, April 14, 2022 | 2 a.m.

Editor’s note: Rabbi Sanford Akselrad, from Congregation Ner Tamid in Henderson, is in Poland to help with relief efforts because of the war. This week, he is sharing his thoughts and experiences there with Sun readers.

Tuesday morning was perhaps the most emotional day I have had since arriving in Cracow. We drove three hours to the border between Poland and Ukraine. Meeting with government officials, they shared how within a matter of 24-48 hours after Feb. 24, their city of 64,000 people opened up their homes and hearts to millions of refugees who would come across the border.

Setting up sites in two shopping malls, using over 1,500 volunteers from around the world, they quickly developed a process to help each person who arrived. Most were women and children, or the elderly. They were exhausted and uncertain of what to do or where to go. At each of these refugee hubs, they were given food, medical assistance and psychological support. They were told how to access the resources of the local community and Poland, as well as transportation to another city or country. It would be the start of a long journey until they would feel a bit settled and somewhat safe.

The day culminated as we gathered at a hotel not far from the border. The rabbis and two cantors held an abbreviated Seder for the volunteers, refugees and representatives of nongovernmental organizations. As the matzo was raised with the traditional words, “ha lachma anya ... This is the bread of affliction ... let all who are hungry come and eat,” they resonated with me with renewed meeting.

I did not have to imagine myself fleeing a pharaoh in search of freedom. Nor did I have to imagine what it was like to be among so many hungry people. I will never forget one little girl, perhaps, 4 years old, dressed all in pink. Her mother tickled her playfully, and she giggled with delight, unaware of what was happening around her and the trajectory her life would take. This girl will grow up and have her own Passover story that she will tell for the rest of her life. And her story is now part of mine. Her innocence brought solace to tired souls, and emboldened her mother to stay strong. Her laughter reminded me of our humanity in the face of the pharaohs of this world.

The purpose of the Seder was to bear witness to what had happened to our people thousands of years ago. We are commanded to tell this story to sensitize ourselves to the plight of others. Today, I could see how with open hearts, hope can be found in the corner of even a war-torn world. At the Seder we sing for the coming of Elijah, a prophet who is said to usher in the coming of a messianic world; a world of happiness and peace. As we sang his song, I knew we can not wait any longer; each of us must become Elijah.

Struggling with my humanity

Among the more powerful experiences I have participated in has been helping refugees. Some of it has been structured, but informal interactions have made the biggest impression upon me — handing out candy, money or a stuffed toy. The look on the faces of desperate people is both gratifying and uncomfortable. I am always cognizant of trying to make sure to help people without taking away their dignity.

It can be a tough balance. At times it feels voyeuristic and at other times it feels as if my empathetic human connection has made all the difference in someone’s life. I don’t want to feel as if I am watching a car accident, but I am proud that I stopped to help.

It is the simple gestures of kindness that touch a person’s life, including my own.

In war, the sense of humanity is often the first casualty. Witnessing the human tragedy and the resiliency of these people is not easy, but it is necessary. On the one hand I can not help but think of my own family and say to myself, “There but for the grace of God go I,” and on the other hand, I say to myself, “Go with God, you are not alone. You are not alone.”