A Fairytale Setting

Yaraslav donned his tour guide hat and took us to see the Lavriv Saint Onuphrius's Monastery near Sambir. It was built in 1278, and supposedly contains the burial spot of Prince Lev Danylovych-founder of the city of Lviv. We stopped first at the city council in Sambir to pick up Cousin Dimitro's wife, Anna, who wished to see the site with us. It's quite lovely with some interesting, ancient frescoes.

When we got back, I noticed a commotion in the kitchen. Irene and Halya were fussing over Catherine who was sitting on her bed wearing a fancy babushka. I knew we were going into Hubici again, this time so I could visit the inside of Grandpop's house. I didn't know, however, that Catherine was taking her first trip out of the house in 3 years to join us!




This was both thrilling and scary for me. She's very frail and has great difficulty walking. I kept my fingers crossed the entire afternoon that nothing would happen. We set out in 2 cars on this very hot day, an undercurrent of excitement in the air.

The cemetery where my paternal ancestors rest is large, uneven and overgrown. Catherine sat at the graves of her parents and siblings, obviously overcome with emotion. Ukrainians often display a likeness of the deceased with either a photo or an engraving on the stone. I noticed that Catherine's oldest brother Vasil, named for my grandfather, looks surprisingly like my oldest brother, James, who died this April. I keep finding these unexpected connections on this journey.

Catherine took me to the grave of my grandfather's mother, Eva. She actually remembers the funeral when she was about 6 years old. There is a interesting mixed message here as my great-grandmother is buried right next to the church, a sign of great respect, underneath a sidewalk with no marker. Hmmm...

Next we stopped at my grandfather's home. When Vasil's widow could no longer stay by herself in Hubici, no one else in the family wanted the house so it was donated to the Greek Catholic Church. The grandson of Grandpop's best friend met us there with the key and a briefcase full of pictures and papers. I knew that my grandfather had corresponded with his for years-were some of those letters possibly in that briefcase? (Be still my beating heart!) Alas, no letters and no new photos of my paternal grandparent. Soviets frowned on keeping in touch with the West so all that mail was destroyed years ago. One picture of a group of Austrian soldiers did interest me, even though Grandpop wasn't in it.

Michael pointed out the attic. It was here his interest in his American family was piqued when, as a young boy, he would retreat to read the Ukrainian literature given to all peasants by Prosvita or (Enlightenment societies). He found a photo of a stranger his older brother later identified as their uncle who had emigrated to America in 1902. This captured Michael's imagination and he thought about my grandfather over the years and actually tried to find us back in the 1980's.

We then went to visit Catherine's 90 year old cousin. What a charming man! His wife gave me a large jar of Hubici honey- I can now taste the flowers and sun of my ancestors who have lived on this soil for more than a thousand years! She also gave a jar to Natalya who was extremely moved.

Prior to setting out on this little trip, she confronted me with a look of panic. "Sandra, Sandra!" she confided anxiously, "I just don't think I can stand one more dead ancestor!" I told her the story of how Alexander moaned toward the end of our stay, "If I had a gun, I'd shoot myself right now!" Fortunately, Natalya thought this was very funny so occasionally I break the tension with a surreptitious finger to the temple.

I see the gentle look in her eyes as she speaks with the old beekeeper. Natalya tells me that the woman has lost her own daughters and now there is no one left to care for her and her husband. "Natalya," I say earnestly, "You don't care now but as you listen to all these stories, remember that you will be the family historian someday-you now know things no one else in the family does." She is very quiet.

I've been very impressed with how Ukrainians treat their old people. Yaraslav shows great respect and tenderness to his mother. Michael, the youngest child in Marco's family, remembers when his sister took care of him and made him clothing by hand. Now he is so gentle and patient with his frail sister-they are the only siblings left in a large family. Assisted living facilities are unheard of here-I don't think it's just an economic factor. Ukrainians appreciate the wisdom and sacrifices of their elders and seem happy to give back.

Catherine keeps looking at me with such love-I'm so glad I made this trip while she is still alive. She is very much like me-we actually have the same hair style, once the babuska is removed! She also is the single mother of an only son. She liked building things and taking care of her goats and bees and gardens and is also interested in dreams. Yaraslav showed me a large ladder his mother constructed by hand. Michael told me she would have liked to be educated but there was no possibility in the Polish education system so she has lived her life close to the land in much the same way as our ancestors.


We came home to a truly wonderful feast of lazy man's verenyki and kneidils (sp) which are terrific dumplings filled with plums from Irene's garden. We ate both with fresh, homemade sour cream. Yaraslav treated me to his own salo (raw porkfat). This sounds awful but actually is quite good. It seems he can cook anything-I guess as a result of having a mother who didn't like the kitchen. He makes all kinds of fresh juices, including birch tree, fruit compotes and his borsch is very tasty. Since he has to take care of his mother and several local businesses, Yaraslav only visits his wife and family on the weekends- not an uncommon arrangement in Ukraine.

I have finally uncovered my relatives' diabolical plan - to fatten me up like a turkey and then have me climb Mt. Hoverla, the highest mountain in Ukraine - which is near Kolymia, tomorrow's destination. I have left instructions to bury me in Hubici!

A Computer at Last

This has been an extraordinary trip for a genealogist although it has been frustrating not having computer access sooner. Happily, I'm sitting in the Internet cafe in Dobromil that Alexander and I used during our last visit. What a contrast to Zhuravno, where I finally fulfilled my wish to live like a Ukrainian-meaning with great deprivation but even greater resourcefulness!

Family researchers joke about discovering they come from royalty or some notable personality. Well, I knew about some distant village mayor providing the family surname and realized that's probably all I'll ever find in the royalty department but I was totally unprepared to stumble across a local hero sharing my bloodline! It seems that 18 year old Bohdan Cicik, related to me on my paternal grandmother's side (and looking very much like Uncle Pete!), shot and killed a KBG commander behind the city hall in Dobromil. Captured and wounded, he ripped open his chest injury and died, not wishing to put himself in the hands of the KBG for fear of giving up, under torture, important information.

To commemorate this bravery, the school in Lacko has been named for him. It's such a nice place- with a total of 35 students in grades 1 through 8. The custodian forced open the locked door of the history class and let me look at local artifacts gathered over the years. These, along with an outhouse, well and woodpile, took the school back in time.

On the way home, Yaraslav suddenly swerved into a neighbor's driveway to surprise me and Michael with a new "leaf" on the family tree! Our great-grandmother Eva's mother was Anna Duleba. Her direct descendant, Maria, still lives in Lacko. She and Yaraslav, both strongly opinionated people who don't give in easily, have had a contentious relationship. Thanks to my research, Yaraslav has had a wonderful time teasing her about being cousins (she is not amused!)

Decadent eating resumed today in nearby Hubici, birthplace of my grandfather and his brother Marco. First we went to the home of Marco's son, Stefan. We gathered at the table with his widow, Stefania, some of their children, grandchildren and even a great-grandchild. Oldest son Michael is a married Greek Catholic priest who has a passionate interest in local history. It is frustrating speaking through a translator-in this case, the lovely Natalya who is giving briefer and briefer translations as the week progresses.

I've grown very fond of Natalya who looks up occasionally from texting on her cellphone to perform her duties. She informs me, as she slips outside to take or make calls, that her love life is becoming increasingly complicated due to the ardent attentions of several young men-one is her best friend's boyfriend! She corners me and asks in desperation to tell her the truth, is she fatter than when I last saw her? I look at this raven-haired beauty with her porcelain skin, blue-gray eyes, her petit, rounded young body and assure her that she's perfect.

I can understand her concerns, however. I, through much hard work, recently lost 15 pounds. I was pleased that my relatives noticed and commented on my figure. Now two weeks into my trip, less and less people are noticing the new svelte me while my buttons are getting harder to fasten!

To continue my carbohydrate saga, our small yet oh so full group squeezed into the priest's machina to go to Yaraslava's house for a quick visit. She is the wonderful old peasant woman who found my family for me. I love her and was really looking forward to seeing her again. Last time I walked to her home from Stefania's by forging a small stream. This time, the priest, who obviously shares his cousin Yaraslav's DNA, drove in the stream at break-neck speed. We arrived in record time, with Yaraslava, her daughter and grand-daughter welcoming us with radiant grins.

Yaraslava's daughter Olya, an acclaimed baker and cook, treated us to lovely pastries and a wonderful hot raspberry infusion. Making a connection with these women who are unrelated to me has been especially heartwarming. Thanks to a picture taken by a Canadian I met on the Internet, I became acquainted with Yaraslava on my first trip to Ukraine. She is the one who went to the archives in Stary Sambir and also contacted Marco's daughter, Anna, who is now dead. Anna remembered that my grandfather married a girl from Lacko- which proved to be the missing piece in my genealogy puzzle. Everyone at the table agreed that the story was truly a miracle! I was so happy, also, to see that the gas line has finally come to Lacko and Hubici. Yaraslav's yard was full of chopped wood on our last visit but was very bare this time round. When I left, Olya handed me a bag filled with her homemade preserves!

We arrived home, again stuffed to the gills, for a little rest before Cousin Dimitro and his wife, Anna, come for one of Yaraslav's perfectly roasted chickens with baked apples from the tree outside the door. Perhaps the chicken is also from outside the door -I won't ask!

I'm having a wonderful time!

Zhuravno in Four Parts

Before heading off to Zhuravno to reunite with Michael and Irene. Slav, Yaraslav and I decided to take a quick trip to a new Costco-like shopper's club on the edge of Lviv near the airport. It's good to see that Ukrainians are getting more consumer options.

As we drove 2 hours southeast of Lviv for the next part of my odyssey, Slav and I had a chance to talk. He pointed out fields of tomatoes and other "exotic" vegetables that Ukrainians are just beginning to grow rather than import. Ahead of us, Yaraslav suddenly swerved into a roadside market to make some purchases for lunch. The stand is also a new entrepreneurial phenomena. Last time I saw people sitting by the side of the road holding up jars of honey, jam, berries, mushrooms and perhaps a few potatoes.

Last Five Zhuravno Photos: Goat standing on piling of original bridge; Dniester River at dusk;Jewish Old Folks Home; Site of synagogue now post office; One of two tombstones at Jewish Cemetery

Day One in Zhuravno

It was wonderful to hug Michael and Irene again! Slav caught us up during the ubiquitous, many course luncheon. He explained the nature of one of my quests: documenting anything left of Zhuravno's once vibrant Jewish culture, one that has virtually disappeared since the Holocaust.

For several months, I've been corresponding online with a man whose 98 year-old father left the town in 1928 to find a better life in America. It was a fortunate move since the rest of his family and Jewish community were obliterated by the Nazis. I was able to find some places from his youth, like the Jewish Old Age Home that served as his family's refuge after everything they owned disappeared in the flames that destroyed much of Zhuravno in WWI. Three of them, with two strangers, shared a room for several years. I found that the synagogue was replaced with an ugly, Soviet-style post office. We took a ride to see the cemetery which was a sad, forlorn place with only a few toppled, unidentifiable stones left. The rest had been re-purposed by the Soviets after the war to build the foundation of the town's only school whose wall were bricks from a vandalized Roman Catholic Church. ( A sad postscript: This elderly Jew has just died in December 2008. His son informed me that my photos stimulated good family conversations. Shortly before his death, he was observed asking some invisible visitor whether he, also, was from Zhuravno.)

Interestingly, Jews have lived in Zhuravno until recently. My relatives spoke fondly of the man who, in the 70's, helped raise money and coordinated the building of the town's hospital where Michael is a surgeon. They also mentioned the last Jew who left to live in Italy not too long ago.

Zhuravo is a shabby place- much different, I'm sure, from the old gentleman's memories. The town square has only one Austro-Hungarian building that escaped WWI's destruction. There is also a grand mansion nearby that is fronted by a park- just recently it experienced a vandal's fire. Much of the splendid interior was destroyed but the government is funding repair of this nationally historic site. There are, however, many beautiful homes here, some recently built. I don't know what attracts people to build and stay in Zhuravno, though.

I also don't know what so much destruction, Jewish and otherwise, has done to the collective psyche of the residents of this old town that dates back to the 1500's. I watched my truly lovely relative, Irene, pass daily by the resting place of her mother. Each time, she pauses, crosses herself and says a silent prayer. When we stood in the desolate, desecrated Jewish cemetery, I heard Irene quietly murmur to herself, "Just think, we're walking on people's graves."

Later in my trip, someone pointed out a large, abandoned home in the distance. My sweet teen-age translator, Natalya, expressed surprise and confusion at the dwelling's history. She exclaimed, "A Jew built this big place and then just left and never came back!" I really wonder if she knows why the Jew left and, more importantly, why he never came back.

My relatives went out of their way to find places of Jewish significance. I remember a memorial in the Jewish cemetery in Sambir, the only intact graveyard I saw. I asked Michael what he remembered of the German occupation when he was a boy. He told me about witnessing a Nazi, for no reason at all, put a gun behind a Jewish child's ear and pull the trigger. So it is not surprising that I have experienced many emotions each time I've visited, emotions that I am still processing.

Day Two in Zhuravno

Today was basically a continuation of last night's festive family reunion which, of course, involved a table groaning with food. Yaraslav did himself proud with his grilled pork. Meat is a real treat for Ukrainians, mostly they eat minced meat cutlets or diced meat used like a flavoring. Leysia, her new baby, mother, father and grandmother as well as Michael and Irene's son, wife and children toasted me and asked many questions about life in America.

More serious eating took place at lunch today at Bohdanna's nearby home. As well as being a terrific cook, she is the only child of Marco's oldest son, Vasil. His widow, Catherine, is still alive. She likes to say that during the day she lives in Zhuravno but every night she goes home to Hubici. I like her so much. She looks like a plump Buddha, complete with Asian eyes. And, surprisingly, she was born in Wilmington, Delaware! That evening, dinner was plotskies (potato pancakes) at Irene's kitchen table. Beautiful Natalya has been recruited to be my translator. At 17, she'd much rather be home in Lviv with her friends. Amazingly, Natalya is a second year banking student which explains her excellent English. Ukrainians seem better educated and more serious about learning than do American young people.


Day Three in Zhuravno

This morning Irene took me to church to celebrate a holiday called Spaz (I think). The church was packed and many people brought fruit to be blessed. Everywhere I went the next week, I was encouraged to eat a piece of holy fruit. I find Greek Catholic services to be very beautiful as they are completely sung by the priest and congregation. I was very touched to see the old women receiving communion with their arms crossed over their chests and mouths up and open. It suddenly brought back the image of my mother taking the last rites on her death bed.

Speaking of death, I had my own brush with it today! Yura, Michael's terrific 13 year old grandson, has been begging me to take a ride on his grandfather's brand new motor scooter-a purchase in keeping with this septuagenarian's embrace of life. (His next extravagance is rumored to be a computer with Internet connection!) We were going back to Bohdanna's for some more recreational eating so I thought, "What the heck!" and climbed on board. First mistake. Revving up the engine, the kid pulled away with a screech, turning back to me with a maniacal grin and an authoritative, "Now let's take this baby for a real ride!" Holding on for dear life, hair streaming behind me and my heart in my mouth, I silently prayed, "Oh, please don't let me die in Ukraine!" while Yura zigzagged at break-neck speed around deep potholes and mudslicks left over from the flooding. Whew! When we finally arrived a Bohdanna's house, I found that the rush of adrenalin had pumped up my appetite so I happily joined a new bunch of relatives for another feast, this time out in the yard.

Transition Day

Yaraslav's back in town to take me to Lacko for a little sojourn with his mother, Catherine, and a reunion with a place and people that I grew to love in 2006. I didn't realize that Michael and Irene are coming too, so with the addition of reluctant translator Natalya, we crammed into the Lada (a Soviet-manufactured, minimalist car) and started on a new journey.

I've come to understand that Ukrainians don't believe that the most direct path between two points is a straight line! First we stopped at a charming children's playground for some pictures, then we made a detour to pay a quick visit to Irene's sister; next my chauffeur remembered my desire to visit my step-grandfather Brochett's village, Kawsko, Stryj District. We arrived at a little village about 30 miles west of Zhuravno only to have the Lada die the first of several alarming deaths. No problem. Yaraslav just kept jumping out and pushing the auto until it sputtered back to life. Fortunately, it's pretty light, not being burdened with air conditioning, padded seats and other such frivolities. We eventually found Grandpop Brochett's old home, complete with the ancient widow of his youngest brother. It was interesting for me to discover that my uncles( Nick, Andrew and Peter) were named for all of the siblings he left behind in the early 1900's.

The rest of the trip went by uneventfully, if uncomfortably, since open windows are not a Ukrainian custom. Thankfully my kind and generous relatives insisted that I take the front seat. I furtively peeked back to see Natalya, tightly squeezed between Michael and Irene, looking profoundly unhappy.

Lacko at last! Catherine wept when we hugged, saying over and over again that she refused to die until we met. She's a tiny, tiny woman with bright and lively eyes. I loved her at first sight. Yaraslav, master of everything, has rebuilt his childhood home practically from the ground up and it's wonderful! It was once a rustic, one-room wooden affair with an outhouse and well. Now everything is gleaming new and soon there will be 2 more bedrooms upstairs, complete with balcony and second bath.

Speaking of a bath, Natalya is starting to look happier with the prospect of a shower-something we had to forsake in Zhuravno thanks to the water shortage. Our lavish lunch was cooked by Halya, the pretty, young wife of one of my cousins and companion to Catherine when Yaraslav is on the road. Stuffed to the gills, we all decided to take a little siesta. Again, my generous relatives showed great thoughtfulness to insist that I take the only bedroom. Catherine, like many old people, likes to sleep in the kitchen. The rest of our group stretched out dormitory-style in the small living room where the many chairs and couches morphed into beds.

Refreshed, I asked Yaraslav to find me the Internet. He took me to his office after showing off his several businesses in Dobromil. I'm proud of the change he's making in this ancient town that still has horse and wagons plodding down the main street. His buildings are new, fit in perfectly with the original shops and, hopefully, will encourage others to paint, repair and landscape their own enterprises. I expect in two years to find a substantial difference in the place where my grandparents obtained their passports and that hasn't changed much since.

We finished the evening, about 10 p.m., at Cousin Dimitro's flat in nearby Khyriv. He spent several years being the estate manager for a very wealthy man in Italy, coming home to his family only for brief vacations. This sacrifice, very common in Ukraine, resulted in the capital to finance Dimitro's iron fence building business. He's doing very well besides becoming quite buff in the process! His wife, both a doctor and politician, effortlessly put together a delicious late supper in her robe and slippers. These Ukrainian women are amazing.

On the way home I silently prayed, "Oh, please, no more food..." and was relieved when we came in and went right to bed.

Summer in Lviv

Unfortunately, my small suitcase contains almost nothing that's suitable for this heat. I'm starting to find my way around, though. Today I'm off to buy a baby gift for my cousin Leysia, a pharmacist who has a 6 month old daughter-she was single when we met her 2 years ago. Let's see if I can navigate Lviv's version of a chic Kiddie City.

I went to dinner with Maria last night at the 7 Little Piggies (great Ukrainian food and wonderful decor) and we had a long talk about things in Ukraine. I was surprised to hear that the government is trying to increase the population by giving parents quite sizeable bonuses for new babies. I believe it's 8,000 hyrevnias for the first child, 25,000 for the second and 30,000 and 40,000 for the third and fourth. 25,000 is about $5,000 dollars ( a real incentive in this country). I recently read in the New York Times that Europe, especially Eastern Europe, is losing its population and will soon have only old people.

We also spoke at length about schools and teaching in our respective countries. I was envious of her 20 students versus my 30 students per classroom until she informed me that this was not policy but the result of the declining population. I told her how difficult classroom control can be in an American intercity school, fully expecting her to boast about polite, eager-to-learn Ukrainian students. This is not the case at all; she shares many of my frustrations about discipline and lack of motivation. Maria also complained about the "windows" she had last year-periods during the day when she did not have a class. Since I have the same thing, "preps", and welcome them, I was surprised that she was unhappy. However, I, thanks to union negotiations, get paid for my free time while she gets salary only for the classes she teaches.

I originally planned this trip so I could have a leisurely few days in Lviv researching family records in the State Archives before visiting relatives. Many government agencies, however, close in August and I was out of luck. Maria kindly agreed to do the work for me in July and managed to find my great-great-great Wojtowicz grandparents! To go back further, however, I must write to the archives in Warsaw since the land belonged to Poland then. I left money with Maria to do so; I'm anxious to see how far back records were kept. I know our name means "son of the mayor" but which ancestor was the mayor and what was his father's name?

Maria also told me that my grandfather's brother Marco died in 1945 as a result of being beaten by the Soviets. The farmers had to give their occupiers food, animals, etc. Marco gave his share but the Hubici mayor lied and said he didn't. Every family, I discover as I talk with people, has these tragedies buried in its past.

Lviv has the possibility to be an exceptionally beautiful city. Almost all the buildings are Austro-Hungarian architecture and there are lovely parks everywhere. As Ukraine becomes more financially secure, money is being spent to paint and repair these treasures. There, however, is a lot of work still to do, especially with the streets and sidewalks.

All that sweating for nothing!

Here I am in beautiful Lviv, wandering around in circles like a ninny, trying to get my bearings!

So far all has been very good. Traveled endlessly on the much-maligned Air LOT but totally without problems. Took off on time, caught my connection in Warsaw and got my luggage. On top of that, met a good friend of Manny Barbas from Syracuse who helped me carry my bags and navigate the very confusing customs procedures in Lviv. He speaks Ukrainian and was traveling with his daughter to meet relatives. I was slightly envious of the large family delegation that came to meet them until I looked around and saw my own, smaller delegation! I was expecting Slav Tsarynnk, owner of Lviv Ecotour, to pick me up but Maria and Yuraslav were there also, waving excitedly and shouting "Sandra! Sandra!"

My apartment is lovely, fortunately right in the middle of things since I can't seem to find my way around the block. It was so nice to see Slav again! He settled me in the flat and then showed me the neighborhood. The place where we stayed during our last visit is right around the corner so the area is familiar.

Yaraslav picked me up in the evening for dinner. We were both amused to see a large, black pig relaxing on the street! I found out later that the pig shares a flat with a Lviv couple and sleeps on the balcony. Before we reached my cousin's trusty Lada, we ran into a solidarity rally protesting Russia's recent invasion of Georgia. Ukrainians are quite concerned about this development, worried about their own situation.

It was great to be back at Yaraslav's home, reconnecting with the first relatives we met 2 years ago. Maria was very pregnant then, now her little Alexander is running around the apartment, speaking Ukrainian and English effortlessly. I finally met her husband who caught me up with American swimmer Michael Phelps' quest for 8 Olympic gold metals- he's up to five! Yaraslav is the chef since his internist wife is the doctor on duty at her clinic and dinner was delicious. I discovered, much to my relief, that 88 year-old Catherine is fine. She yearly goes to the hospital for check-ups and is putting this off until after my visit.

It's difficult not knowing the language. I actually thought that I bought a banana yogurt but wound up eating chocolate pudding for breakfast! I stopped for coffee at a lovely little courtyard but was totally flummoxed by the menu. Finally thought to ask for one in English. Wandered aimlessly looking for this Internet cafe until I stopped in a travel agency and a young girl walked me here, happy to practice her English. I'm learning to be creative and proactive!

So I'm off to explore a few museums as I stumble around, sounding out the street signs and holding the map upside down. Glad I learned the Cyrillic alphabet before I left! Oh, Alexander, where are you when I need you! (Everyone asked for you!)

The clock ticks...

Just several hours 'til I head off to JFK and my new journey! I'm nervous about Air LOT, the Katrina-like flooding that devastated parts of Ukraine, my 88 year-old Ukrainian cousin Catherine's health and possibly missing my Warsaw connection-that should be enough to keep my sweat glands active!