What Israel is Doing in Ukraine

Two weeks ago, I joined the delegation from Sheba Medical Center to open a field hospital in Mostyska, Ukraine.

It’s a town that is 40 miles west of Lviv, where my grandmother was born and where she left in 1933. She remained the only survivor of her family. And here I am, 89 years later, an Israeli diplomat, returning to extend a hand to the Ukrainian people.

Seventy doctors, nurses, pharmacists and social workers volunteered for the mission. They opened the Israeli hospital “Shining Star,” Kochav Meir in Hebrew, named after Israel’s late Prime Minister, Golda Meir, who was born in Kyiv.

Within a couple of days, an elementary school in a small town nine miles from the Polish border turned into a fully equipped hospital for treating locals and refugees coming from the bombarded cities in the east of Ukraine.

Once the hospital started working, the news spread, and hundreds of patients are coming every day to be diagnosed by the Israeli team, most of whom are children and older people with chronic diseases. 

Once the hospital started working, the news spread, and hundreds of patients, most of them children and older people with chronic diseases, now come every day to be diagnosed by the Israeli team. From time to time, a pregnant woman shows up. One baby has already been delivered at the hospital.

The doctors, the nurses, and the rest of the Israeli staff were well-trained to treat people with trauma and stress. After crossing the main gate and passing both flags of Israel and Ukraine, the Israeli staff greeted the refugees with a smile, a hug and even little gifts for the children. Standing there watching their empathy for the patients, I felt like I had sneaked onto the emergency room set of a “Grey’s Anatomy” episode.

Since the beginning of the crisis, the Israeli government decided to send humanitarian aid to the Ukrainian people. MASHAV, Israel’s National Aid Agency, sent planes loaded with 100 tons of medications, blankets, tents, coats, etc. It provided gigantic generators to the city of Lviv, which had tripled its population since the beginning of the war, to support electricity and water supply and keep the hospitals going.

During the last few weeks, MASHAV has been leading online seminars for educators, therapists, psychiatrists and other professionals in Ukraine to train them on how to deal with trauma situations. They even organized an online workshop for midwives to teach them how to deliver under fire.

After spending two days at the hospital, I returned to Poland to the border crossings and refugee camps.

If you think that only the government in Israel cares about this crisis, spending five minutes at the crossing will prove you wrong: The first thing I noticed when crossing from Ukraine to Poland is a huge Israeli flag on a tent set up by one of the Israeli NGOs. It is a “safe space for children,” said Ayala, who runs the place.

I saw toddlers running around, laughing and playing with toys while their exhausted mothers sat down to rest and have a cup of coffee, relieved to watch the volunteers playing with their kids. Just next to the safe space, I met Re’em, another young Israeli pushing a supermarket cart full of water bottles and energy snacks. “We take it for the people waiting in line on the Ukrainian side,” he said. “Sometimes they wait there for three to 10 hours. Sometimes more.” Suddenly I heard funny voices behind me; it was three Israeli medical clowns amusing the children who were getting bored while waiting in line with their parents. They usually work with sick children at hospitals, but “children are children everywhere,” as they told me. They can make them laugh along with their tired, worried mothers.

Seventy doctors, nurses, pharmacists and social workers volunteered for the mission. They opened the Israeli hospital “Shining Star,” Kochav Meir in Hebrew, named after Israel’s late Prime Minister, Golda Meir, who was born in Kyiv.

I saw another young Israeli who suddenly showed up with a cart full of blankets. “Why did you come here?” I asked. “Because I couldn’t turn a blind eye to these people,” he said, and I wanted to cry (again). I got this answer from so many Israeli volunteers and the medical staff at the hospital.

And then another group of refugees crossed the border: older men and women, young women with two to three children. They were standing tall, wearing name brands, looking around at all the volunteers who offer them food and clothes and toys for the children. At first, they refuse with pride, but slowly, they accept an energy bar, a pair of gloves or a toy for the baby. Most of them don’t even know where they are heading or for how long.

My feelings were mixed on the flight back, heading home to Israel. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. I looked at the little Ukrainian boy, an 8-year-old refugee, who fell asleep on my shoulder, and my heart went out to him and his family: people who only a month ago had a home, work, and dreams. Now, the only thing they have is uncertainty.

But on the other hand, I felt so proud of these Israeli volunteers and my country that sends planes and doctors and builds a hospital. I couldn’t avoid thinking that 80-90 years ago, my family members were refugees in this area and had nowhere to go. And I felt that the Jewish people are blessed today to have a state of their own—the State of Israel, a democratic, prosperous country that has the capabilities to help another country in a time of great need.

Galit Peleg is Director of Overseas Projects and Coordinator for Humanitarian Aid to Ukraine at Mashav, Israel National Aid Agency, Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Israel.