A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ — Luke 10:30-35
In the 1980s, I read the book Worldwalk, by Steven Newman. During his four-year sojourn around the world, he learned first-hand that most ordinary people in the world are good and generous, willing to share whatever they have to help strangers in need, contrary to the usual picture painted by the mass media. As I recall, he would test his faith in humanity by asking for a drink of water in every new village he entered. Through 20 countries, he was never refused, not until he returned to his home country, the United States of America.
I tested my faith in humanity beyond the USA in a different way. I married a Ukrainian woman and lived with her in her country for many years, until we evacuated a couple weeks ago. Now that we have reached our destination, I can report that there are indeed many good people in the world who are, like the Good Samaritan, responding to a tragedy by helping those in need. Many of them are volunteers, using their own resources — be it time, money, supplies or accommodations.
When the war broke out on February 24th I was sick in bed with COVID. My wife had been infected a couple weeks earlier and was not yet fully recovered. We were in no condition to travel. A week later I felt able to travel but when we went to the train station, the scene was chaotic. Even if we had somehow squeezed our way onto a train, we would have taken the place of women and children who would be left on the platform. That was not an option. We heard later that one of the people who made it onto a train that day called a relative and reported that there were 15 people squeezed into each compartment designed for four, with others lying on the floor in the passageway. Adults were prevented from using the toilets in favour of children. Some of those trains took two days to reach the western border of Ukraine. So, we accepted that we would have to weather the coming storm in our home.
But a week later I awoke at 3 am with a sense of foreboding and felt an urgency to depart. By this time, conditions at the station had improved; order had been restored. Many people had already left during the previous week and the number of daily trains had increased, making it more likely that there would be a space for us. But most importantly, some new trains were going to Chop in the southwest corner of Ukraine bordering Hungary and near Slovakia. Otherwise, trains went toward Poland. When I had previously tried to visualize traveling to Poland, all I could perceive was blackness. Now I could picture a clear path through Hungary. And Hungary had the least restrictive COVID rules and had allocated many extra trains to transport refugees.
We packed very lightly, not knowing if we would be stuffed into a train like sardines, not knowing if we would be forced to leave our bags on a platform before crossing the border as had happened in Lviv, near Poland. When we arrived at the station about an hour before departure to Chop, there was a long line, long enough to fill a train. But more trains were leaving later in the day so if we waited in line, most likely there would eventually be a space for us. But when the Chop train arrived, an official announced that anyone going to Chop could jump ahead in the queue. Evidently, most people in the line were waiting for a train to Lviv or Chelm, Poland. So we hurried into the station shepherded by officials and guards, who were there not only to keep order but to prevent Ukrainian men under the age of 60 from leaving.
Our cabin had seven people in it. Crowded, but manageable. I was the only man. The other five were good company. There were two older women with a boy on their way to relatives in Uzhgorod north of Chop. One of them had diabetes and needed insulin during the trip, which lasted more than a day. Despite the circumstances, they were cheery and generous, and offered us some of their food. There were also a mother and her young daughter, headed for Germany, where there was said to be full support for refugees: accommodation, food, medical care, education and a small allowance of money. But those seeking refugee status would have to surrender their passport and would not be allowed to leave the country, we were told. The young mother was stoic, showing no sign of fear or desperation. These were the salt-of-the-earth Ukrainians I had come to know and love, and my heart broke for what was happening to them and their country.
To our surprise, we were informed that our train would be stopping in Lviv before continuing on to Chop. If the long lines of people ahead of us at our origin had known, they would surely have taken the Chop train ahead of us. This was one of many fortuitous happenings throughout our trip.
The six hour ride from Lviv to Chop was during daytime, so we could enjoy views of the Transcarpathian hills. At every stop, people would give our conductor food, often homecooked, which was then distributed to the passengers. It was more than we could eat, so we packed some of it for the journey ahead. We were touched by the good-heartedness of those strangers.
I must not forget to praise the heroic evacuation efforts of the Ukrainian train company Ukrzaliznytsia. They have moved vast numbers of civilians to safety under difficult conditions, all free of charge. When we arrived in Chop, my wife tearfully thanked the conductor of our wagon, who said that she hoped she would be bringing us back home under better circumstances.
Many of the passengers on our train, as weary as they were, decided that they should get in the long line for the train that crossed into Hungary every three hours. We had been advised by a friend that there was a shelter in a nearby school. In our condition, we needed time to recover before the next stage of our journey, besides needing to exchange money and buy a few supplies. There were some tables set up with sandwiches and drinks for the taking, and some volunteers available to answer questions. We asked one of them for directions to the school; it was only a short walk from the station. Behind him we saw a sign about the shelter, in English, but we might have easily missed it.
There were donated beddings on the floor in the classroom we were assigned to. There was already a Muslim family from Kyiv against one wall. We set up against an adjacent wall and then took turns visiting the cafeteria where we were given free homemade borscht. I sat at a table with a woman and her daughter, who I had seen on our train in a different compartment. I assumed they were also headed for Germany. We said hello to each other. She got up and brought me some kvass to drink. By now I was becoming accustomed to such gestures. I did not have the heart to ask what had become of her husband.
Later, back in the classroom, another family arrived from Kharkiv: two grandparents with their daughter and grandson. They lamented that an area of their beautiful city had been destroyed. Another woman arrived from Kamianske who was going to her son who lived in Hungary and who advised her to go to the station at 4:30 am to get on the first train, so as to avoid waiting in long lines. That turned out to be an invaluable tip.
The two families left the next morning, hoping to take the sole daily train to Slovakia which departed at 11:30 am. When they did not return that afternoon, we assumed they had made it. We had the room to ourselves for most of the day so we got some sleep and did some errands. Our room:
We noticed the Hungarian alphabet on the classroom wall. This was a Hungarian language school in Ukraine, as there are many ethnic Hungarians in that area. The exceptional hospitality of these people would continue throughout our entire journey through Hungary.
Later in the day, two new families arrived from Kryvyi Rih and Kamianske. Two women with seven children between them. The younger ones did not understand what was happening and played with toys in the classroom. But the older ones knew and it showed on their faces. A young boy's shoe sole was falling off. His mother asked around for glue, but my wife knew where some donated shoes could be found. After less than a day, she was the resident expert in our classroom, able to help newcomers.
We left the school at 4:30 am after a fitful sleep amid much snoring. We made it to the train station in Zahony, Hungary by 6:30 am, breezing through immigration on both sides of the border. Amazing, considering that the U.S. Embassy had warned of 10 hour wait times at the border, down from double that a week before. Providence had smiled on us again.
The hospitality at the Zahony station was as extraordinary as it was in Chop. Volunteers walked among the refugees during the early morning hours with trays of free food and drink. Other volunteers helped us get free tickets to Budapest, with departure about an hour later. The station was small but well lit and clean. For the first time in weeks, we were out of harm's way and sighed with relief.
We noticed a middle-aged couple sitting on the bench opposite us. You wouldn't guess by looking at them, but their village in Zaporizhzhia Oblast had been destroyed. They had a few small bags with them, all their remaining possessions. We guided them to the right train and after sitting down, offered them some money. At first they refused but my wife persisted. They ultimately accepted, saying, “God bless you.” Once again, we had a chance to give back. Hospitality and generosity are contagious.
When we arrived in Budapest, we were greeted by dozens of volunteers. Help was available for refugees with no money and no place to stay. There was food, water, tea and coffee, pizza, vegan soup (offered by a very tall Hare Krishna woman), all kinds of supplies, and used clothing
At one table a volunteer offered us sandwiches and asked, “Would you like some tea? It’s the best tea in Budapest!” We found a place to sit and enjoyed the blessed food. The tea was exceptionally good, so we returned to thank the man. Since he could speak English, we chatted for a while. He said he was a volunteer and had made the sandwiches and tea himself. He didn’t look Hungarian so we asked him where he was from and he replied, “Palestine.” My wife said to him, “Then you know.” He nodded. The three of us were bonded by the experience of living in a war zone. Words are inadequate. I gave him some money, saying, “This is for anyone who needs it.” I did not need to know what he would do with it. I already knew by looking into his eyes that he was a good man and would put the money to good use. And he knew that I knew.
If there is hope for humanity, it will come from people like the man from Palestine and the Hare Krishna woman, the strangers who brought homecooked food to the train and the conductor who watched over us, the principal who turned her elementary school into a shelter for hundreds and from the many other Good Samaritans who helped us. They are everywhere, in every country and every culture. When they see a need they know what to do and they do it, often unasked and unrecognized.
But at least since the time of the original Good Samaritan, the good people of the Earth, only wanting to build a good life for their families and communities, have suffered the depravations of tyrants, despots and madmen. Have they not suffered enough? Will they finally join their strength and act as one to heal the world? If not now, then when? There is a spiritual principle that the power of a group with coherent intention increases exponentially with the size of the group. A majority is not needed, not nearly. “Come on people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together, try and love one another right now. Right now. Right now.”
Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Some may come and some may go
He will surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment's sunlight
Fading in the grass
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
If you hear the song I sing
You will understand, listen
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
I said come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Right now
Right now
Thank you so much. Really appreciate hearing this account and the generosity of humanity that shines through in the midst of so much difficulty and fragility. I pray humans have had enough of being pawns in someone else's chess game.
We have all the power, of course, if we came together.
Glad you've resettled. So much unnecessary heart-ache in the world, though even in the thick of it, people are good.
Best to you.
Haven't heard that song in years!
Beautiful song. It is so true that the kindness of humanity has often overwhelmed me in my travels. Best with the journey...