A tale of two war zones: A journalist's journey through Ukraine and Israel

Ukraine has been mired in a prolonged conflict with Russia since 2014. On February 24, 2022, I woke up to an air raid siren and saw a cruise missile flying in the gray winter sky. The fear was immediate. Ukraine had no anti-missile defense; rockets fell on Kyiv. The chaos was palpable: traffic jams at city exits, massive queues at train stations, and a gasoline shortage. There was a dim-out mode everywhere to prevent airstrikes and looting. Weapons were distributed on the streets, and anti-tank hedgehogs and sandbags were transported around the city, reminiscent of World War II movies.

The early days of the war were marked by a sense of unity and fierce patriotism. People rallied together, driven by a shared goal of defending their homeland. Kyiv repelled the Russians, boosting morale.

Initially, there was a palpable sense of unity. The early days of the war against Russia were marked by a fierce patriotism and collective resolve. However, as the conflict dragged on, unity gave way to despair. Conversations with Ukrainians often reveal deep-seated cynicism and reluctance to trust one another. The spirit of solidarity that once characterized the early days of the conflict has slowly eroded.

The reasons for this are deeply rooted in Ukraine’s history. Decades of corruption have left an indelible mark on the national psyche. I remember talking to an elderly man in Kyiv who recalled the days when Ukraine inherited a formidable military arsenal from the Soviet Union. “We had everything,” he said. “Nuclear weapons, tanks, a strong fleet. But our leaders sold it all.”

The current war effort is a patchwork of volunteers and charitable donations, with ordinary citizens stepping in to fill the gaps left by an inefficient and often corrupt government. I’ve spoken to mothers who send their sons to the front lines with little more than the hope that they might survive. Many volunteers who went to fight in 2022 now find themselves trapped in a war with no end in sight, unable to rotate out, their trust in their leaders shattered.

In Ukraine, life moved in slow motion, each day a battle against creeping despair. Despite rare curfew parties and fashion shows to the sounds of sirens and explosions, “This is not a good time to...” became a common refrain, as plans and dreams were perpetually deferred. Not to say that this was a new phenomenon. Ukrainians are brave, but unlike the Israelis – who osim chaim (enjoy life) – they postpone life and do not allow themselves to live.

In stark contrast, Israel presents a different picture. Despite facing constant threats, the spirit of resilience and the celebration of life are ever-present. I remember the harrowing attacks on October 7, which shocked the nation. Yet, just a few days later, people were back to living their lives, celebrating milestones and refusing to let fear dictate their existence.

On October 11, I found myself surrounded by a concert in the middle of Jerusalem, in Zion Square. Soldiers were singing, and these weren’t somber songs. People were dancing in circles, pulling passersby into their revelry. I joined them, dancing and jumping, caught up in the infectious joy. These were evacuees from Sderot, a city recently cleared of terrorists.

I asked one of the dancers, “How is this possible? What’s the occasion?” He pointed to the logo on his shirt – it was the emblem of the city of Sderot. These were evacuees, resettled in Jerusalem hotels.

They were determined to live despite the threats, a testament to Israel’s resilience.

One of the most striking differences between Ukraine and Israel is the relationship between the people and their leaders. In Ukraine, the legacy of Soviet-era mistrust and decades of corrupt governance have left a deep-seated skepticism. President Volodymyr Zelensky, while admired internationally, struggles to gain the trust of his own people. Many Ukrainians express a desire for real leadership, but their faith in politicians has been eroded by years of broken promises and mismanagement.

The sentiment among many Ukrainians is summed up by a common refrain: “Let the children of prosecutors and politicians go fight first.”

In Israel, leadership is seen as part of the collective struggle. The son of President Isaac Herzog serving in Gaza is a powerful symbol of this shared burden. In December 2023, Israeli people also had to mourn fallen Sgt. Gal Meir Eisenkot, 25, son of former IDF chief Gadi Eisenkot, who until recently sat in the war cabinet. The children of Israeli leaders are in the trenches, fostering a profound sense of trust and unity.

The social fabric of these two nations also highlights significant differences. In Ukraine, the prolonged conflict has led to social fragmentation. People have become insular, focusing on their own survival. The sense of community has been weakened, replaced by pervasive cynicism.

Israel, on the other hand, thrives on communal support. In times of crisis, Israeli society rallies together. From charity drives to volunteer efforts, there is a palpable sense of solidarity. This communal resilience is a crucial element of Israel’s ability to face adversity.

While Zelensky initially garnered immense trust and high approval ratings, he now faces criticism similar to that directed at Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in Israel. Yet, many in Ukraine fear publicly criticizing Zelensky, lest they disrupt national unity and jeopardize international support.

In Israel, on the other hand, even on the day the nation celebrated the rescue of four hostages, there were voices of dissent. Some feared that the rescue could endanger others and, contrary to the saying “Israel does not negotiate with terrorists,” they echoed Joe Biden’s stance – which in this case mirrored Hamas’s demands – calling for the government to negotiate. This led to clashes with the police, requiring water cannons to disperse the crowds. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time such unrest occurred since the beginning of Operation Swords of Iron.

In Ukraine, there are no such protests against the government, even when men are forcibly conscripted, beaten, and dragged into army vans without medical examinations, often in violation of regulations. It’s reminiscent of Russia, a country Ukraine once mocked in its propaganda for similar practices. Interestingly, in parallel with forced mobilization, Ukraine has implemented a more organized recruitment system. Online platforms allow individuals to apply directly to military units or positions matching their skills, even if they haven’t served in the army.

I find this lacking in the Israeli army, where much depends on connections or already being part of the system. I know, because I tried to be drafted, wanted to be helpful and important – but it’s a problem for a repatriated person over 30 – they don’t want me.

In Israel, there is no shortage of volunteers for military service, despite protests by the ultra-Orthodox community. After October 7, there were more reservists than the army even needed. And volunteers were providing them additional equipment. Even the IDF’s logistics unit wasn’t ready for this number of people. Also, slowly but surely, some ultra-Orthodox are joining the military.

Unlike the Israelis (where soldiers say, “We hope that you will not have to fight; we are fighting for you to live,” but still people voluntarily go to study and serve), Ukrainians are aggressive, and Ukrainian society forces young people to serve, using the expression “Debt to the motherland.” In Ukraine, they have been saying since Soviet times, “If you don’t serve, then you’re not a man.”

Living in both Ukraine and Israel during wartime has given me a unique perspective on the human spirit in the face of war. Ukraine’s journey is a sobering reminder of the long-term effects of corrupt governance and the fragility of hope.

The despair I’ve seen in the eyes of many Ukrainians is a stark contrast to the resilience and unity that define Israeli society. But we don’t know what will happen if the war will last the same amount of time as in Ukraine. Especially since war with more serious and stronger opponents is ahead.

Having visited war zones, talked with soldiers and affected families, with refugees, and felt wild fear and hopelessness replaced by aggression and the desire to protect loved ones, I understood how terrible the war is.

I always laughed at the generation who grew up during World War II, whose main toast was “Let there be no war!” Also I didn’t understood why, most often, IDF generals become politicians with so-called leftist views and try to solve problems first and foremost through dialogue. War leaves an indelible mark, a story etched not just on the landscape but also on the soul.

Both Ukraine and Israel offer valuable lessons in resilience, trust, and the human capacity to endure. Through my journey, I’ve seen the best and the worst of humanity, and I hold on to the hope that, despite the challenges, both Ukraine and Israel, and even our enemies, will find a path to peace and healing.■