"THEY THREW THE LIVING INTO THE PIT ALONGSIDE THE DEAD, AND THAT GRAVE KEPT BREATHING FOR WEEKS"

​

My family had a wise grandfather, so during the Holodomor, no one in our family died of starvation. They swelled, yes, but no one perished. Grandfather even took in his sister’s daughter and his brother’s son, along with his own seven children—nine kids in total. Including the adults, there were 11 people in the household, and not one of them died. But how did they survive? Grandfather dug a pit in the cellar and buried grain there. When the searches came, they probed the ground all around but found nothing.

​

Grandfather also established a strict rule in the family: those who worked were given clean bread twice a day, while those who didn’t were given bread mixed with leaves, roots, and other fillers once a day. Those eating once a day swelled up, but they still survived.

​

I read about a woman who recalled how her grandfather refused to join the collective farm, lay down on a bench, and stayed there until he died. But our grandfather was wiser. Although he also opposed the collective farms, he didn’t openly protest. They took away his cow, his horse, and his house—everything went toward building the collective farm. Some livestock was eventually returned because the farm couldn’t feed them.

​

My mother was just a child back then. She used to tell me how swollen people lay by the roadside, unable to walk any further. They would groan or beg for a piece of bread. A cart would travel through the village, gathering up these people. There was a mass grave where both the living and the dead were dumped into the pit. This episode has stayed with me vividly. My mother said that the cart would pick up someone who was already dead, but also someone still alive, and that person would beg, “I’m still alive...” But the cart driver would reply, “What, I’m supposed to come back for you tomorrow? Today, you go with the rest. You’ll die by tomorrow anyway.”

​

Can you imagine the psychological burden these children carried throughout their lives? They saw all this; they grew up with it and lived with it because it was impossible to forget. My mother also told me that when she passed by that grave, it was still "breathing." For weeks, the earth would move up and down. Can you imagine how many people were buried alive in there?

It was a hard, very hard period, though our family endured it a bit better than others.

​

And I think we’re still living with the consequences today. Somewhere in our genetic code, this insatiability still lingers. I remember that near the end of her life, my mother always wanted to eat. That childhood memory, that genetic memory, worked within her, and she felt like she had never been full. These echoes will linger for many generations because such things don’t pass without leaving a trace.

​

And what’s happening today will also remain in the genetic memory of every family. We must understand this: if we don’t defend our homeland and win, we will perish. If we had defended our state at the beginning of the last century, there would have been no Holodomor. The same is true today—if we falter in this fight, in the end, everyone will suffer, and millions will die.

​

That’s why everyone must realize that there’s only one path for us: to unite into a powerful force and push Russia out of Ukraine once and for all. For over 30 years, we said we were independent, but if we’re honest, we were always dependent—on corruption, on the oligarchy, and especially on Russia, which interfered in all processes in Ukraine and dictated its policies.

​

Today, we must sever that umbilical cord that ties us to Russia. If we cut it completely—100%—Ukraine will finally be independent. After that, we can reconnect economically, culturally, in any way. But our own foundation must come first; everything else should complement it. I know that one day we’ll establish relationships again, but it will take a long time. Look at Germany—now we have everything with them. It will be the same here.​

​

​

"MY MOTHER WAS NEVER CONVICTED, BUT SHE SPENT TWO YEARS IN A LABOR CAMP"​

​

Towards the end of 1942, my mother was taken to Germany for forced labor. She spoke positively about her time there because she was assigned to a mistress who treated her better than her own father and mother had at home. This German woman wouldn’t let her carry a full bucket, saying, “Take half a bucket. You still have to bear children!” This woman had a deeply Christian heart and a lot of love. My mother lived with her for about two and a half years. Later, however, she was taken to a labor camp, where she worked producing shells.

​

My mother recounted how the workers in the camp tried to sabotage the production by filling the shells with sand instead of gunpowder so they wouldn’t detonate. They risked their lives because, if caught, it meant certain death. Inspections were conducted periodically, but no evidence was ever found. She spoke highly of their foreman, a Ukrainian man who oversaw these efforts. He too took great risks but continued to do so.

​

The mistress my mother had worked for at the beginning visited her twice a week, bringing her food because the camp rations were abysmal. She also told her, “If you manage to escape the camp, come to my house—there will be food waiting for you, and the key will be right here.”

​

When my mother returned home, she was sent to a Soviet labor camp for picking ears of grain from a field of volunteer wheat. At the time, many who had been in Germany and worked there for the Germans were prosecuted as enemies of the people. In the Soviet camp, she endured unimaginable hardship. The food consisted of beet tops and water. They barely survived. She often told us, “Never pick up food from the ground. Everyone who did that died. I was starving, but I survived because I never picked up bread from the trash.”

​

The guards would lead prisoners to work, and if they saw a puddle beginning to freeze over, they would force the prisoners to lie in it—first on one side, then the other—until they were soaked through. Then, they would take them to work through the night, and by morning, the prisoners would be completely frozen.

​

She spent two of the hardest years of her life in that camp. She was lucky when a new camp director arrived. He started reviewing the prisoners’ cases, and when he came to hers, he asked, “Girl, what are you in here for?” My mother looked at him and said, “For the crime of being alive.” He replied, “You’re right. There’s no charge against you; you were simply sent to the logging camp.” When she was released, all the documents about her imprisonment were removed from her file. She was never formally convicted and never had a criminal charge.

​

What amazed me most was that my mother held no grudge against anyone. Even in her old age, she remained kind and joyful. She found happiness in everything—nature, life itself. She was never seen sad; she always smiled and welcomed everyone who visited us. That injustice and the hardships of camp life didn’t change her inner spirit. This has always made me proud and continues to bring me peace.

​

She was so proud when I became a priest. From that moment on, she never called me Ivan or Vanka as she used to. She always called me “Father Ivan.” For her, this was the highest achievement her child could reach, and she took immense pride in it. She always kissed my hand—yes, always.

​

​

"EVERY PERSON MUST LEARN TO SERVE OTHERS"

​

In 2014, after the annexation of Crimea, life changed for many people, not only in Ukraine. It changed for our family as well. We wanted to live in Crimea, but the “Cossacks” came and said, “You’ll have to leave, and if you don’t, we’ll kill you. We have nothing personal against you, but those are the orders, and we will carry them out.” So, we had to leave Crimea. At first, we went to Kyiv, then to Canada. In 2015, my wife’s cousin called and invited us to visit.

​

At the time, we were struggling financially. I told him, “I can’t come to visit you. The ticket costs 250 UAH per person, and for three of us, that’s 750 UAH, which is a lot for me.” He laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover your tickets and give you some money for the road. Just come!”

​

When we arrived, they brought us to this village, showed us the church, and asked, “Are you ready to move here?” I replied, “I’m ready, but you should know that having me here might cause problems for you. If you’re ready to face those challenges, I’ll come and serve here gradually.” At that time, they didn’t fully understand what kind of problems might arise for them.

​

For 20 years, Father Ivan Yurkov served in this village, and he’s still here. The conflict arose because of him. He started spreading all sorts of slander about us to scare people. First, he said I was a sorcerer. Second, that I could hypnotize people and put them into a trance in church. Third, that I was a separatist. Fourth, that I was a servant of Putin. He spread various rumors to frighten people and discourage them from attending our church. He even claimed I was a Greek Catholic, though I’ve never been one. Everyone knows that during the liturgy, you declare which church you serve.

​

At first, the village was a bit against us, but, thank God, over time things improved. My wife was worried, but I told her, “We are serving God. Even if there are no people, angels and God are always present in the church.”

​

When I arrived, I asked my wife’s cousin to arrange a meeting with that priest, as it felt awkward to avoid him. He had eight parishes and didn’t really value this one. He told me, “If you pay me a tribute, I’ll give up this parish.”

​

He was considered the priest of Kaytany, not Viknyne, and would only visit this village occasionally. I said I was willing. “If you want, we can serve together. You can take whatever people leave in the collection plate, and I’ll serve alongside you. I have a pension and plan to start beekeeping, so I don’t foresee financial problems,” I said. He then asked, “What about baptisms and weddings?” I replied, “You can take those as well.” This was said in front of a witness. At that moment, he realized he had been caught because such bargaining is disgraceful for a priest. He apologized but later denied ever saying it.

​

We bought a house with help from my wife’s brother, Savich, who supported us financially and in many other ways. We arrived on February 15, in the middle of winter, and the house was in terrible shape—holes everywhere, and the wind blowing through. It hadn’t been lived in for years and was completely neglected. The floor was made of clay, full of mouse holes. I remember we went to bed, and during the night, we woke up to find a frog croaking under the blanket. It was scary and unpleasant. We installed a fireplace and heated the house that way. We survived that period and, once it got warmer, started renovating.

​

We fixed up the house, making it livable. I had always dreamed of building a little Canada wherever I lived, and I’m happy to say we succeeded. We turned the house into something like a guesthouse so that people could visit, attend services, stay a while, and spend time together. It’s good for them and good for us because creating a comfortable atmosphere for guests always brings joy to the hosts.

​

I always say that every person must learn to serve others. If someone learns this, they will always be happy, as there is great joy in serving others. This is the essence of Christianity that Christ demonstrated. Christ always emphasized that He came to serve everyone, not to serve Himself, and that He gave His life for everyone, not for His own sake. This is the highest achievement in Christianity.

​

Today, my sermons focus on teaching people to serve one another, especially within families. When families embrace service, they become stronger and filled with love. But when there’s no service, and people exploit each other, life becomes difficult for both partners and their children. Service to others is the key. This is how we serve in the church, at home, and to the people around us.

​

That period when no one came to church has passed. What I told my wife came true: the angels who were with us spread out and began bringing people from all around. Today, our church is filled with people in need of help. Despite being discouraged or told, “What’s the difference which church you go to?” people still come. They feel cared for and sense the warmth in the church and among each other. They see results—small for some, bigger for others. These results not only fill the church but also transform the surrounding space.

​

Our church is never empty. We hold services on Saturdays and Sundays. I’ll say this: if you serve, people will come to you. No matter how much others try to slander you, those guided by angels will find their way.

​

​

"I’VE ALWAYS CHOSEN WHERE TO LIVE NOT FOR MYSELF, BUT FOR THE BEES"

​

You ask what Canadian touches I’ve added to my home. First, we expanded the house and replaced its roof. Each room now has its own bathroom for the convenience of visitors. We also built a bathhouse, fully equipped with everything needed: bathrooms, a good steam room, and a cozy lounge. Sometimes guests even ask to stay in the bathhouse, saying it’s very comfortable there.

We also built a hangar, aiming to start a small family business since we now have many bees—over 300 hives. For convenience, one side of the hangar houses a carpentry workshop, and the other a honey processing facility. The workshop is essential for beekeeping—building and repairing hives, making frames. The honey facility isn’t fully equipped yet; we plan to install an automated line to reduce manual labor, which takes a lot of time. We aim for this line to handle a large number of hives, as we plan to expand our beekeeping operation to 1,000 colonies.

​

There’s much work ahead, as this project needs to be realized for us to feel secure in this world. A priest who relies on his parish often wonders whether they will bring him money or not. We don’t worry about that because we know our little "workers" will always bring something. Imagine, with 300 hives, even at 50,000 bees per hive—that’s a vast number of workers laboring for you while you, as the director, walk through the apiary, observing and enjoying them. It’s not that you do nothing—you’re constantly working, just like the bees. If you don’t work as hard as they do, they won’t survive either. Bees aren’t like cows; caring for them requires great intellectual effort. You need extensive knowledge to harmonize this space with nature.

​

I’ve always chosen where to live not for myself, but for the bees. If the place suits the bees, it will suit me too. When I chose this house—it was in terrible shape—people asked, “Why are you taking this?” But the bees understood I was choosing it for them, and they’ve rewarded me for it. This sense of harmony must always be felt. When a person wants to acquire something, they must feel with their heart that it’s theirs. Only then will it bring joy and benefit. If it feels foreign to the heart, it won’t benefit anyone.

In Crimea, I spent two months looking for my piece of land, the spot that was truly mine. When I found it in Perevalne, I felt an immediate connection. I could already see the house, fully built, the moment I stepped onto that land.

​

It’s the same here. When you can envision your project in reality, you build it, brick by brick, just like a child assembling their toy blocks.

​

In Crimea, in Perevalne and Mramorne, we left behind a thriving estate. My son is there now, serving and taking care of it. He continues to build it up bit by bit each year, investing even a little into the house church we built there, thank God. If we didn’t have that church, he would have nowhere to serve because the one near the military base was taken. Now this home church is a blessing for him and for those who come to services, as they need Ukrainian prayers, words, and sermons, which my son provides.

Am I afraid for him? I know everything is in God’s hands. My son says there’s a law: if he says anything bad about the Russian military, it could lead to confiscation of property. We know how things are for anything Ukrainian there—it’s easy to be accused. I advised him to answer provocative questions with words from the Holy Scriptures.

​

I’m proud that he was chosen as the head of the cooperative, which means people trust him and see him as one of their own in that residential area, even though he’s a Ukrainian priest. This shows he’s on the right path. He didn’t want the position, but I told him, “Go and do good for people. If the cooperative receives any funds and you use them to meet people’s needs, they’ll always be grateful.” He agreed, and out of 106 votes, 92 were in his favor.

​

Of course, you can’t expect gratitude from everyone. Some are thankful, others aren’t. But this balance is good because it keeps pride in check. If everyone were grateful, arrogance would grow. So we must thank both groups—those who humble us and those who uplift us.

​

I believe he’ll succeed, and these churches will gradually gain congregants and be completed. Some people who’ve come from Russia are even willing to invest in the construction, especially in Mramorne. The church there is beautiful, but there are few Ukrainians, and those who are there are afraid—too afraid to say anything or even attend services. Russians, however, ask for memorial prayers, commemorative weeks, or blessings. My son visits and says there are very few people. I tell him, “Even if there are two or three, Christ is among them. There’s no emptiness.”

​

Is there a risk the Russians will take that church? They’ve tried many times but haven’t succeeded because it’s built on private property. There’s no law, even in Russia, that allows confiscating private property. I think they don’t want to disgrace themselves before Europe or America over a tiny plot of land with a Ukrainian church. It also serves as an excuse for them to say, “Look, we have a Ukrainian church here.” Most others have already been seized.

​

I also hope Crimea will soon return to Ukraine because many people there want it. I’ve spoken with them, and many regret their past decisions and wish to return. If Ukraine could gain even a small foothold in Crimea, everything would come back, you’ll see.

On one hand, I dream of returning to Crimea. On the other, as I told my wife, I’m starting to settle here. This year, for the first time, I felt at home here. So now I’m hesitant—should I go back?

​

Perhaps it’s the circle of people around me now, connecting me to this body of Christ. I feel like a small part of it. I don’t want to leave these people because they’ve grown attached to me and want to hear my sermons and prayers. So I’m still at a crossroads. I think time will tell.

​