Kharkiv

Kharkiv, my city, feels like a tapestry of memories—of childhood dances, my days at the Jewish school, my years at university. Each street and neighbourhood has a story; a piece of my heart that still beats to the rhythm of that vibrant city.

I was born and spent my childhood in the Dzerzhinsky neighbourhood, which is now called the Shevchenkovsky neighbourhood. My apartment building had a yard with a shabby jungle playground in the shape of a rocket, very Soviet-style.

This is the type of yard where carpets get cleaned outside – for some reason, I always associated this moment with my dad and the wintertime. It seems like my main memories are all surrounding the yard: My growing up, and all the valuable conversations or first dates that happened in this yard, next to the red and green rocket that is falling apart. They renovated this playground some time ago, and installed some new slides, but that rocket… It's a strange one, as well as memory in general, you know.

Just in front of my house, there was an Institute of Low Temperature Physics and Engineering – I never got the name, until now.

It was a family tradition to go to the market on lazy Sunday mornings. We would buy veggies, cottage cheese, and sour cream from the grannies. We drank kvass from a big yellow barrel labelled ‘Kvass.’ Everything made perfect sense.

My dad always made a shopping list before going so as not to forget anything. He had a short pencil, to fit into the pocket and list out bought stuff.

I remember I had a winter cap like the one from astronauts, it was pulled over my head and it scratched my face. It was a knitted one, very warm, and it squeezed my cheeks so much. There is a photo where me and my brother stand in our furs, and I wear this astronaut cap.

I have lots of memories of Kyiv! My dad was born in Kharkiv, my mom in Nezhin. Mom’s family lived in Boyarka, near Kyiv, so my brother and I spent every summer of ours there. We always visited the flower market in Kyiv with our aunt, uncle, and grannies. I wandered around, looking at peculiar plants. Actually, maybe they weren’t that peculiar, there were just loads of them.

My kindergarten was right around the corner from my apartment, and the yard was filled with screams while I was going there. I hated that place, I don’t even know why.

Primary school was close to home as well, but my high school was far away.

The school bus was part of the usual, daily routine. But if you are late, the adventure would begin. You have to come up with some route to get there, take a trolleybus or something.

My brother and I went to a Jewish school. I just tailed after him so I wouldn’t get lost. And when he started high school, it took me a long time to get used to the fact that I had to leave the bus and he would be going further. He had to shake me so I wouldn’t miss my stop.

We didn’t have a camera at home. I hadn’t seen many pictures of myself until I was older, I think. But at the same time, memories in my head are connected to photos – I look at the photo and I remember a day. Like I look at this astronaut cap and remember the forest. I see how me and my mom stand on a bridge over the Dnipro, and I remember the flower market.

Once, in “The Komsomol Truth” magazine, there were some riddles to solve, some kind of crosswords. For one of the riddles, you were supposed to call the editorial office of the magazine and give the answers. My family was skeptical about this stuff, but I asked grandfather for some hints, some I just guessed and asked him: “Let’s call?” And so, I called and they gave me a camera as a present. This was the first camera we had at home. I recall it was blue, with film in it, not the “Zenith” kind, “Fed” or “Kyiv” models, but a more modern one. I took some pictures with it, and we still have those marked-up tapes at home.

One other time we walked through the Shevchenko park, and there was a street lottery – Scratchcards. If you got three palm trees in a row, you received an all-inclusive tour. And I scratched off three cameras in a row, so I received a disposable camera, with 24 photos.

When my mom gave birth to my brother, there was another woman in the hospital with a camera, so they took a picture of my brother. When I was born, there were no cameras, so I guess I was less lucky. Apparently, I had good karma that we even attained two of them later!

Me going to dance classes alone was a tough topic in my family, but no one did anything about it. For eight years my grandma nagged my dad: “Why is your kid wandering alone through the city?” It seems like it was impossible to solve this issue.

I did my classes at the Horse Market neighborhood. Back then, this place was called the Academy of Contemporary Dance. Though there were rap classes, there was not even a hip hop dance yet.

There’s now a metro station near our home, but back then, we had to take the trolleybus. To go to class, I had to ride one stop and then change the line.

It’s funny that they always thought about me as a dependent child. Like I'm a very homely child, in contrast to my brother – He was thought of as a very grown-up, separate, and overall dependable guy. But if you think of it, it was myself among the two of us who said “Here I am all packed, bye-bye family,” at the age of 21.

My grandpa had been a shoemaker for more than 40 years. And recently – don’t laugh – I went to shoe repair for the first time, and it was here, in Israel. Because in Kharkiv I never had to. How does it work for others? If you tore your shoes, you tossed them. Back in Kharkiv, if I would tear my boots, Grandpa would take them and give them back to me as good as new.

My grandpa is not alive anymore, but I know that you can go and repair your shoes. In Israel I never did that and no one I know as well.

I found a shoe repair shop, came in with my pair of shoes, and there was the same smell as at my grandpa’s shop. And that reminded me of Kharkiv so much! The man there was Russian-speaking, and we talked for some time.

Also, my mom used to bake a pie, she called it “Grated pie.” It’s covered with dough crumbs and berries or jam. I never tasted or smelled such a pie anywhere except in Kharkiv.

On the streets you could always hear mispronunciations like “I gat you”, and then, when you are living in another country, you understand that everyone says instead “I got you.” You just have this moment where you understand that it was a local accent this whole time. A cool one, you can always tell where you are, you could never mix it up.

The ultimate sound of Kharkiv Is a tram moving along the old paving stones, on which horses used to gallop.

The sentence “Nastupna zupinka” (Next station, in Ukrainian) in the subway; “Stantsia sportivna: Perekhid na tuda-suda: (Sportivna Station: Change to “here and there”).

At 8 in the morning, when farmers brought water tanks or fresh milk, they would shout to let people know they were there, but I never understood what they were saying. For my parents it was a signal that it was time to grab some water or to buy sour cream. Like here, in Israel, sellers are screaming on Fridays “Prakhim le-Shabbat!” (In Hebrew, Flowers for Shabbat)

These are my beloved places. I even found a postcard: This house, a small one, brownish-green, on Poltavsky Shlyakh Street 1, at Lopanska embankment, on the Lopan River. I like it visually for its colours.

Pushkinskaya, Architektor Beketov streets – these are in my favourite neighbourhoods.

I spent most of my time in the area where the dance studio was located. We finished classes and hung out around McDonald’s. There is also a “Lovers Fountain” (I don’t know why it was called as such) with such a strange sculpture where two very, very thin people are reaching out to each other. It didn't look romantic, to be honest. It looked more looked like a very hungry couple, who is (perhaps) in love. But they can barely reach each other! And they are very fragile. It could end badly.

There was a canteen as well, where students would hanging out. It got rebranded eventually, but back then it was a pizza place in a basement. Not even a pizza, more like a pie – very student-type, it cost nothing and provided you for a week of nourishment.

If you go further, there is graffiti by Hamlet Zinkovsky and Oleg Mitasov.

Then “Theater 19,” where Babkin (Sergey Babkin, singer, compose, and actor) performed for some time, we used to go there a lot.

This is actually the same area.

But if you head in another direction – you’ll end up at the Synagogue.

I mean, pretty much everything you need is nearby.

If I need to narrow down to a specific place, I remember the old circus very well. Round, old, solid building. If you get lost, you’ll always find a circus building – it is a nice navigation point. We used to gather there with our class to listen to the chanting of the Megilat Esther.

Shevchenko Park is a place that generates many odd puns. This is a promenade where dressed-up girls walk, and guys try to pick them up. It’s an urban romance point.

Then KHATOB (Opera and Ballet Theater), with skaters around, and The Mirror Stream – a fountain, maybe, the most touristy spot to take pictures.

I believe in every city there is a meeting point, like a monument or tower clock. In Kharki, there is a thermometer. It’s like my Low Temperatures Institute, also a sort of mystery. It’s just a huge thermometer showing the actual temperature of the city, attached to an old house for some reason.

When the Dizengoff Fountain was removed it was a tragedy for people. Back then, I was working next to it and saw old people crying watching through the scaffolding, because they took their fountain where they met as they were young.

In Kharkiv, there is always a thermometer at the window, so you would wake up in the morning and see the temperature outside, to be mentally ready. My dad is still saying “How do you not have a thermometer?” But there is no such thing in Israel.

Saltivka neighborhood. My brother says it does not exist anymore.

The Barabashovo market is a special memory for children who grew up in Kharkiv. The stands are made out of cardboard and bring up the memory of being instructed that nobody’s looking at you” when you try on clothes. All the clothes were bought there, everything could be found there. From what I understood, missiles fell into this market. Some survived, and some were completely destroyed, even though it was very large in size.

The last time I was in Kharkiv was in September 2021. It’s difficult for me to tell what’s happening there in the different neighborhoods. There were few hits in the area where I lived.

The brownish-green house I mentioned before is still standing, but there’s some issue involving the mayor’s office — they’re either planning to remodel it or demolish it. I just saw a petition to leave it be. Next to this house, there is a building of architectural heritage; Missles hit it.

A bunch of monuments are gone - at the request of the Kharkiv residents. The same Lenin statue, near which people would meet. They simply used to say, automatically: “There is Freedom Square, Lenin is standing there - we’ll meet at this place.” The monument was gone much earlier than the full-scale war, but the tendency that the city is changing according to ideology, because one no longer accepts a lot of things around, is for the better, in my opinion.

Sometimes a city, like people, also gets rid of everything that it no longer needs, and it is better that this always happens by the choice of the city, not by the destruction from the outside and the tragedies that are happening now.

It is important to consider how the city will recover. Kharkiv had a problem with representation: Billboards greatly spoiled the appearance and style of the city, and often obscured architectural assets. I looked at some construction plans in the city,and you can see “before” and “after” there clearly. Six months ago it was this way, but now it’s a new house. A lot is still in the process of rebuilding.

My parents are now in Lviv, for more than six months. My brother remains in Kharkiv. He is in the Kharkiv Tractor Factory area. There is no one at home right now. I tried to follow the news somehow, but to my impression, there were fewer hits in the area of ​​our house. The Low Temperatures Institute, I think, is also doing well, I haven’t seen anything on the news about it.

Before the war, I was asking my friends, searching for vacancies in the cultural sphere, and in galleries, and I really thought about living in Kyiv, but then the war came. I can’t say that I had a serious intention to return to Kharkiv, but I don’t rule it out, of course. It turns out that I haven’t lived in Ukraine for more than 10 years.

My parents, and grandparents, were never where I chose to live, so Kharkiv is about home. I came there from both Israel and St. Petersburg. And this is such a “welcome home,” your family is waiting for you in Kharkiv. Returning home is all about Kharkiv.

War on screen is scary, it's shocking, but I can't imagine what it's like to see it in real life. I have the wish to be there and help. Is there fear? Yes, of course. Perhaps this needs to be seen in order for dilemmas, contradictions, and thoughts about different processes to be resolved.

I would go to the Low Temperatures Institute, I have never been inside of there. Just to see: What is this and why does everyone around me talk about it all my life, but I don’t even know what’s going on inside?

Although, maybe it’s worth asking my parents, maybe we did go there together once.

I also want to go to the buffet to eat pizza pie. Come to where Lopan River is, to the circus.