Getting out of the taxi, i step onto a small Polish street in suburban Warsaw, immediately I hear people speaking Polish, Ukrainian, English and Russian, doing their best to understand each other, by pointing and gestures. I walked into a makeshift warehouse, one that was only 3 weeks ago a hub for consumer goods and foods in and out of Warsaw. This warehouse is run by 3 successful Polish businessmen that we made contact with, who put their businesses on pause, to dedicate their properties and resources to the needs of the People of Ukraine.
There was a flurry of people from different countries shifting around boxes on pallets and prepping to load up our van, a VW workhorse from the late 90’s. This is the van we were able to fund with gas and tools to make 10+ trips into live fighting in Kharkiv grabbing stranded families.
There isn’t much time to shake hands, hug and formally be introduced. Everyone is hyper focused on filling our van and getting to the tucks and cars waiting behind us, with much-needed supplies that aren’t available in Ukraine.
I open the side door of the van that is covered with grit and dents. There are pallets of boxes that wait to be squeezed into every inch of our van. There’s a smell in the van of diesel and of people that were living in basements for 2 weeks.
A man comes out of the warehouse in a wheelchair with one other that has 3 broken ribs from an accident days earlier, unbeknown to us. They are the ones that run this warehouse - today they had left the hospital to meet us and load up our van.
The van sags a bit as 2 Ukrainian men push in the last box of medical equipment, dry foods, personal hygienic supplies, diapers and candies. It’s noon on Monday and we jump in our van, decorated with Red Cross logos and words that spell out “Children” printed out on paper. We are off to pick-up our team of Americans, and Ukrainians to drive into Ukraine.
Max Volkoboy is our driver. He is our pastor in Cherkasy, a city sandwiched between the fighting in Kyiv and Zaporiza. The night before, he drove 22 hours straight to bring his family and his assistant pastor’s family to Warsaw for safety. Through he has the right to stay in Poland as a refugee; today he’s turning right around to head back into Central Ukraine.
I feel like I’m living out the movie Schindlers’ list. Churches of all denominations with clear doctrinal conflicts, as well as even the Jehovah Witnesses - are working together sharing resources in Ukraine. I used to live in Poland and I’ve never seen in all the years I’ve lived here the unity and support for Ukraine.
Poles are watching play out in Ukraine a Deja-Vu of their history in WW2. Posters, billboards, and businesses all carry the Ukrainian flag with words in Polish “We are with you!”
Yet sadly, the European governments are limited in what they can do for refugees. Money is slow to get to local cities to house and help refugees.
Rafael, the director of Bridge of Hope, who just loaded up our van, tells me, as he sits in his wheelchair; “I cry 10 times a day, then I get up and move forward.” He said, “It’s the people of Poland, Romania, Finland, England, Hungary and Germany that are taking in Ukrainians to their homes, couches and summer homes.”
I ask him “Sir what do we owe for the supplies” he looks at me a bit insulted. “Absolutely nothing.” I press in “We are like you, exist on the sacrificial giving of sponsors”. After some convincing by me and his partner - they agree to receive from us 1000 euros to cover the gas for one of the trucks that run in and out of Ukraine.
