Decades ago, while signing up my father for a Gmail account, I asked him what he wanted his screen name to be.
“My what?”
“You need a name.”
“Can’t you just use my name?”
“It’s a long story, but it’s taken. What’s that town your parents are from?”
“Horodenka?”
“Perfect. Nobody will have that one.”
“It’s in Austria.”
It was in Austria.
Located in western Ukraine, Horodenka was part of Poland and Lithuania until 1772, when it was annexed by the Austrian monarchy. It stayed that way until World War I, when it came under Russian control. Soon after the war, it was contested again, but eventually was ruled by Poland until World War II — then Hungary, before being gutted by the Nazis. After that war, it was in the orbit of the Soviet Union. That ended on Aug. 24, 1991, when the Act of Declaration of Independence re-established Ukraine’s state autonomy — around the same time a young KGB recruiting officer stationed in St. Petersburg, Vladimir Putin, resigned his post to enter politics.
All in all, in the 20th century, control of Horodenka changed about eight times. Some of my father’s family, Meltzers and Friedmans, left when it was Austrian, some when it was Polish, some when it was Hungarian, some when it was Russian.
There are no clear lines of demarcation in Horodenka.
The search for the connections to places and events — whether they concern Ukrainians, Uyghurs, Palestinians or single mothers of three with $11.75 left on their SNAP cards — is the search for human empathy. In this, the second month of the Russian invasion, we’re all searching for our inner Ukraine — if not geopolitically, then personally.
A few weeks back, in a column about a museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma, built to commemorate the horror of Tulsa’s 1921 race massacre, I wrote about going to Germany and Poland with my daughter and searching for the ghosts of the Holocaust. One of the places we had planned to visit was Horodenka, about 400 miles from Auschwitz, which we were going to visit, would be another of those causal chains. It was the middle of February, which is the worst time to visit, because that part of Europe is not only cold, it seems angry. The trip from Oświęcim, where the concentration camp in southern Poland is located, to Horodenka is about 15 hours by bus, train and taxi — and you need all three to get there. I had booked a room at the Merry Land Hotel. We were going to stay two nights.
We were going there to … that’s just it. I had no idea.
Not only was no family there anymore, there was nobody there.
Even the ghosts had left.
Before leaving, I found a picture on a Jewish website of an old cemetery with lopsided headstones that included Jewish engravings. These souls were not resting in peace. Under the photos was a caption: “Nowadays, there are no Jews in Horodenka. Only an old cemetery with characteristic tombstones resembles a once-worthy community.”
Once-worthy? Jesus!
You can’t go home again, even if you want to.
There are 459 cities in Ukraine.
They all have stories.
Horodenka, which was subject to unspeakable horrors, especially for Jews, first by the Austrians, then Russians, then Hungarians, and then Nazis, is also home to something called the Center of Space Communications. It was built in the 1980s by the Soviets to support its troops and was equipped with a bunker capable of withstanding even a close nuclear explosion.
A Ukrainian website called Igotoworld.com states:
“To this end, throughout the special facilities were built … at present, very little is known about the facts of the building. In the corners of the hopper 4 symmetrically arranged shaft, which previously operated retractable antenna. Throughout the territory there are many different hidden rooms, sites and other premises, and there was postroenaspetsialnaya (protected) mine under the truck.”
Tours were offered.
Especially popular is a place among history buffs and fans of military events. Of course, the original form failed to keep up to date due to constant raids of metal detectors. But for those who want to learn a little about the secret facilities, there will be very interesting.
The bad translation only added to the barrenness of it all.
Nina and I wound up not making the trip. We decided to stay in Poland and see “JoJo Rabbit” with Polish subtitles in Łódź and eat bad pierogis in Krakow.
Some memories can’t be endowed.
One more thing: The top restaurant in Horodenka was at the Merry Land Hotel, which was also named Merry Land. A Russian woman named Ulya gave it three stars on Tripadvisor.
She wrote, “Not everything is bad.”
The restaurant is now closed.
Barry Friedman is an essayist, political columnist, petroleum geology reporter and comedian living in Tulsa, Okla. In addition to “Funny You Should Mention It,” “Road Comic,” “Four Days and a Year Later” and “The Joke Was On Me,” his first novel, “Jacob Fishman’s Marriages,” a book about the worst love story ever, was published by Balkan Press in February. See barrysfriedman.com and friedmanoftheplains.com.
From The Progressive Populist, April 15, 2022
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