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20 OUR LIFE • June 2022 This is a story of war. Not the war raging in Ukraine today, but a more distant one, no less devastating. It is a story about World War II, my father, an Italian bicycle, and American pancakes. It is about a tragic time but with undertones of levity. To remain sane during incredibly stressful times, one must find slivers of humor wherever one can. Here is my sliver. A central figure in Ukrainian pagan mythology was the goddess Berehynia — the keeper of the hearth. She was revered as the giver of all life and the protectress of the family. But in our family lore, it was my father who took on the traits of the female goddess and saved his family from hunger during the war. He was 14 years old. Like thousands of Ukrainians, my father’s family fled before the invading Soviets in the 1940s. Seeking safety, they traveled west by train and bus, and finally walked the final kilometers to Germany, where they were hoping to land in the American Zone when the war ended. In the meantime, they found shelter in a building outside of Munich. The accommodations were barely livable — they had to share a large open space with a family of German refugees — but there was one advantage. It included one meal per day: usually soup, watery and flavorless, and occasionally a slice of bread and weak tea. To supplement these meager rations, Tato’s father (my grandfather) would knock on doors of neighboring German farms every day, asking for food. Their donations, given reluctantly, usually consisted of a few potatoes of dubious freshness. But choosing between green potatoes with eyes Marta Zielyk , Branch 64, New York City The author’s father, Lubomyr Zielyk, post-war. This photo was taken in 1945 or 1946, when he would have been 15 or 16. OF PANCAKES WAR
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