Joseph Zissels on Ukrainian Jews and collective identity

We previously spoke with him about the role of Jewish NGOs in Ukraine for a feature on the Jewish community of Ukraine. In this new interview, we discuss the Russian-led Babyn Yar memorial project, resistance to Soviet lies and repression, survival in detention, the evolution of Ukrainian nationalism, and Ukraine’s current relationship with Israel.

Struggle for the memory of Babyn Yar

— In 2016, Russian businessmen Mikhail Fridman, German Khan, and Pavel Fuks initiated the Babyn Yar Holocaust Memorial Centre project. Later, Russian film director Ilya Khrzhanovsky was appointed as the project’s artistic director. Around $100 million was expected to be invested in the initiative. In your view, what was the true objective of this project?

— For us, the story of this project began in 2015. At the time, a notorious Ukrainian businessman, Vadym Rabinovych, was trying to gain control over Babyn Yar. He leased land there and spoke of building something, but did nothing. His real aim seemed to be swindling someone out of money. Through his connections with Russian businessmen, he pitched them the idea of creating a memorial. Putin’s inner circle saw a strategic opportunity in this concept, a way to exert influence over Ukraine as part of a broader hybrid war. This is how I personally reconstruct the events of that time.

Around August 2015, we began serious negotiations with the Kyiv authorities about the project. When I first heard about it, I said we would do everything in our power to stop it.

At the same time, a Ukrainian-led initiative connected to the Institute of History of Ukraine began to develop slowly. Unfortunately, the Russian team gained momentum and started working actively. They assembled a research group of well-known scholars.

That’s how the confrontation began in 2016. I knew we would face a lot of attacks. The Ukrainian historians involved also stood their ground. In fact, they developed the concept for a Babyn Yar memorial in the spring of 2017. However, the Ukrainian project still has no funding.

Khrzhanovsky even tried to persuade me to join their team. Of course, I refused — I already knew far too much about Fridman and Khan. They had also contributed significantly to arming the Russian military. We gathered thousands of signatures in protest against the project, as they kept trying to build flashy installations to create the appearance of progress.

What has slipped through the narrative over time? The role [of Ukrainians] in the Second World War. Film director Sergei Loznitsa came to make a so-called documentary about Babyn Yar, funded by Fridman. It was a deeply flawed script that falsely exaggerated the role of Ukrainians in the executions at Babyn Yar — something that simply didn’t happen. There was no archival footage. They just inserted texts claiming that Ukrainian nationalists shot Jews at Babyn Yar.

That’s how the struggle played out before the full-scale war began. People now say, “The war has put everything in its place.” But those behind that project are still hiding, waiting for Ukraine’s defeat, hoping for a chance to resurface.

— The story surrounding Babyn Yar has been complex and at times controversial. In your view, does it still influence public perception of Babyn Yar and the Holocaust?

— I think a lot of people [in Ukraine] still don’t really care about Babyn Yar, or Ukrainian history in general. We’re only just starting to form a common Ukrainian identity. We’re in that adolescent phase — we’ve got a lot of freedom, but not much responsibility yet. We need to find that golden mean.

Collective identity forms slowly, and it depends on a lot of different factors. Right now, we’re on the way to national consensus — that’s when about 75–80% of people are united. And when a nation gets there, it’s not afraid of anything.

For me, the marker is the state of civil society. Our Maidans (revolutions of 2004 and 2013–14 — ed.) showed how many people are moving beyond just surviving and starting to embrace values like self-realisation. I think we’re at about 30% now.

— Because we’re paying such a high price for becoming aware of Russian influence, do you think we’ll be more resistant to it in the future?

— Yes, but not completely. There will still be people who support it. What I want is for this to be a Ukrainian project from beginning to end. This is Ukrainian land, it’s Ukrainian history. We need to develop our own Ukrainian view of our whole history — even the parts that are painful. Because growing up means going through the bitter parts of life too.

How the past has shaped identity

— You grew up in Chernivtsi (in the south-west of Ukraine — ed.) and once wrote that it’s a city of pluralism and tolerance. How do you remember it?

— I lived in Chernivtsi for 40 years before moving to Kyiv. With my texts, I didn’t discover anything new about the city’s pluralism. I felt it throughout my childhood and youth. But I also wouldn’t want to idealise it. There were difficult times, especially during the period when Bukovyna was occupied by Romania between the two world wars.

As for tolerance, I grew up with it. I lost my parents early, so I didn’t have a traditional family upbringing where a child is taught from a young age what’s right and what’s wrong. Apparently, I was very stubborn as a child — that’s what my relatives say. But my mother had eight brothers and sisters, and after she died, all their love and care were directed towards my brother and me. That kind of support really shapes your character.

— You’ve written that you learned about your own family history from your relatives. But many Ukrainians still don’t have access to that kind of knowledge, because the Soviet Union forbade people to speak openly about the past. How does this interruption in passing down family history affect society today?

— People who don’t know their own history are doomed to repeat it, again and again. History needs to be properly reflected in our education. Without that, what develops is this so-called victimhood complex — a constant sense of being a victim, of existential threat. We live in a part of the world that’s seen endless wars, occupations, empires. It’s been very hard to form any identity other than an imperial one. A nation with a victimhood complex is, in some ways, a spoiled nation. And that’s a serious problem.

— Do Ukrainians have a victimhood complex?

— Of course. We’ve never had 20 years of peace to really form our collective identity in our own country. The Baltic states, for example, had that time between the [World] wars to raise at least one generation that grew up entirely within their independent nation.

— You once told me that a university friend later admitted he had been instructed by the KGB to inform on you. How did that kind of recruitment affect public trust? Do you think we’re still seeing the echoes of that time today?

— Of course, my generation is very distrustful. I became a dissident and realised that prison was a real possibility, it’s not that I didn’t accept it — I just didn’t want to rush into it. So I had to be careful.

The story of how I searched for Ukrainian dissidents is another story entirely. I am not a Ukrainian [ethnically]. But I had to find them. And they were very secretive.

— Why did you start looking for them?

— My dissidence began with reading samvydav (known also as samizdat — ed.). I read my first samvydav in the ninth grade. It was 1962. It shaped me.

— Already in the 9th grade?

— Well, it’s a gradual process. You can’t understand it all at once — not unless you’ve been raised that way, like in families connected to the OUN (Organisation of Ukrainian Nationalists — ed.) or UPA (Ukrainian Insurgent Army — ed.). That kind of awareness comes from a sense of continuity.

There’s also a different kind of continuity in being Jewish — not in military resistance, but in religious tradition. I’ve never had any problem with this part of my identity — being a Jew. The only thing I am clarifying now is that I am a Ukrainian Jew. That’s a distinct identity. People of a different ethnic background and religion, but absolutely part of Ukraine.

You have to be a very conscious parent to pass that sense of identity on to your children. But now there’s a different challenge — we’re at war. What are we thinking about when it comes to our children and grandchildren? We need to prepare them for war. Of course, no parent wants their child to fight. We’ve just come out of this very liberal, pacifist era — and it’s not just us. If you look at research across Europe, only Finland seems truly prepared to fight, because they already know what war means.

— What does it mean to prepare children for war?

— I’ll give you an example: Israel. There, all children are expected to serve in the army. Avoiding service is seen as shameful. I’m not saying they’re eager to serve, but they all know that they will. Everyone serves, and then returns for retraining once a year. And it’s tough. For instance, if you run a small business and have to serve 35 days a year, it can be devastating for your enterprise. And they go or move abroad.

But when war breaks out (in Israel, it happens every few years), they get on a plane, they arrive, and they know exactly where they’re going. They’re prepared. We won’t be like that anytime soon.

Participation in dissident movements in the USSR

— How did you search for Ukrainian dissidents?

— I read a lot, and gradually I began to form a vision of two separate worlds. On one hand, there was what we were taught at school. On the other, the fact that the state is based on violence. You could reject the lies and say openly that it was all false, but you had to be prepared for violence in return.

And slowly, reading is no longer enough. It was a slow process for me, living in a provincial city like Chernivtsi. Sometime during my student years, I felt the urge to do more. I began retyping samvydav and passing it to my friends.

But once you give it away, you’re left wanting more again. You want to protect those who are suffering. In the early 1970s, I got involved in helping the families of political prisoners and started collecting information about human rights abuses.

It comes organically, as a development. You get compelled to act. You realise that it’s dangerous. You try to be careful. You don’t dive straight into the centre of it. Yet, the path is deterministic. If you become a dissident, prison is almost inevitable. You just have to be ready for it.

— How did you prepare for this?

— I read a lot about those imprisoned. I studied their final statements in court and, in a way, was preparing my own — imagining what I might say if I ended up on trial. I had time to prepare, because many Ukrainians were already being arrested and jailed. The fact that I was of a different nationality helped me. At the time, there was a wave of Jewish emigration to Israel. Since I was Jewish, they kept an eye on me, probably assuming I’d leave for Israel too.

— Why didn’t you emigrate, knowing that you had the opportunity to go to Israel?

— You can explain why you want to emigrate. But explaining why you don’t want to emigrate is simply incomprehensible. I feel completely fulfilled here. I had a sense of purpose then, too. I did what I could, and what I wanted to do. Now, there are many more opportunities. I never had a desire to leave. Even when my first family went to Israel, even then.

— You said you didn’t want to end up in prison, yet when you knew that most of the first members of the Helsinki Group had been arrested, you still chose to join the second wave.

— I felt the need for continuity. The group brought the dissident movement into the legal sphere. How long can you hide? We had to speak openly. It was crucial.

At the time, I was also investigating how psychiatry was being used for political repression. This was also very important to me. And it was the road to prison. My whole life was a road to prison. And it was important for me to endure it with dignity. And luckily, I managed to do that — the first time, and the second.

The imprisonment in the Soviet era

— Tell us about the imprisonment itself. What was the environment like? How did people from different ethnic communities get along?

— My political article was made up to hide the large number of political prisoners among the sea of criminal inmates. I ended up among the criminal offenders, and some of them were very serious. But as I always say, if a person is adequate, they can survive anywhere and prove themselves worthy.

The first time, I was imprisoned in Ukraine, in the Chernivtsi region, under a strict regime for serious criminal cases. And when you’re among 1,500 such people, you start to feel something like Stockholm syndrome. You begin to identify with them a little. They’re living this hard life alongside you. You start to feel a kind of sympathy, because you’re no longer focused on what they did. Instead, you’re watching how they behave inside — and that becomes the most important thing.

That’s why the stereotypes started to blur. Of course, it would have been more pleasant to sit with people who had a higher education like me, people you could talk to. I did see some of them in the criminal zone, for example those convicted of bribery, but there were few decent, moral people among them. Meanwhile, among the younger inmates, those imprisoned for hooliganism, assault, or even more serious crimes, there were many who had been raised well. I helped a lot of them: wrote petitions, drafted appeals, and so on. They truly appreciated it.

— Was the second time you were imprisoned not in Ukraine?

— The last two years in the Urals.

— How different was the environment there?

— I was drawn to people who were somehow close to me. I looked for religious dissidents, they were often in those camps. The ones who refused military service for religious reasons. They were everywhere, I got closer to them, talked to them. I also knew a lot, especially about the use of psychiatry as a tool of persecution. They were interested in that. So I was useful, in demand.

Reformed Ukrainian nationalism

— Igor Pomerantsev said, “I went into exile only because I was a Russian poet. If I had been a Ukrainian poet, I would have been ground to dust.” How did the attitudes of the wardens differ between Ukrainians and you as a Ukrainian Jew?

— The KGB couldn’t quite figure out what Ukrainians had to do with me as a Jew. They never fully understood why I joined the Ukrainian Helsinki Group and became close with Ukrainians. And they didn’t treat me like a Ukrainian either. Had I been a Ukrainian involved in the same kind of activity, I would’ve immediately been sent to a political zone and given a much harsher sentence. The worst repressions fell on Ukrainians.

What happened among the dissidents in prison shaped a kind of tolerant Ukrainian nationalism — I’d call it reformed nationalism. That was important, because it helped change how the world saw us. We weren’t the monsters the KGB or Soviet propaganda tried to portray. We were regular people who respected others. And we made that clear.

We weren’t born that way. As Jewish children, we grew up with anti-Ukrainian sentiments while Ukrainian children grew up with anti-Jewish ones. We had to break through those walls to realise we had a shared enemy: Soviet imperialism and communism. Only by confronting that could we build something of our own. And that’s not an easy truth to come to.

— You mentioned another Ukrainian dissident, Myroslav Marynovych, who also spoke about his imprisonment and said that it was very important for him not to be consumed by hatred while he was there. Did you feel hatred when you were imprisoned?

— No, I’m not prone to hatred at all, though I knew people among both Jews and Ukrainians who were. I’m not as certain as my friend, my brother Myroslav Marynovych, who said it was crucial not to let hatred take over. Because now we’re in a terrible war. And I don’t think we can cling only to human rights while leaving Ukraine to fend for itself. If Ukraine loses this fight with Russia, there won’t be any human rights left to defend.

Ukraine today is far more tolerant than the world used to think. We’ve changed. And we’ve become more tolerant of minorities precisely because we have our own state now.

They say Ukrainians are a very tolerant nation. And as I sometimes say, half-jokingly and half-sadly: maybe even a bit too tolerant. A little hatred isn’t always a bad thing — not when you’re up against an enemy that came to destroy you.

“Traditional” images of Jews in Ukraine

— We know that the portrayal of Jews in certain Ukrainian traditions, for example, in vertep (Christmas nativity scenes, where the image of a Jew is often negative — ed.) often does not correspond to the framework of tolerance today. How do we revive these traditions, or should we adapt them?

— Jewish tradition also has negative figures, but they aren’t tied to ethnicity. It’s not easy to get rid of this. I don’t know what Ukrainians should do.

— As for the Russian-speaking Ukrainian Jews, to what extent do you see changes in this?

— Well, I haven’t done any research. This is a transformation of minority identity. We can’t rush ahead of the train. Many Ukrainians still don’t speak their own language. I want them to.

It is not only the Ukrainian language that connects us with different people, but a common vision. It is multidimensional. We have one country, Ukraine, which we defend together. And it’s crucial that more people realise they share something deeply important — their country. The language will come in time.

I strongly disapprove when national minorities make no effort to learn Ukrainian. If you live here, that’s part of your responsibility. Language is a constant in our lives, and it evolves slowly, just like every other essential element of identity. There’s no need to be angry that the progress is slow — that’s just how real change works.

Psychiatry as an instrument of repression in the USSR

— How did the life of the Jewish community change during the full-scale invasion?

— For us, it’s the same war. The only difference is that our Jewish communities tend to have an older population, so a lot of our efforts go into social support.

What matters most is that we’re not separate in this war. More than a thousand Jews are serving in the Ukrainian army. Many Jewish communities have been supporting the front since 2014.

Now, we are engaged in mental rehabilitation, we help everyone.

— Regarding mental rehabilitation. To what extent do you see echoes of the Soviet era, when psychiatry was used as a tool of repression? Did this destroy any public trust in the topic of mental health?

— I don’t know of any cases of political persecution or psychiatry like in Soviet times.

But now, I have touched upon those old times again. I had a lot of material, however, we couldn’t access the archives, they were sealed due to medical confidentiality. Then, when Uliana Suprun became Minister of Health, she visited the special psychiatric hospital in Dnipro for an inspection. There, she found a cabinet that had been sealed. When they opened it, it turned out to be the files of political prisoners.

From 1968 to 1991, around a thousand political prisoners were held in that Dnipro hospital. All the nurses were former criminal offenders, which meant there was real terror from their side. They used outdated psychiatric drugs and methods.

Then things stalled after Uliana left office. I’m now part of the Commission for the Rehabilitation of Victims of Political Repression at the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory. We recently received a letter saying the entire archive had been transferred to the institute. Now we’re being asked to help make sense of it — so that’s what I’m working on now.

— s there any plan to disclose this information?

— Of course. The statute of limitations has already passed. There’s still some pressure around the fact that hospital records are considered confidential. But now it’s important — because the truth has to be revealed, all the way through. Within the framework of the law, of course.

The rise of right-wing ideologies in the world

— About 10 years ago, in one of your speeches, you said that liberalism had nothing to oppose Russian authoritarianism and that the world was being transformed into a conservative alliance led by the United States. How have your thoughts on global conservatism changed today?

— I trace the beginning of this right-wing conservative shift to somewhere early this century. But it’s a blurred process, with different components. People didn’t believe it was happening, and many still don’t, even after Trump.

From my perspective on history, I’ve written that right-wing conservative systems are better at dealing with threats. Liberals are more relaxed — they want to love, to be friends. I understand that. But when you’re faced with this kind of enemy right next to you, an existential one — that changes everything.

We’re shifting to the right now. And as long as Russia remains such a threat, there won’t be space for a real left-wing movement.

— You said that there is hope that this conservative alliance led by the United States will solve the problem of Russian aggression. But now, we see that American conservatism, led by Trump, seems to be inspired by Russian aggression.

— Of course, I see all of that. But it’s not over yet. The rise of the right isn’t just happening in the US. The real problem isn’t Trump himself, it’s the deepening divide within societies. In many countries, we’re seeing a serious split between different parts of society.

I still hope that whatever he tries to do, whatever he imagines, won’t succeed.

— And how do you foresee or perhaps imagine this path of Trump, conservatism and these movements and the defeat of Russia?

— I don’t like to make predictions. But if a scenario seems much more likely than others, then I can envision it. That’s how I came to write that article about what a Ukrainian victory might look like. I saw one version of it — though I’d like to be wrong, because it’s not a pleasant scenario: that we’ll be at war for a very long time.
We have the strength to hold the Russians back, but we don’t have the strength to defeat them outright. And the world isn’t in a hurry to come fight alongside us.

Israel’s example for Ukraine

— I would also like to talk about Israel and how it can serve as a certain example for Ukraine.

— Let me give you a conditional example. We can’t just take what we like in the world and impose it here. I’ll say more — there are other, even better examples, like Finland, which has a very interesting approach to raising children.

The Jews felt the threat of physical destruction during the Holocaust, so they tend to view all threats through that lens. Today, they have a state that is very well armed and economically strong, so they’re able to cope with the threats they face in the Middle East. But it would be difficult for them to fight Russia.

— We see that Israel votes against the resolution condemning Russian aggression in the UN, and vice versa, Arab countries, especially the Gulf, play a role in the negotiations and in the return of prisoners and Ukrainian children. How do you see Israel’s role in these events?

— Unfortunately, Israel’s role is not yet positive for Ukraine. Israel sees strong players and focuses on them. Israel has specific national interests of survival and everything is subordinated to them.

— And on what principles can Ukraine build relations with Israel?

— We don’t threaten Israel, and we don’t help Israel either. Let’s be honest — have we ever helped Israel overcome its enemies? Ukraine has voted against Israel many times [at the UN] because we’re still carrying the inertia of Soviet diplomacy, a pro-Arab inertia.

But we are on the same side of the global divide — between democracy and authoritarianism. And that’s what matters most.

— When Elon Musk made a rather telling gesture at Trump’s inauguration, for which he was dubbed a neo-Nazi, Netanyahu and a number of Jewish organisations defended him. Isn’t this inconsistent with Israel’s policy?

— Yes, the left-wing government in America under Biden and Obama twisted Israel’s arm. They forced them to put up with Hamas — the very people who are killing them.

— But Trump said he had reconciled with Hamas.

— Israel trusted Trump because, in his previous term, he helped them a lot.

I understand that it sounds liberal and democratic to believe there should be two states in the Middle East. But that would mean a war without end — and not with a terrorist movement, but with an actual state. Their situation is very different from ours with Russia.

Israel is the only centre of democracy in the Middle East — surrounded by a sea of autocracy. The dream of all Islamic radicals, no matter where they live, is to completely destroy Israel.

Russia wants to strip us of our statehood and sovereignty, to make us obedient like Belarus. It’s a different situation. Those who are loyal to Russia, even Ukrainians by birth, aren’t targeted.

Our war has no racial dimension. In Israel, it does. And Israel is under threat of annihilation.

— You said that we should look at what Trump does, not what he says, but recently he has announced the idea of clearing the Gaza Strip and resettling people there.

— Yes, he’s tired of the constant war there. But he can’t change things — there are too many forces in the world that won’t allow it.

Israel still believes in Trump, but relations are already deteriorating because he’s negotiating directly with Hamas. This is deeply frustrating for the Israeli authorities.

Israel is acting based on the situation. Americans vote one way, and Israel responds accordingly. I think that’s a shame for Israel. Some things should be permanent, moral, while others are situational. And the situational should never outweigh the moral.

But I’m not the head of the country. That’s why I stay out of politics. Always.

The defeat of the Nazis and the defeat of Russia

— You once said that in the West, it’s not well received when we compare Russia to Nazi Germany. Why doesn’t that resonate there, and how else can we explain it?

— Firstly, we don’t explain things well. As I’ve said before, we’re still in our teenage years as a nation — we don’t yet have the international tools of understanding and explanation that we might have in 100 years, for example. Secondly, it’s hard to explain to people that they don’t know their own history. The Baltic countries understand us, because they also lived under communism. But Western European countries only experienced Nazism — they know Nazism is evil. What’s hard to get across is that Nazism and ruscism are equally horrific.

— The defeat of Nazi Germany in the Second World War ended with the Nuremberg Tribunal and the prosecution of a number of those involved. How likely do you think it is that the same will happen to the Russians in the future?

— I don’t see any other outcome without a victory over Russia. Only a victory — and one so decisive that it would completely crush the country and its government, occupy it, and divide it into 40 or 50 parts along natural boundaries. Only then, maybe in 100 years, could those regions — especially the western part — gradually become democratic. There’s no other way. And we are still very far from that.

— To what extent do you see Europe’s ability to consolidate its forces now?

— We’ve already tested this. Between 2023 and 2024, we didn’t receive American aid for half a year, while Europe increased its support. This kind of balance works. It’s a very important principle of the universe.

— Coming back to Ukraine, you once said that the only way to keep the government from seizing new freedoms is to give it a counterweight in the form of civil society and the judiciary. In your opinion, how capable is this counterweight now?

— We saw what our Maidans were capable of. We just shouldn’t have expected more from them than they could give. Maidans are not a driver of development, but rather a marker of the state of civil society. A more powerful Maidan means we’ve made real progress in growing and strengthening that civil society.

In fact, civil society is the only true force in Ukraine today. It’s the greatest force we have — the one leading us toward a democratic future.

— What kind of Ukraine do you dream of?

— Well, a dream is one thing, but what Ukraine will actually be is another. Of course, I dream that Ukraine will become strong and democratic — I’ve given my whole life to this. Not liberal, but shifting from liberalism to a right-wing conservatism. In other words, it should develop like any normal country.

This publication was prepared with the support of the Partnership for a Stronger Ukraine programme. Its contents are the sole responsibility of Ukraїner and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Foundation and/or its financial partners. Some of the views expressed by the interviewee may not reflect the views of Ukraїner’s editorial team.

The Partnership for a Stronger Ukraine is a donor programme funded by the governments of Canada, Estonia, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland and the United Kingdom. It aims to strengthen Ukraine’s resilience in the face of Russian aggression by providing critical support to local communities in cooperation with Ukrainian government agencies, civil society, media and the private sector.