Josh Olley

We enter the hospital room to meet one of the patients. Before we know it, we’re talking to everyone in the room. They’re all soldiers here, injured on the front line. “You can take a photo of me, but I won’t be able to tell you anything. I don’t remember,” says 23-year-old Serhii. The next day, he’ll be among the first called in for surgery, performed by “Face the Future” Medical mission.    

As Russia’s war on Ukrainian energy intensifies, blackouts roll across both Kyiv and the nation. The capital slips into an unfamiliar darkness—streets lit only by headlights, flashlights, and the flicker of candlelight behind windows.

Russia killed Kostiantyn Huzenko, 28, a marine, photographer, and press officer. Huzenko belonged to a generation for whom creation and resistance became inseparable, and in remembering him, we remember the cost of both.

Ukraine’s black soil is fertile and forgiving. It has fed nations, outlasted ideologies, and survived occupation. But even the finest earth has its limits. Across Ukraine, the land that once sustained villages turned into the frontline: mined, scorched, and contaminated. Three years of war have driven people from their homes and forced Ukrainians from their motherland. As farmers return home to mined fields, what was once a livelihood has become an act of endurance and a form of resistance.

Once the beating industrial heart of Donbas, Kramatorsk now beats for survival. During World War II, its factories forged weapons to fight Nazi Germany. That same industrial foundation made Kramatorsk a strategic target again during Russia’s 2014 and 2022 invasions. It’s one of the last major cities before the front line.

Thousands of Jewish pilgrims journeyed to Uman to pray at the grave of a revered Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav. Their Rosh Hashanah prayers for renewal and peace are intertwined with the ongoing devastation of the war in Ukraine. In the narrow streets and crowded courtyards, the rituals of pilgrimage became both an act of faith and a moment of reflection.