Having something that symbolizes a connection with our home, people, and their traditions and culture is valuable. 

On the occasion of the International Day of the World’s Indigenous People, which was celebrated yesterday, August 9, we prepared a post that reveals the family’s personal history and traditions and tells about the heritage of the Indigenous peoples of Ukraine.

Read the stories below:
Ezra Pastor, a Karaite artist
Nadzhiie Ametova, a Crimean Tatar journalist
Biniamin Minich, a Krymchak rabbi of the Daniel community in Tel Aviv—Yafo

Ezra Pastor, a Karaite artist
Letter

“My great-grandfather’s name was Luka Ochan. He was a Karaite. When the Soviet revolution came to their home, he was a little boy. The whole family was “dekulakized,” leaving only him and his older brother alive. His brother was taken to a labor camp somewhere in the north, and little Luka was thrown into the first train that came along. The train brought him to Horlivka, where he grew up knowing only his first and last name. His daughter (my grandmother) and her brother once accidentally saw Luka quietly reading a letter in the kitchen in the evening. But the strangest thing was that he hid the letter under the tablecloth afterward. Later, they snuck into the kitchen to see what it was and why it deserved such secrecy. It turned out that there was a whole stack of letters under the tablecloth. They were letters from his older brother. That’s how my family found out about the entire story.
Of course, Luka didn’t tell anyone, not even his family, because the trauma was too painful, and “those were the times.” The essence of the project is to show a family heirloom that has been passed down in our family from generation to generation. But my family doesn’t have any; they were all taken away by the Soviet occupation. And the only item related to this story is a letter from God knows where. And the original letters have not survived. I tried to recreate it for illustration purposes. That’s how deeply the Soviet boot trampled on our past pride. If not for this coincidence, I might never have learned about my origins and would not have become involved in activism.”

Nadzhiie Ametova, a Crimean Tatar journalist
Fez

“A fez is a traditional Crimean Tatar women’s headdress. But it means much more to me. It is an unchanging attribute of our culture, which can also be successfully combined with modern clothes and worn at various socially important events. I recall one of them. On May 18 last year, on the Day of Remembrance of the Victims of the Crimean Tatar genocide, I took part in raising a flag with a mourning ribbon near the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, where I study. I wore a fez for this event. After the flag-raising, I passed by the university, and a man stopped near me, exclaiming, “Crimea will be free.”

The fez is a distinct symbol of our people that cannot be confused with other traditional clothing elements.

Biniamin Minich, a Krymchak rabbi of the Daniel community in Tel Aviv—Yafo
Photo

The Krymchaks are Indigenous people of Ukraine who formed on the territory of the Crimean Peninsula. They were created by various ethnolinguistic Jewish groups, such as Italian, Spanish, and Turkish. Over the centuries, the Krymchaks developed a unique culture in Crimea that blended elements of Turkic cultural heritage and Jewish religious customs.

The 20th century was doubly tragic for the Krymchaks: the Soviet regime destroyed their distinct culture, and the Nazi occupation physically destroyed more than 80 percent of the Krymchaks.
A photo of my great-grandfather Moshe Purim from the early 20th century is essential for me. He is dressed in a traditional Krymchak costume of that time, a black jacket, and a Crimean kolpak—a black ram hat.