Published materials from the phone of Russian Major General Roman Demurchiev have caused a stir far beyond Ukraine. It is not about retellings or anonymous testimonies, but about personal correspondence and voice messages, which, according to the Ukrainian side, were obtained after hacking the device of the commander of the 20th Combined Arms Army of the Russian Federation.
The archive for the years 2022–2024 was handed over to Russian opposition journalists collaborating with Radio Liberty. Some of the materials were also published by the outlets Current Time and Meduza.
What is contained in the correspondence
Photos of ‘trophies’ and family reaction
Among the published materials is a photograph of blackened severed human ears hanging from a metal pipe. According to journalists, the general sent the picture to his wife.
The correspondence discusses what can be done with this ‘trophy’. In response to his wife’s question about future plans, the officer writes that he will ‘make a garland and give it as a gift’. The wife compares what she saw to ‘pig ears for beer’.
These fragments became the central part of the investigation, as they involve a direct admission of the practice of handling prisoners, which falls under the definition of war crimes in international law.
Journalists claim that before publication, they secured the conclusions of three experts who confirmed the authenticity of the archive.
Connection with Chechen war practices
The publication Meduza points out that the practice of cutting off ears as a ‘trophy’ appeared in the Russian army during the Chechen campaigns. Demurchiev began his service in Chechnya and, according to the correspondence materials, mentioned this experience more than once.
In 2024, he sent a voice message to an employee of the FSB special unit Vympel, in which he effectively confirmed the existence of such actions. The audio states that ‘at our age, we no longer do this, we only give orders for someone to do something’.
Such formulations indicate the possible systemic nature of the practice, rather than an isolated episode.
Career and official reputation
Roman Demurchiev has been participating in the war against Ukraine since February 2022. Official Russian sources called him ‘an example of courage and professionalism’. In March 2022, the army newspaper Zvezda published materials about his combat actions.
Subsequently, he received awards, including an order from the head of Chechnya, Ramzan Kadyrov, and was promoted to the rank of major general.
In parallel, private correspondence discussed supply issues, attitudes towards personnel, command questions, and internal conflicts in the army. The authors of the investigation note signs of nepotism and possible corruption.
A Ukrainian journalist tried to contact Demurchiev by phone. The general answered the call but refused to comment on questions regarding the treatment of prisoners of war.
International context and legal perspective
From the point of view of international humanitarian law, the actions described in the published materials can be qualified as war crimes. It is about torture and abuse of prisoners, which is explicitly prohibited by the Geneva Conventions.
The archive is not an external assessment but private conversations of the officer himself. This is what enhances their evidential significance in the public space.
In this context, NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency notes that such publications affect not only the perception of the war in Ukraine but also international discussions about the personal responsibility of commanders.
Materials continue to be analyzed by journalists and human rights activists. Their publication raises the question of where the line is between individual cruelty and systemic practice in the conditions of a protracted conflict.
Even in the fourth year of the war, such testimonies demonstrate that the informational side of the conflict remains no less significant than the military.
On February 19, 2026, the Federation of Jewish Communities of Ukraineannounced large-scale preparations for Purim across the country amidst ongoing Russian aggression.
In 2026, Purim begins on the evening of March 2 (after sunset), and the main day of the holiday falls on March 3, 2026. In Jerusalem and other cities where Shushan Purim is celebrated, the festivities will continue until March 4, 2026.
Purim 2026 will be the fourth holiday that Jewish communities in Ukraine celebrate since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion on February 24, 2022. The first wartime Purim occurred in March 2022 — at that time, synagogues gathered people literally a few weeks after the start of hostilities.
‘We will celebrate no matter what’: Jewish communities in Ukraine are preparing to mark the 4th Purim since the full-scale invasion of Russia
48,000 gifts for more than 150 communities
This year, the organization is sending 48,000 festive sets to more than 150 Jewish communities across Ukraine. The holiday traditionally symbolizes salvation, unity, and joy.
Even under the sounds of air raid sirens and constant risks, the community is preparing for the holiday so that every family can feel the atmosphere of Purim.
What is included in the festive sets
The sets include elements that allow fulfilling the commandments of the holiday:
Scroll of Esther (in Ukrainian)
Ukrainian-language guide to the celebration
Greeting cards
Mishloach manot with kosher sweets
Branded FEGU bag
Purim noisemaker
A small tincture for a festive mood
Organizers emphasize that it is important for people in affected regions to be able to celebrate Purim fully.
Such initiatives show that community life in Ukraine has not stopped. As previously noted by the editorial team of NANovosti — News of Israel | Nikk.Agency, it is important for the Israeli audience to see not only military reports but also how Ukrainian society, including the Jewish community, continues to live, support each other, and maintain traditions even in wartime.
‘We will celebrate no matter what’
The head of the FJCU Council, Meir Stambler, noted:
‘Purim was the first holiday that Ukrainian Jews celebrated after the start of the war. Synagogues were packed, the atmosphere was incredible. And this year we will celebrate, no matter what. We are doing everything so that every Jew can fulfill all four commandments of Purim.’
The Jewish community is part of Ukrainian society
Over these four years of war, the Jewish community of Ukraine lives the same reality as the entire country. Community representatives serve in the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, participate in territorial defense, actively engage in volunteering, and help displaced persons and those affected.
Despite constant threats and attempts at pressure, religious and public life continues.
Purim as a symbol of resilience
Purim traditionally includes four main commandments: reading the Megillat Esther, mishloach manot, helping those in need, and a festive meal. In 2026, their fulfillment takes on additional meaning.
The fourth wartime Purim becomes not only a religious holiday but also a symbol of resilience — a reminder that attempts to intimidate, break, or ‘freeze’ community life do not achieve their goal.
A court in Estonia sentenced Israeli citizen Anatoly Privalov, residing in the country, to 6.5 years in prison on charges of espionage for the Russian Federation.
The court’s decision was reported by the Estonian public broadcaster ERR.
The case concerns cooperation with Russian special services and covers the period since 2016.
Case details: cooperation with foreign intelligence
What the investigation established
According to the investigation, since 2016, Privalov has been cooperating with Russian special services, collecting information about Estonia and its allies.
Estonia is a member of NATO and the European Union, and issues of information leakage in such a context are considered a threat not only to national but also to collective security.
The court recognized that the actions of the accused were systematic and aimed in the interests of a foreign state.
Admission of guilt and punishment
Anatoly Privalov admitted guilt as part of a procedural agreement with the investigation.
The court sentenced him to 6.5 years in prison and ordered him to pay a fine.
Such practice is typical for espionage cases, where an admission of guilt allows for an expedited judicial process.
Context: Baltic region and strengthening counterintelligence
Increase in espionage cases
Since 2014, and especially after the start of Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine in 2022, the Baltic countries have strengthened counterintelligence measures.
Estonian security services regularly report attempts to gather information and recruit within the country.
Privalov’s case fits into this trend.
Citizenship issue
Official publications mention his Israeli citizenship.
However, judging by his surname and origin, it can be assumed that he may also have Russian citizenship. However, this is not explicitly stated in court materials and media reports.
This point remains unclear.
In such cases, dual citizenship is not uncommon, but the legal consequences are determined by the country where the crime was committed.
In this context, NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency notes: it is about the personal criminal responsibility of a specific individual, not the position of the state.
Geopolitical background
Estonia takes a tough stance on national security issues and countering foreign intelligence activities.
The 6.5-year prison sentence demonstrates the seriousness of the approach to such crimes.
Russia traditionally denies accusations of intelligence activities in EU countries, but judicial practice in the Baltic countries continues to form within their national legislation.
Conclusion
The facts of the case are as follows:
— cooperation with Russian special services since 2016; — gathering information about Estonia and allies; — admission of guilt; — 6.5 years in prison and a fine.
Additional details about the accused’s citizenship have not been officially disclosed.
For Estonia, this is another confirmation of the priority of security.
For Israel, it is a reminder that having an Israeli passport does not exempt one from responsibility for actions outside the country.
In Kyiv, another “stumbling stone” has been installed — a mini-memorial in honor of the Righteous of Babyn Yar, Petro Chetverikov (a local honorary title within Kyiv’s memory initiatives; not to be confused with the formal title “Righteous Among the Nations” at Yad Vashem — the sources specifically use the term “Righteous of Babyn Yar”). In Sokal, trilingual information stands have been mounted near the ruins of an ancient synagogue and next to the house of the Righteous Among the Nations, Franciszka and Helena Galamay.
Why it matters: both initiatives return specific names and addresses to the urban space, strengthening the shared memory of Ukraine, Israel, and the Jewish diaspora.
Sometimes the most powerful monuments are the smallest. A brick-sized slab underfoot and a concise stand by an old foundation speak of moral choice louder than any podium. Kyiv and Sokal have recently reminded us: memory is not a museum genre but part of the everyday route. People rush to work, children go to school, tourists look for cafes, and suddenly a glance catches a surname, a year, a short line about salvation. This is how “urban memory” works: quietly but inevitably.
Kyiv: “stumbling stone” named after Petro Chetverikov
A new element of the “stumbling stones” series has appeared in the capital. These are small metal plaques embedded in the pavement — markers of addresses where those condemned to death by the Nazis lived or were helped. The new “stone” is in honor of Petro Chetverikov, the Righteous of Babyn Yar, killed by the Nazis in 1942 for saving two Jewish girls aged 12 and 17.
His name has been returned to the city map near the Central Children’s Library named after Taras Shevchenko (Beresteisky Avenue, 25a).
It is also symbolic how this is done. The ceremony is attended by schoolchildren, historians, and representatives of cultural initiatives. It seems like a small thing, but this is how a new habit begins: knowing not only the main squares but also the addresses of courage. This approach is akin to a “memory microcircuit” that can be read in two lines — and never forgotten.
Petro Chetverikov — Righteous of Babyn Yar
The story of Petro Chetverikov is a documented example of how one person in occupied Kyiv took a step that cost him his life. In 1942, together with his wife Maria, he sheltered Jewish girls in their home. The first, a 12-year-old girl, was taken to a village to acquaintances, where she was adopted and thus saved from death.
Some time later, another girl, 17 years old, came to their home. She managed to escape a roundup, and the Chetverikovs found a way to transfer her to a partisan unit.
These actions did not go unnoticed. In 1943, the Gestapo arrested Petro Chetverikov. According to available testimonies, he was executed in Babyn Yar — a place that became a symbol of the tragedy of Kyiv’s Jewry. The exact date of arrest and execution is unknown (only the year and place are known).
Chetverikov was also connected with the underground: his house sometimes served as a meeting place for underground fighters, which only increased the risks.
Decades passed, and his name could have dissolved in archival footnotes if not for the work of researchers and public initiatives. On September 23, 2025, in Kyiv, near the Central Children’s Library named after T. Shevchenko on Beresteisky Avenue, 25a, a “stumbling stone” was installed in honor of Petro Chetverikov. The ceremony was timed to the 84th anniversary of the beginning of the executions in Babyn Yar.
This was the first “stone” after a four-year break in the project, and it is symbolic that Chetverikov’s name became the starting point of a new stage.
Thus, the biography of this man consists of a few but vivid facts: an ordinary Kyiv resident who decided to help two girls; a family that risked themselves for the lives of others; arrest and death in 1943; and the return of his name to the city map in the 21st century.
Sokal: three stands at the synagogue and the house of the Righteous
Sokal is a small town, but its history resonates far. Trilingual stands have been installed at the ruins of one of the oldest Galician synagogues: Ukrainian, English, Polish. This choice of language is not a detail but an invitation. Locals, guests from neighboring Poland, travelers from Israel — all can read the story without intermediaries.
The second stand is at the house where Franciszka Galamay and her daughter Helena Galamay — the Righteous Among the Nations — lived. During the Holocaust, they did what always requires silence: sheltered, fed, kept watch by the window, listening to night footsteps. These everyday, almost imperceptible movements make up the fabric of salvation.
Why the stand is an effective format
A stand is a short, clear story, not overloaded with academic language. It is important here to keep the focus on two or three facts: who saved, who was saved, what was risked. When all this is said simply and in three languages, the city receives a working tool of memory. Not ceremonial, but everyday.
Franciszka and Helena Galamay — the story of a mother and daughter who saved Jewish families
Franciszka Galamay was born in Sokal in 1885. Before the war, she and her daughter Helena had a small farm. When the German occupation began, Jewish families Kram, Malts, and Kindler found refuge in their home. The women hid people in hiding places above the pigsty and under the kitchen floor.
In November 1942, Franciszka herself offered shelter to cattle trader Moishe Malts and doctor David Kindler with their families, who fled the ghetto. They were joined by painter Josef Kram with his wife and son. To hide the fact that Jews were hiding in the barns and outbuildings, Franciszka kept pigs and chickens and brought food there, hiding it among the waste. To divert suspicion, she even allowed herself anti-Semitic remarks in public.
Over twenty months, the mother and daughter saved 16 people out of 6,000 pre-war Jews of Sokal. Only about 30 survived the war. Among the saved was Moshe Malts, who left memoirs “Years of Horror — A Glimmer of Hope.” His writings became a valuable testimony of life in the ghetto and covert survival.
An interesting detail: simultaneously with the Jewish families, Franciszka also sheltered a young German deserter soldier, Wilhelm, who asked to be hidden from being sent to the Eastern Front. He lived on the farm for almost two years, but in 1944 he was discovered and executed by Soviet soldiers.
On July 19, 1944, the Red Army entered Sokal, and the end of the 20-month nightmare came for those in hiding. The Jews left the Galamay house and soon emigrated. The family maintained contact with them for many years.
In 1984, Yad Vashem recognized Franciszka and Helena Galamay as Righteous Among the Nations. Later, their story was included in the American documentary “No. 4 on Virgin Mary Street” and in Jenny L. Witterick’s book “My Mother’s Secret.” In 2011, the heroine was posthumously awarded the “For Courage and Care” prize, received by her descendants.
Thus, the biography of Franciszka and Helena Galamay is a story of two women who not only saved almost half of all surviving Jews of Sokal but also managed to deceive suspicious neighbors and the Nazis themselves, showing incredible ingenuity and determination.
The common thread of two stories: memory as a shared territory
Kyiv and Sokal speak the same language — the language of addresses, dates, and names. NANews — News of Israel regularly reports on projects where memory ceases to be a monologue and becomes an inviting dialogue. There is no “imposed” pathos here, but there is a clear logic: we place a slab, attach a stand, read names, ask children questions.
Conclusion: small forms — big meanings
The Kyiv “stumbling stone” named after Petro Chetverikov and the Sokal stands about Franciszka and Helena Galamay are two different tools of the same work. Both give a voice to those who once said “no” to evil and “yes” to human solidarity. Both are firmly woven into the fabric of the city: they don’t need to be sought in museum halls, they are nearby — on the pavement and on the wall.
For readers of “NANews” and those following News of Israel, this is an opportunity to see in the Ukrainian agenda not only politics but also careful, targeted preservation of memory. This is perhaps where the strength lies: not in loudness, but in regularity and honesty.
Stumbling stones: memory you can’t skip over
A “stumbling stone” is a small brass memorial sign embedded directly into the pavement. It is engraved with the name, years of life, and brief fate of a Holocaust victim or a person who saved Jews during the Nazi occupation.
History of the project
The idea was conceived by German artist Gunter Demnig in the 1990s. Initially, these were individual plaques, but over time they turned into the largest decentralized memorial in Europe. Today, “stumbling stones” can be found in thousands of cities in Germany, Poland, France, the Netherlands, Ukraine, and other countries.
Why they are needed
The main idea is for the memory of the Holocaust to be not only in museums and books but right on the streets. A person walks along a familiar route, sees a surname and year underfoot, “stumbles” with their gaze, and mentally returns to history. This is a very personal and intimate way to remember.
Significance for Israel and the diaspora
For readers of NANews — News of Israel, such initiatives in Ukraine are close and understandable. Israel has been carefully preserving the memory of the Righteous for decades, and when “stumbling stones” appear in Ukrainian cities, it becomes a bridge between countries and the Jewish diaspora.
The US is pushing for NATO allies not to invite Ukraine and partners from the Indo-Pacific region to formal meetings of the July summit in Ankara. This is reported by Politico citing sources in the alliance. This concerns not only Kyiv but also four official partners — Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and South Korea.
If confirmed, the decision will signal a reassessment of NATO’s role in the global security architecture.
Washington is returning NATO to the ‘Euro-Atlantic minimum’.
According to the publication, the White House seeks to view NATO solely as a Euro-Atlantic defense pact. This means abandoning the practice of recent decades — expanding the alliance’s functions beyond the traditional area of responsibility, including global partnerships, crisis management, and value-based initiatives.
The domestic political context in the US plays a significant role. The expansion of NATO’s mandate has long irritated a segment of the electorate focused on an isolationist agenda.
In fact, it is an attempt to narrow the format of the summit in Ankara to a ‘classic’ agenda of collective defense.
From ‘Putin’s ultimatum’ to a new reality for the alliance
Many have already forgotten that Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine was preceded by the so-called ‘Putin’s ultimatum’ — a set of demands to the US and NATO countries to revise the security architecture in Europe. Among the key points was the demand to withdraw forces and infrastructure from the territories of states that joined the alliance after 1997.
At the time, it was perceived as an unrealistic political demarche.
Today, amid internal discussions in the alliance and attempts to narrow its agenda, European capitals are increasingly questioning: where is the boundary of acceptable compromises?
The speed with which the alliance began to show signs of strategic fatigue and disagreements intensifies alarming assessments.
In this regard, analysts note: the discussion about inviting Ukraine and Asian partners is not a technical protocol issue. It is a marker of the direction NATO is moving — towards a global format or regional self-isolation.
That is why the editorial board of NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency draws attention to the strategic context of what is happening: for Eastern European and Baltic countries, the summit format issue is directly related to the sense of security guarantees.
European response: investments in eastern borders
In parallel with the discussion around the summit in Ankara, the European Commission announced the launch of the EastInvest investment platform.
The new mechanism will start on February 26 and is aimed at supporting regions located on the eastern borders of the EU.
It involves multi-billion loans and access to financing for businesses and local authorities. The next EU budget provides additional resources for strengthening border defense and security.
Which countries will receive support
The program focuses on border areas of Finland, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.
According to the commission, these regions face a complex of problems: population outflow, slowing economic growth, and increasing inflationary pressure amid Russia’s war against Ukraine.
EastInvest is conceived as a stabilization tool and simultaneously as an element of the EU’s strategic autonomy.
Why this is important for Israel and the region
For Israel, what is happening in NATO is not an abstract topic. Changes in the alliance’s format affect the balance of power in Europe and, indirectly, global security configurations, including the Middle East.
If NATO ultimately returns to a narrow Euro-Atlantic format, it will strengthen the role of regional alliances and bilateral guarantees. In conditions where Russia continues its war against Ukraine and Iran deepens military-technical cooperation with Moscow, such shifts acquire additional significance.
The summit in Ankara will be an indicator. Not so much by the final declarations, but by the composition of the invitees and the signals received by allies and partners.
The question of inviting Ukraine is a question of the alliance’s strategic line. And the answer to it will determine not only symbolism but also the real security configuration in Europe for years to come.
In early February 2026, Ukraїner released a conversation about the Yiddish language as part of the podcast “Language Issue” — a Ukrainian project about languages considered vulnerable and in need of support. The guest of the episode is Tetiana Nepypenko, a researcher and teacher of Yiddish, translator, and literary scholar; the conversation is led by Bohdana Romantsova. The episode was made in collaboration with House of Europe with the support of the European Union.
The key framework of the conversation is formulated simply and strictly: Yiddish is not a “language somewhere alongside Ukrainian history,” but part of the fabric of this history, because before World War II, millions spoke Yiddish in Europe, and in the territory of modern Ukraine, there were towns and villages where Yiddish was not a marginal code but an ordinary everyday reality — the language of family, trade, press, theater, and literature. Nepypenko separately articulates the scale of the loss: the Yiddish-speaking community in Ukraine sharply decreased due to the Holocaust and Soviet repressions, and after the creation of Israel, Yiddish in the state project was pushed aside as “diasporic” — in favor of Hebrew.
Yiddish and Hebrew are not “two variants of one,” but two different language systems
‘Yiddish — a language rooted in Ukrainian soil’: how this language adapts to new realities and why it needs support in Ukraine – video
One of Nepypenko’s first specific theses sounds like a “reality check”: before arguing whether “it is one literature or two,” one must acknowledge the basic fact — these are two different languages. She distinguishes them not by emotion or politics, but by linguistics: Hebrew is Semitic, Yiddish is Germanic. Yiddish, even being a Jewish language, is structurally closer to Germanic languages like English or German than to Hebrew. From this, she draws a direct conclusion: if the languages are different and belong to different families, then their literary traditions are independent, with their own periods of development and internal disputes.
A typical doubt arises separately in the conversation: “Is Yiddish alive today?” Nepypenko responds with a figure she emphasizes as her verified estimate: about 700,000 people worldwide actively use Yiddish, teach it to children, and produce content — including children’s books. This is not “revival at the club level,” but the life of the language in the community.
“There is academic Yiddish and there is Hasidic Yiddish” — and these are really two different conversational realities
She then introduces an important distinction, without which it is easy to make a mistake: conditionally, there are two large zones — Yiddish of the ‘Yiddishists’ (academic, cultural, educational environment) and Yiddish of Hasidic communities. They are mutually intelligible but noticeably differ in phonetics and speech habits; within Hasidic Yiddish, there are also dialects.
The most specific place here is the explanation of linguistic changes “live.” Nepypenko gives an example with grammar: in Yiddish, as in German, there are articles by gender, but in one of the variants of Hasidic Yiddish, articles gradually lose their semantic load, and she associates this with the influence of English, which tends towards simplification and analyticity. Meanwhile, YIVO teaches standard Yiddish with a literary norm — and the question of how the “norm” and “living dialects” will diverge remains open: time will tell.
Why Yiddish was long called a “jargon” and a “women’s language” — and why this was not a linguistic but a social label
The conversation contains a lot of specifics about how Yiddish was denied the status of “full-fledged” for years. Nepypenko says: the transition to recognizing Yiddish as a language of culture dates back to the early 20th century — a period when marginalized languages in Europe generally “came to light,” which were previously denied high status.
But the main thing is that she argues against the myth that Yiddish “was always just a spoken jargon without literature.” Nepypenko explains: there were translations and retellings of religious texts in Yiddish; the practice of retelling the Tanakh and adaptations of the Pentateuch into Yiddish, which were made, among other things, for women — because women often did not have access to formal religious education and knowledge of biblical Hebrew. From this arises an entire genre — women’s prayers in Yiddish, sometimes composed by the women themselves, in a more “earthly,” colloquial language. Nepypenko adds an important detail of meaning: this “grassroots” form gave greater freedom — to speak with God not only formulaically but humanly, in one’s own words.
Where Yiddish came from and why “it’s not just a dialect of German”
Nepypenko separately articulates what is often simplified: “Yiddish = German, just funny.” She calls such a formula erroneous. Yes, in the history of Yiddish, there is a stage when it looks like a “Judeo-German” language: Jewish communities took the Germanic base and recorded it in Jewish script. But then begins an independent history.
She describes one of the most recognized hypotheses of origin: the formation of Yiddish is associated with the Rhine region, i.e., the territory of modern North Rhine-Westphalia; over time, Yiddish separates, and by the 12th–13th centuries, it can be considered a separate language, not just “rewritten German.”
To show that Yiddish has a “long writing tradition,” Nepypenko provides specific examples of medieval texts: among literary samples, there are, for example, adaptations of Arthurian plots, where Talmudic motifs are layered, as well as Yiddish tales where Aesopian and Talmudic lines intertwine. Her logic here is very clear: this is not “translation for the sake of translation,” but the birth of new literature from the layering of different cultural sources.
Ukrainian trace in Yiddish: Slavicisms, Hebraisms, and the “plasticity” of the language
One of the most substantive parts of the conversation is about the mutual influences of languages and why Yiddish is “rooted” in specific lands. Nepypenko explains that the vocabulary of Yiddish is largely built on two major layers:
Hebraisms — words related to religious life, ethnographic realities, holidays, what she calls “holy speech”;
Slavicisms — the result of contact between the Ashkenazi community and the local population of Eastern Europe.
And very importantly: she does not reduce Slavicisms only to Ukrainian, noting that borrowings also came from Polish and Belarusian, and later the influence of Russian increased. That is, Yiddish in her description is a language that “knows how to absorb” and live at the intersection, while remaining itself.
There, it is also discussed how Yiddish copes with modernity: Nepypenko talks about the constant replenishment of dictionaries with new words and the debate on what a dictionary should be — descriptive or prescriptive. For Yiddish, in her view, the prescriptive role is especially important today: previously, the norm was formed by schools and the everyday educational environment, and when this environment is scarce, dictionaries partially take on the function of “suggesting how to speak and where to find a new word.”
Why “Hebrew was revived, not Yiddish”: Zionism, Galut, and doikayt — “hereness” as a language ideology
Another specific node of the conversation is the explanation of the choice of Hebrew as the language of the future state. Nepypenko names the ideology directly: it is Zionism, for which Hebrew as a revived language was to become the language of the state that was yet to be created.
And Yiddish, in her words, carries a different perspective: life in the diaspora, in exile (Galut), and from this grows the idea of doikayt — “hereness.” Nepypenko deciphers doikayt not as romance but as a politico-cultural principle: to live and organize “where you were born and where generations lived,” to achieve visibility, voice, active participation, and improvement of one’s position on the spot, rather than abandoning local reality for the sake of a single “correct” geography.
Why specifically Chernivtsi and Ukraine: the 1908 conference and the debate on the “Jewish language”
When it comes to the status of Yiddish, Nepypenko brings out a very specific historical marker: the Chernivtsi Conference of 1908, which became an important milestone in the history of Yiddish and Yiddishism. In her retelling, it was a platform where cultural and political Jewish figures of different views gathered — supporters of Hebrew, supporters of Yiddish, and those who believed that one “Jewish” speech was not enough. There, they debated what to consider the Jewish language and its status, and as a result, Yiddish was recognized as one of the Jewish languages and full-fledged.
Nepypenko connects this topic with the name of Yitzhok Leibush Peretz: she mentions his reflections on what Yiddish literature lacks, and the key word there is “tradition”: tradition needs to be built and supported.
To the question “how Ukraine became a cultural center,” her answer is grounded: these are historical and geographical factors, the division of Ukrainian territories between empires, the different status of languages and communities in different political regimes, and — very practically — the biographies of many authors originating from towns and villages in the territory of modern Ukraine. At the same time, she honestly speaks about competition: in Austria-Hungary, Yiddish often yielded to German, which was the language of education and high culture, and this influenced the trajectories of writers who had to “break through” the German environment.
Shtetl as a “closed world” and why the youth moved to big cities
A separate specific part of the conversation is what a shtetl is and why it is so important for Yiddish culture. Nepypenko explains the shtetl not as a “cozy place from postcards,” but as a form of community life — closed, with a centuries-old established order.
She provides an important historical fact about legal restrictions in the Russian Empire: until 1905, Jews were prohibited from settling in large cities (except for certain categories, like certain merchants), so in general, the Jewish population concentrated in small towns. Against this backdrop, she describes the “great exodus” of Jewish youth in the early 20th century: the movement to cities is explained by both pragmatism (education, work, the opportunity to “be in civilization”) and internal rejection of an overly closed world.
In her formulation, the shtetl is not just geography, but a social shell that, in times of upheaval, begins to press on the younger generation.
Ukrainian-Jewish cooperation during the years of the Ukrainian People’s Republic: language status and institutions
For the audience in Israel, this fragment is especially important because it breaks the usual “black-and-white” set of clichés about the early 20th century. Nepypenko discusses the period of the Ukrainian People’s Republic and talks about specific institutional steps: under the government of Symon Petliura, there was a separate Ministry of Jewish Affairs, and in one of the universals of the UPR, national autonomy was mentioned; the Jewish population was proclaimed autonomous, and rights were granted to it.
And another very precise moment: Nepypenko notes that Yiddish was recognized as one of the officially recognized language lines of the UPR — along with Ukrainian, Polish, and Russian (she adds “if I’m not mistaken,” and this is important as a tone: she does not pretend to read from a paper, but speaks as a researcher who remembers the structure but does not play at absolute infallibility). She directly uses this example as an argument in the debate that the UPR cannot be described only through accusations of anti-Semitism: at the level of law and cultural initiatives, there were forms of cooperation and recognition. At the same time, she does not idealize the period: she emphasizes that the window was short — about a year, and already from 1918, the expanded rights were gradually curtailed.
And here is a remark important for our editorial logic: NAnews — News of Israel | Nikk.Agency in recent years regularly returns to stories where “Ukrainian” and “Jewish” cannot be separated onto different shelves. The conversation about Yiddish makes this especially clear: language is not a symbol, but a testimony of shared history on specific land.
“Kyiv Group” and translations: how cultural exchange worked in the 1920s
When Nepypenko moves on to literature, she does not limit herself to general words “there were poets.” She names the “Kyiv Group” of Yiddish authors as a primarily territorial phenomenon: at a certain period, these writers lived and worked in Kyiv, communicated, and were acquainted with each other, but at the same time remained very different stylistically.
She provides specific connections and routes: an important point becomes Berlin during the Weimar Republic, where Lev Kvitko and David Bergelson worked and lived for several years, and Berlin itself is described as one of the centers of Jewish book publishing — both in Yiddish and Hebrew. There also emerges a specific example of a “bridge” between Ukrainian and Yiddish: Kvitko publishes a translation of Ukrainian folk tales, and they are illustrated by El Lissitzky, associated with Kultur-Lige.
Speaking of translations, Nepypenko emphasizes: the initial steps were taken by Ivan Franko, but the truly active process unfolds in the 1920s — before Soviet unification and socialist realism “ground down” cultural diversity. As specific names of translators, she mentions Pavlo Tychyna, Maksym Rylsky, and others; she separately recalls Vasyl Atamaniuk, who in 1923 in Kyiv releases a small anthology of “new Jewish poetry,” and around this remains intrigue: it is not entirely clear where and how he learned Yiddish and how exactly he worked with texts. Nepypenko shows the “human mechanics” of translations: much relied on personal contacts, friendship, mutual assistance.
She provides an especially illustrative example of editorial “assembly” of a translation: there are cases when one person made a literal translation, and another refined the poetic form. In this context, the connection between Mykola Zerov and Alexander Her is mentioned: Her made the “literal translation,” and Zerov polished the translation.
Soviet repressions and the disappearance of public Yiddish
The conversation then becomes harsher — and again with specifics. Nepypenko answers the question about censorship and speaks directly: what unites many authors of this environment is censorship, repression, and silence, and then a situation where Yiddish ceases to be heard and published.
She describes several blows to Yiddish literature: the first round of repressions in the early 1930s, then the war and the Holocaust, and then — a new, “decisive” blow, associated with the history of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee: mass repressions, exiles, and murders. Nepypenko formulates the outcome without embellishments: for most of the authors discussed, the professional and life trajectory ends by the 1950s. As a specific name of a repressed writer, she mentions Der Nister, who was persecuted, among other things, for accusations of a “too symbolist” manner.
What exists today: grassroots initiatives and the example of Sweden
When the conversation returns to modernity, Nepypenko does not paint “instant revival.” She talks about the real situation: there are programs, summer schools, and various initiatives — but more often as internal efforts of universities, cultural centers, or small communities of Yiddishists; there are only a few periodicals, and they rely on the resources of the community itself.
And to show what state support might look like, she gives the example of Sweden, where Yiddish is recognized as an official minority language line; there is a Yiddish publishing house, and translations of large mass texts — like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings — have been published in Yiddish. For her, this is not a “curiosity,” but proof of viability: the language can be present in both high culture and popular culture — if there is an institutional environment for it.
Why this episode is important for the Israeli audience — without slogans
In the conversation, Nepypenko constantly returns the topic to a simple thought: Yiddish is not the language of an abstract “diaspora in general,” but of specific places and specific people. It is rooted in cities and towns where generations lived side by side, argued, learned, traded, translated, and built cultural institutions. And when today in Israel Yiddish sometimes sounds like a “language of the past,” this episode offers a different perspective: the past here is not museum-like, but human — and directly connected to Ukrainian history, including its complex political periods, short windows of recognition, and long stretches of suppression.
The most precise conclusion of the episode is not about “nostalgia” and not about “identity for the sake of identity.” But about infrastructure: a language lives when it has schools, books, a stage, translation, the right to publicity — and when society recognizes it as part of a common history, not a foreign whisper “in the kitchen.”
“The exhibition features 14 archival photos of various moments in the life of Golda Meir, which have been ‘updated’ using artificial intelligence technologies, and 13 images of Golda in embroidered shirts with her most famous quotes.
Thanks to technological innovations, we see Mrs. Meir in a modern and natural way, and perhaps this is a symbol that her legacy and wisdom transcend time, making her an example of modern leadership.”
In the National Museum “Kyiv Art Gallery” an exhibition “Golda Meir. Yesterday. Today. Now” was held, dedicated to a former Kyiv resident and one of the legends of the 20th century. The exhibition lasted from June 4 to June 17, 2024.
The girl born in Kyiv in 1898 became known as Golda Meir, the Prime Minister of Israel. At a time when women were expected to be at home with children, she achieved outstanding success in politics, becoming one of the founders of Israel and earning a reputation as the “Iron Lady.” Her path to success was not easy, as she had to overcome stereotypes daily.
All her life, Mrs. Meir, all her 80 years, were spent in struggle: external – for the independence of her state and internal – for the opportunity to be a woman and a politician simultaneously. Every day she faced a choice between family and career, and every day Golda chose the same thing – wisdom.
The exhibition features 14 archival photos from different periods of Golda Meir’s life, as well as 13 images of Golda in embroidered shirts with her famous quotes. Thanks to the use of artificial intelligence technologies, we can see Golda Meir in a modern light, symbolizing that her legacy and wisdom are relevant even today.
And Meir’s quotes are more relevant than ever, especially for Ukraine. They show how a person can be a true patriot. Meir’s life can serve as a model for many politicians, statesmen, and civil society. After all, by creating and defending a small state for her people, Golda Meir changed much for the better in this world.
The exhibition also features Meir’s quotes, which are relevant today. Her life is an example for politicians, public figures, and civil society. By creating and defending Israel, she made a significant contribution to improving the world.
The Winter Games-2026 in Italy have become the center of not only sports but also political agendas. During the live broadcast of the two-man bobsleigh competition, a Swiss TV presenter used the airtime to criticize the leader of the Israeli team, Adam Edelman, calling him a ‘Zionist’ and a ‘supporter of genocide in Gaza.’
The incident provoked a sharp reaction from the Israeli Olympic Committee and raised the question of the boundaries of political statements in the Olympic broadcast.
What happened on live broadcast
During the broadcast of the two-man bobsleigh competition, the presenter of the Swiss TV channel shifted from sports commentary to discussing the political views of the Israeli athlete.
He criticized Adam Edelman for his public statements in support of the Israeli army, as well as for his ironic attitude towards the slogan ‘Freedom for Palestine.’ The presenter drew a parallel between the Israeli delegation and Russian athletes after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and called for the disqualification of the Israelis.
In fact, the broadcast was turned into a political discussion, which contradicts the traditional practice of Olympic broadcasting.
Reaction of the athlete and the Israeli committee
Adam Edelman responded on social network X, stating that he is familiar with the commentator’s ‘tirade’ but ‘cannot take it seriously.’
The Israeli Olympic Committee issued an official statement, in which it ‘disgustedly rejected’ the accusations against the athlete.
The document states that the presenter’s statements are one-sided, politicized, and inflammatory, and their appearance in the Olympic broadcast harms both the athlete himself and the Olympic spirit.
The committee emphasized that Edelman fully meets the criteria of the International Olympic Committee and has the right to participate in the competitions. It was also stated that they intend to seek an apology from the TV channel and prevent similar situations in the future.
Sporting result and historical context
Edelman and his partner Menachem Hen finished the two-man competition in 26th, last place, and did not advance to the final run.
The four-man competitions, which Edelman called the ‘crown discipline’ of the Israeli team, are scheduled for February 21 and 22.
For Israel, participation in Olympic bobsleigh is a historic event: the team is competing in the Games for the first time.
For the audience of NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency, this episode is important not only as a sports chronicle. It reflects a broader trend: international platforms are becoming arenas for political interpretations, even when it comes to disciplines far from geopolitics.
Politics on ice: the case of Vladislav Heraskevich
The incident with Edelman was not the only one at the Games-2026.
Ukrainian skeleton racer Vladislav Heraskevich was suspended from the competition after refusing to replace a helmet with images of 20 Ukrainian athletes who died in the war against Russia. The International Olympic Committee considered the images a political statement.
Heraskevich called the decision discriminatory and pointed out the inconsistency of approaches, citing the example of Israeli skeleton racer Jared Firestone.
Firestone appeared at the opening ceremony wearing a kippah with the names of 11 Israeli athletes and coaches who died in the 1972 Munich Olympics attack. The Ukrainian athlete publicly stated that he sees no fundamental difference between the two cases.
Firestone finished the competition in 22nd place out of 24 participants.
Olympic neutrality and double standards
The Games-2026 demonstrate how fragile the boundary between sports and politics has become.
The Olympic principle of neutrality remains formally unchanged, but its interpretation is controversial. Some symbols are deemed unacceptable, others are not.
The situation with the Israeli bobsledder and the Ukrainian skeleton racer showed that the criteria for the admissibility of political context in sports remain a matter of interpretation.
In the context of global conflicts, the Olympic arena is increasingly becoming a platform for the clash of narratives. And each such episode becomes a test not only for athletes but also for international institutions.
The Games continue. But the discussion about the boundaries of what is permissible in the Olympic broadcast, it seems, is just beginning.
Russian media reported a possible complete blocking of Telegram in Russia from April 1. According to sources in the agencies, Roskomnadzor may start jamming the messenger across the country — similar to the previously restricted Instagram and Facebook.
This is not about isolated failures, but about a potential shutdown of access through mobile networks and stationary internet providers. There is no official confirmation yet, but the regulator’s wording leaves room for interpretation.
What is known about the possible blocking of Telegram in Russia
According to Russian media reports, the blocking of Telegram in Russia may be implemented according to an already tested scheme. The application will stop loading regardless of the type of connection — mobile internet or wired networks.
Sources claim that Roskomnadzor is preparing to apply technical traffic filtering measures similar to those previously used to restrict access to Meta platforms.
The official reaction of Roskomnadzor was restrained. The agency stated that they have “nothing to add to the previously published information on this issue.” No specific dates, mechanisms, or denials were mentioned.
Context: Instagram, Facebook, and the practice of total restrictions
Previously, Instagram and Facebook were blocked in Russia. The restrictions apply throughout the country, and access to these platforms is only possible through bypass tools.
If Telegram is blocked in the same model, it means the actual disappearance of one of the key communication channels for millions of users.
Telegram in Russia is used not only as a messenger but also as an information platform, a tool for business, media, and government structures. Its blocking will affect a wide range of areas — from private correspondence to corporate channels.
Technical side and possible consequences
A complete blocking of Telegram in Russia will require large-scale filtering intervention at the level of communication operators. This means controlling and restricting traffic by IP addresses and domain zones.
In the conditions of 2026, such measures are technically feasible, but they are accompanied by side effects — disruptions in the operation of related services and additional load on the providers’ infrastructure.
Experts note that in the event of a total shutdown, the use of VPN services and alternative communication channels will increase.
At the same time, the state gains an additional lever of control over the digital space.
For the audience of NANews — News of Israel | Nikk.Agency this topic is important not only as a domestic Russian news. Telegram remains a key platform for disseminating information about the war in Ukraine, sanctions, international politics, and the positions of various parties.
Blocking the messenger in Russia may affect the speed and structure of information flows, including the work of independent sources and cross-border media.
Political background and rhetoric
Formally, the regulator has not confirmed the decision to block. However, the lack of a clear position increases uncertainty.
In the public space, the thesis about the need for a “sovereign internet” and strengthening control over digital platforms is increasingly heard. Telegram in this logic is considered an independent channel, not fully integrated into the state regulation system.
The phrase “life has become better, life has become more fun” in the current context sounds like an ironic reference to the expanding restrictions in the information sphere.
If the decision to block is implemented, April 1 will not become a symbolic date, but a point of another change in the digital architecture within Russia.
For now, the fact remains: rumors of a complete blocking of Telegram in Russia have not been officially refuted, and the regulator’s reaction is evasive. In the current political configuration, this in itself is already a signal.
In Tel Aviv-Yafo, the Ukrainian Cultural Center operates — a platform where Ukrainian culture in Israel exists not “on holidays,” but in the regular city rhythm.
This is a place for exhibitions, meetings, lectures, and community events, where not only Ukrainians come, but also Israelis who find it important to understand neighbors and partners not through headlines, but through people and meanings.
What is this center and why is it needed in Israel
The center is associated with the Embassy of Ukraine in the State of Israel and operates as a cultural point of presence for Ukraine in the city.
To put it simply: it’s a space where you can see, hear, and “touch” Ukraine through culture — without unnecessary ideology and without the officialdom that often repels.
The Ukrainian Cultural Center in Tel Avivstarted on October 13, 2021 — in reports about the opening, this was called the beginning of work in test mode.
Separately, on the page of the Embassy of Ukraine in the State of Israel, it is noted that the center has been operating “since October 2021” and that it was previously in Bat Yam.
Where is it located
The address used in announcements and reference information:
For the Israeli audience, it’s convenient to explain it like this: it’s a regular city address, not “somewhere in the suburbs,” and you can get there just like to any venue in Tel Aviv — the main thing is to check the time of the specific event.
What events are held there
Ukrainian Cultural Center in Tel Aviv, Israel: event announcements
Based on the experience of similar platforms and how their announcements are structured, the set of formats usually looks like this:
Exhibitions and project presentations.
Public talks and lectures — from history and culture to contemporary topics.
Community evenings: intimate meetings, readings, music, conversational formats.
Sometimes practical classes appear — for families, teenagers, new immigrants, volunteer groups.
What makes this convenient for an Israeli: you can come “for one evening” and leave with an understanding of the context, which then significantly changes the perception of news and conversations on social networks.
Why this is important for Israel
Israel lives in a reality where cultural diplomacy is not an abstraction, but a part of everyday security, social resilience, and relations with neighbors and allies.
That is why NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency regularly pays attention to such platforms: sometimes one calm cultural conversation gives more than dozens of emotional discussions “in the comments.”
In the Israeli environment, this is also a way to maintain bridges between communities — without pressure, without slogans, but with real contacts and human normalcy.
If you want to propose your event or partnership
The most effective way is not a “post to nowhere,” but a short letter: who you are, what you want to do, for which audience, in what language, what format, and how many people you expect.
Organizers usually critically need to understand two things: whether it will be safe and understandable for the local audience, and whether the cultural platform is turning into a political rally.
What you can do right now
If you are Israeli and just want to understand — start with one event and see if it’s “yours” or not.
If you are from the Ukrainian community — use the center as a place where you can not only miss home but also gather around real activities: art, language, support, and communication.
And if you are media or a city activist — such points help explain the complex regional agenda in normal human language, without overheating and without cheap labels.
How to contact if you want to come or clarify details
Here is an important nuance: such centers often live by the logic “from event to event,” so it’s better to clarify the language of the event, the format of entry, and the need for registration, even if you think “well, it’s just an exhibition.”
