By Norbert Frejek, SJ
October 12, 2026
La Civiltà Cattolica
There is a profound dissonance to grapple with when describing the current situation of
Ukraine, which has been resisting Russian invasion for nearly five years. The nation is
fighting to preserve its independence against a threat to its sovereignty and national
identity, while at the same time the state apparatus and public services continue to
function as normally as possible. Outside the occupied areas or border zones regularly
hit by airstrikes, state institutions and agencies strive to carry out their duties with as
much continuity as the situation allows: you can make a doctor’s appointment, go to the
movies or the theater, buy a train ticket, open a bank account, or start a business. Although there are restrictions on international travel for men over the age of 22, international movement remains part of daily life, as evidenced by the numerous Ukrainian passengers departing from the nearby airports of Rzeszów, Kraków, Chișinău, and the long lines at customs checkpoints at road and rail border crossings.
Observing phenomena that, in peacetime, would likely go unnoticed – such as the
number of luxury cars with Ukrainian license plates parked in front of elegant
restaurants in Warsaw – can, in the context of the ongoing war, create a sense of
dissonance and raise questions about the very perception of the conflict, revealing how
one grapples not only with the reality of war but also with one’s own image of how it
might unfold. Many residents of Central Europe associate war with permanent
occupation, frequent airstrikes, public executions, and forced labor. This imagery stems
from the legacy of World War II, which ended eighty years ago. Added to this are
scenes from the conflicts in Gaza and the Middle East, which follow their own dynamics:
conflicts that, while reflecting real aspects, do not necessarily determine how the
Russian-Ukrainian conflict is destined to unfold. The representations of war that we
perceive – whether linked to the memory of World War II or to contemporary conflicts –
reflect authentic aspects, but they do not imply that the Russian-Ukrainian conflict must
follow familiar patterns.
Since the start of the Russian invasion, statements have been made by politicians who
were influential at the time, such as Viktor Orbán, who as early as 2023 claimed that
Ukraine was no longer a sovereign country. At the same time, despite the armed
conflict and its consequences, the country has seen significant progress in the
digitization of many aspects of daily life: in Kyiv alone, since the start of the war,
approximately 500 foreign IT companies have opened offices. It should also be noted
that some of the habits of Ukrainians currently residing abroad have been the subject of
criticism, including in Poland: criticism that understandably concerns crimes actually
committed, but also the use of luxury cars.
Rumors based both on facts documented in police records and those fueled by envy
often boil down to a generalized judgment: “Ukrainians in Ukraine are fighting the war,
while those living abroad drive luxury cars and act as if they were back home.” In this
way, Ukrainians who live legally abroad – working, paying taxes, not committing crimes,
and leading modest lives – are lumped together with those who break the law or lead a
lavish lifestyle. This sentiment of dissatisfaction is often exploited by politicians seeking
to bolster their presence in the public sphere.
A first point to consider is that the image of Ukrainians living abroad has very little to do
with the situation in their homeland and the fate of their families. The passage of time
also marks a turning point in the course of the war in Ukraine, as it gradually brings the
consequences of the conflict into sharper focus, not only in terms of events or the state
of the country’s economy, but also on an existential level.
Many of these effects have not yet been adequately described, because it is easier to
focus on military operations or – even though the conflict is not yet over – on plans to
establish a logistics hub on the Polish border, rather than addressing the deeper
implications of the war. This is also due to the fact that many of these consequences are
not immediately apparent. Against this backdrop, some studies document phenomena
that have become, or are becoming, an integral part of the lives of numerous Ukrainian
families marked by the experience of the conflict. These are not merely physical injuries,
but above all psychological suffering that manifests itself in the form of depression,
anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, or even more serious conditions.
A Tenacious Nation
A key point that can be used to counter the argument that Ukraine has lost its
sovereignty is that Ukrainians constitute a nation characterized by remarkable
resilience. If Ukraine had been a defeated country stripped of its independence, the
Russian army would likely have conquered the entire territory, or a substantial part of it,
and we would probably be facing a guerrilla war. A portion of the population would
almost certainly have collaborated with the occupier, while another portion would have
chosen to remain silent, as is the case in most conflicts. A significant portion, however,
would have gone underground, and European historical experience shows that guerrilla
wars are complex for those waging them, but even more burdensome for the occupying
forces.
Resilience can also be viewed from a different perspective: it is not a quality that, in a
general sense, guarantees positive outcomes. However, in this specific case, it serves
as a resource that enables people to withstand close-range airstrikes or to survive a
particularly harsh winter without electricity or heating. This resilience is rooted in the
complex history of Ukraine, a country that has had to fight for its independence and was
marked by the Great Famine of the 1930s, when the Soviet regime systematically left
several million people to starve to death across the vast territories of the Ukrainian
Soviet Socialist Republic. The Ukrainian SSR, along with the Baltic states, was among
the Soviet republics that sought to take full advantage of the collapse of the Soviet
Union and quickly establish an independent state.
Excluding the territories occupied by Russia since 2014, the Russian military has
captured only about 3 percent of Ukrainian territory from February 2022 to the present
(since 2014, this amounts to a total of about 20 percent of Ukraine’s territory, including
Crimea). Assessing the course of the conflict both in terms of military strategy and the
number of casualties on both sides is a task for experts in the field; however, it is clear
that the current war is one of the first conflicts in which the use of unmanned aerial
vehicles has reached such a large scale.
The escalation of drone and missile attacks is intended to wear down the Ukrainian
civilian population and, ultimately, to demoralize it. This is a significant point, because
the Russian-Ukrainian war is not being fought only on the front lines, but also in cities
and near civilian infrastructure. The residents of the affected areas, as well as many
others, continue to demonstrate remarkable inner strength and the aforementioned
tenacity, with no signs of imminent collapse. However, such a close-up experience of
war inevitably takes a psychological toll: while they maintain their resilience and
endurance, Ukrainians are already showing signs of severe psychological fatigue.
Psychological Fatigue
Many people in Ukraine suffer primarily from anxiety caused by constant stress. Local
authorities are working to ensure that the population does not lose access to cultural
and sports centers, public transportation, museums and libraries, so that, as much as
possible, a sense of normalcy is maintained. Citizens themselves are also committed to
maintaining a connection with culture, trying to live in a way that does not completely
disrupt their routines. However, life in a country affected by war is not without
psychological consequences, and visiting cafes, museums, or libraries is not an attempt
to pretend that “nothing is happening,” but rather a way to regain, at least in part, a
sense of normalcy.
In addition to the anxiety caused by frequent – sometimes daily – drone and missile
attacks, many people in Ukraine also suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The most common victims, understandably, are soldiers serving on the front lines;
however, the current war has shown that PTSD also affects mothers and wives awaiting
the return of their sons and husbands, as well as the family members of those who will
never return. PTSD is a form of response to trauma, that is, an extremely stressful
event, that exceeds a person’s ability to cope with and adapt to the situation. In other
words, the person is no longer able to process such a painful experience.
Typical symptoms of PTSD include anxiety-related tension, fatigue, disorientation and
the occurrence of recurrent, sudden and involuntary memories of the traumatic event.
Other symptoms include flashbacks, hallucinations and nightmares related to the
content of the trauma. The experience of PTSD can be effectively summarized by a
question and an answer: “What happens in your mind? The mind has forgotten it, but
the body, unfortunately, has not.” Trauma, in fact, manifests itself primarily through the
body.
When post-traumatic stress disorder affects soldiers, their family members report, above
all, episodes of aggression and violent behavior. These manifestations are often
associated with alcohol or drug abuse. The soldiers themselves, in group therapy
sessions, frequently describe the feelings of exhaustion and disorientation they
experience as they attempt to reintegrate into the communities they were part of before
the war. To an outside observer, this may seem surprising, since these are the families
in which they grew up and the local communities where they had built their interpersonal
relationships. However, experiences of death and violence – constitutive elements of
war – have a profound impact on the psyche and leave lasting scars.
Another group that deserves attention is that of soldiers’ family members: mothers,
wives and partners who await their return from the front, or at least some news, and
who often find themselves facing the reality of their loss. Those who receive word of a
loved one’s death at the front are overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions, even
before the grieving process begins: anger, bewilderment, and the feeling that an
essential part of their life has suddenly been torn away. In this context, it is worth noting
an aspect that reveals a great deal about the influence of the mindset formed during the
Soviet era and reinforced during the most difficult periods of Ukrainian history: many
people believe that problems and challenges – even the most complex ones – must be
faced exclusively within one’s own family, or even alone. The idea of sharing one’s life
story with a stranger arouses mistrust.
This behavior should not be criticized: an experienced therapist knows that such
attitudes exist and that it is essential to understand their origins. In fact, this is a legacy
of Soviet-era education, which taught entire generations to be cautious and to be
vigilant about what they communicate to others. For this reason, establishing a positive
therapeutic relationship, whether in individual or group therapy, takes on particular
importance. It is an essential element of any therapeutic process, but in this context it
requires more time and attention.
Many patients also suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, which manifests itself
through painful and intrusive memories of the traumatic event. People often try to avoid
precisely these memories, which they perceive as embarrassing or unbearable. Post-
traumatic stress disorder affects not only soldiers or those who were on the front lines,
with all the consequences that entails, but also their family members who remained at
home. At the heart of this condition, therefore, lies not only the place where the trauma
was experienced, but above all the realm of human emotions and experiences.
Caring for Traumatized Individuals
Therapeutic support for traumatized individuals, particularly soldiers, provides a deeper
understanding of why many of them face resistance within their families and social
circles. This is not merely a matter of the “differences” that emerge upon returning from
the front – linked to constant exposure to death and violence, difficulties in finding one’s
place in the community, or the tendency to bring aggression and violent behavior into
the home – but also of what their family members and acquaintances experience.
Among the most common feelings among soldiers’ relatives, in addition to fear, is the
perception that these men carry a burden that could crush them. When faced with
people who seem weighed down by such an oppressive burden, we often tend to
distance ourselves, almost as if to flee, to prevent that burden from being transferred to
those close to them. This dynamic is reminiscent, in some respects, of the attitude that
for centuries characterized the relationship with people suffering from leprosy, with the
difference that, in this case, the fear of contagion is replaced by the fear of one’s own
compassion and empathy. Thus, people try to avoid taking on even just a part of their
suffering.
This conflict reveals a broad spectrum of behaviors, both among those who have
actively participated and continue to participate in the war, and among their family
members and acquaintances. The aforementioned anxiety neurosis is often among the
symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder: these are, in fact, stressors that have been
present since the beginning of the invasion, which has now lasted for more than four
years. It is almost certain that, once peace, or even just a ceasefire, is achieved, the
number of diagnoses of neuroses, anxiety disorders, post-traumatic disorders, and
related conditions will increase significantly. This demonstrates that, even as they strive
to lead normal lives and carve out a space of tranquility, the experience of threat or loss
continues to profoundly affect these people’s lives.
Because of their stage of development, children often take a long time to understand
that their father has not simply left on a long journey, but that he will never return home.
There is no single, definitive way to talk to young children about the death of their
fathers or older brothers; what is certain is that there is a strong need for psychological
and psychiatric support for the youngest children.
A telling example is that of a 15-year-old boy who lost his father and older brother in
quick succession during the conflict. Among the defense mechanisms he developed
was isolation: a direct response to the double loss and the suffering that resulted from it.
This isolation ultimately fueled attitudes of aggression and distrust toward adults. This
is, of course, a simplification of an individual case that could be explored in greater
detail; however, the example clearly shows how the burden of war and the death it
brings can profoundly mark the lives of those who survive.
Images of a young widow, a mother, or a teenage son calmly accepting the news of the
death of a loved one who fell on the front lines belong more to cinematic fiction than to
reality. The experience of war, on the other hand, shows just how long and complex the
journey can be from receiving the news of the loss to the true beginning of the grieving
process.
Pastoral Care in the Military Context
Churches play a significant role in supporting soldiers on the front lines, particularly
through the work of military chaplains from various denominations. According to recent
data, there are approximately 500 chaplains in the Ukrainian army, who hold the rank of
deputy regiment or battalion commander, belong to 13 denominations and religious
organizations, and typically operate with the support of a personal assistant and an
armed aide, since they are not permitted to carry weapons. Each religious community
also sets specific limits on the number of chaplains it can make available to the armed
forces.
In addition to the work of military chaplains, the Catholic Church actively participates in
humanitarian efforts and offers psychological and spiritual support. The Jesuits in Lviv
have been running the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS) for years; the organization has
stepped up its activities since the start of the Russian aggression in response to the
influx of internally displaced persons from regions affected by fighting or occupied by
the Russian army. The Jesuits in Chernivtsi, in northern Bukovina, launched a new
project in the fall of 2024, Space of Hope, a center offering psychological and spiritual
assistance to people affected by the war: soldiers and their families, particularly
mothers, children, wives and partners. Although Bukovina is far from the front lines, the
effects of the conflict are felt there as well. The Space of Hope center offers
psychological counseling, individual and group therapy, and organizes aid for internally
displaced persons, especially those from Kharkiv and the surrounding areas.
Looking into the eyes of people affected by war and its consequences is a trying
experience: in those gazes, one first recognizes fear and death, and immediately
afterward, anger, aggression and disorientation. As previously noted, people suffering
from post-traumatic stress disorder – particularly soldiers – carry such a heavy burden
that the first reaction of family members and acquaintances is often to keep them at a
distance. Such a response is understandable: one senses the emotional intensity that
accompanies the experience of a soldier returning from the front lines and instinctively
tries to protect oneself. However, this attitude ultimately turns those affected by post-
traumatic stress into victims of a new form of trauma, even without any intention on the
part of those around them.
A Turning Point
One could debate at length the level of development of the Ukrainian state and the
future that awaits the country. Military assistance, as well as financial and humanitarian
support from various sources, play an essential role in this context. Today’s Ukraine,
however, is undoubtedly the stage on which the geopolitical architecture of Europe and
the world is being redefined. This is not the first time that a transformation of this
magnitude has unfolded through a war in Central and Eastern Europe. In this sense, the
words of Pope Francis ring true: what we are experiencing is not simply an epoch of
changes, but an epochal change.
The dissonance we mentioned at the beginning will accompany this conflict and the
period following its conclusion, a dissonance that already existed in the past, because in
countries like Ukraine it was linked first and foremost to the long legacy of real
socialism. The war has only amplified the situation, as is also evident from the views of
many Ukrainians. We must, however, clearly recognize that for nearly five years, this
country has been resisting an enemy far stronger than itself, at enormous cost,
especially in terms of human lives.
There are many causes of this war, but our aim is not to explain the origins of the
current conflict. As the Ukrainian scholar Mykola Riabchuk observed many years ago in
his review of Zenon Kohut’s Russischer Zentralismus und ukrainische Autonomie, the
clash between the two political systems was inevitable: the Cossack Republic could not
coexist with autocracy, just as the principles of Roman law could not be reconciled with
Asian despotism.
In our work of accompaniment, we find inspiration in two biblical passages. The first,
taken from the Second Letter to the Corinthians: “God of all consolation, who consoles
us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction
with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God” (2 Cor 1: 4). The
second comes from the Book of Isaiah: “By his bruises we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).
Both passages remind us that God gives comfort and strength so that we may support
others; and, even more, that the story of human life – even its most difficult parts – can
become a source of energy to offer to others.
Working with people wounded by war means coming into direct contact with suffering.
Paradoxically, by living alongside suffering, one often experiences forms of joy as well,
whether small or great. But what can be done with pain? The American psychiatrist and
psychotherapist Irvin Yalom, in his collection of essays published under the title Love’s
Executioner, writes: “The death of a child often entails the loss of a sense of life. To lose
a parent or a lifelong friend is often to lose the past: the person who died may be the
only other living witness to golden events of long ago. But to lose a child is to lose the
future: what is lost is no less than one’s life project, what one lives for.” The death of a
loved one, particularly of a child who has fallen on the front lines, but also a brother or
sister, is a painful, everyday reality in today’s Ukraine. In our work with these people, we
strive to help them rediscover a future. This is likely the essential aspect of our
presence and work at the Space of Hope center in Chernivtsi: helping to restore meaning to life.