ONE Magazine March 2022

one

March 2022

God • World • Human Family • Church

Signs of the

Times Diverging Paths in Ukraine Brightening Futures for Ethiopia’s Blind Coping With Hunger in Lebanon Mothering Mercies in Jordan Addressing Special Needs in India

one COVER STORY

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The Tragedy of Russia and Ukraine Understanding from the perspective of history text by Michael J.L. La Civita

FEATURES

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No Longer Cursed Blind children learn independence text by Maria Gerth-Niculescu with photographs by Petterik Wiggers

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A Letter From Lebanon text by Sister Magdalena Smet with photographs by Raghida Skaff

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Líbano, un País de Neveras Vacías por Alicia Medina con fotografías de Raghida Skaff

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Wounded Healers Iraqi sisters assist the poor in Jordan text by Dale Gavlak with photographs by Yazan Hmoud

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‘Go and Do Likewise’ Gospel inspires work with special needs children text by Anubha George with photographs by Sajeendran V.S.

DEPARTMENTS

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Connections to CNEWA’s world The Last Word: Perspectives From the President

by Msgr. Peter I. Vaccari

t Students of St. Raphael Boarding School for the Blind in Azezo, northern Ethiopia, play during recreation.

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OFFICIAL PUBLICATION CATHOLIC NEAR EAST WELFARE ASSOCIATION

Volume 48 NUMBER 1

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This Spring, Plant Seeds of Hope Your gift will grow Into a beautiful future For a world in need 38 Front: A seminarian at the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Holy Spirit Seminary in Lviv crosses himself during communal prayer.

Back: Sisters Magdalena and Cecilia visit a family at the Dbayeh refugee camp, north of Beirut.

Photo Credits Front cover, Konstantin Chernichkin; pages 2, 14-19, Petterik Wiggers; page 3 (top), CNS photo/ Paul Haring; pages 3 (upper left), 5 (right), 20-25, 27-31, back cover, Raghida Skaff; page 3 (upper right), CNS photo/Gleb Garanich, Reuters; pages 3 (lower left), 38-43, Sajeendran V.S.; pages 3 (lower right), 32, 34-37, Yazan Hmoud; page 3 (far right), David Degner; page 4, CNS photo/ Marton Monus, Reuters; page 5 (left), courtesy Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church; pages 6-7, Sergii Kharchenko/NurPhoto via Getty Images; page 8, Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy Stock Photo; page 10, Jeff Greenberg/Universal Images Group via Getty Images; page 11, Olexandr/Adobe Stock Photos; page 12, Institute of Church History; page 13, Sergey Bobok/AFP via Getty Images; page 44, CNS photo/Gleb Garanich, Reuters; page 45, Peter Lazar/AFP via Getty Images.

32 Publisher Msgr. Peter I. Vaccari Editorial Team Paul Grillo Jasmine Helm Laura Ieraci Deacon Greg Kandra

Michael J.L. La Civita Elias Mallon, S.A., Ph.D. J.D. Conor Mauro Timothy McCarthy

ONE is published quarterly. ISSN: 1552-2016 CNEWA Founded by the Holy Father, CNEWA shares the love of Christ with the churches and peoples of the East, working for, through and with the Eastern Catholic churches.

CNEWA connects you to your brothers and sisters in need. Together, we build up the church, affirm human dignity, alleviate poverty, encourage dialogue — and inspire hope.

Officers Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan, Chair and Treasurer Msgr. Peter I. Vaccari, Secretary Editorial Office 1011 First Avenue, New York, NY 10022-4195 1-212-826-1480; www.cnewa.org ©2022 Catholic Near East Welfare Association.

All rights reserved. Member of the Catholic Media Association of the United States and Canada.

You can make a difference by Uplifting the poor Supporting seminaries or schools Providing food, health care Or offering a gift where the need is the greatest

Contact us today to learn more, call: 1-866-322-4441 (Canada) 1-800-442-6392 (United States) cnewa.giftplans.org

Connections to CNEWA’s world War on Ukraine

Refugee children fleeing Russia’s invasion of Ukraine wait for transport at Nyugati railway station in Budapest on 28 February 2022.

The Russian military invasion of Ukraine began just as the intelligence community in the West said it would, with missiles targeting key military and communications posts near Ukraine’s principal cities: Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odessa, even as far west as Lviv.

Just hours before this wanton act of aggression on 24 February, the head of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, Major Archbishop Sviatoslav Shevchuk, released a statement from Kyiv outlining how already “irreparable damage has been done to the very logic of international relations, which are called to safeguard peace and the just order of societies, the supremacy of law, the accountability of state powers, the defense of the human being, human life and natural rights.

“Today all of humanity has been placed in danger,” he added presciently, “that the powerful have a right to impose themselves on whomever they wish, with no regard for the rule of law.”

Now the unthinkable has come to be: Under the cover of darkness, Russia has invaded its neighbor,

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unprovoked. Stunned at first, Ukrainians came round, defending their kith and kin with valor and intensity.

Among those remaining in place are Ukraine’s Greek Catholic priests who, according to CNEWA’s project officer for Ukraine, Anna Dombrovska, are working in their parishes and ministering to the needs of those in flight, as well as to those who have elected to stay behind. As of this writing, churches are offering sanctuary and spaces have been created to treat the wounded.

Ms. Dombrovska noted that CNEWA’s support will be sent to the leadership of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church for distribution to its parish network across the country, as it receives scores of refugees and offers the displaced food, medicine, shelter, transportation and spiritual and psychological support.

Initially, this edition of ONE magazine was to feature the formation of seminarians in Ukraine in times of tension — but overnight those anxieties became a perilous fight for survival, and the seminary in

More Online in Spanish In the previous edition of ONE, we announced the launching of CNEWA’s Spanish-language website: cnewa.org/es We are pleased to introduce new magazine stories reported and written for our growing Spanishspeaking audience. In this edition, only online, readers will learn about the church’s outreach to the hungry in Lebanon. This program has been growing almost daily since the collapse of Lebanon’s economy and banking system in 2020. CNEWA works closely with our network of priests, sisters and lay associates, funding food relief initiatives for families who just a few years ago were members of Lebanon’s bustling middle class.

Accompanying the article is a video that brings the story to you — and for those whose Spanish is nonexistent, our Letter From Lebanon on Page 20 introduces you to one of the heroes of Lebanon, Sister Magdalena Smet, a member of the Little Sisters of Nazareth, who writes to us from the Dbayeh camp north of Lebanon. Stay tuned for more exciting developments from ONE! Also available in Spanish is a lovely booklet of reflections for Lent and Holy Week, which features a unique compilation of reflections from Pope Francis. A digital version of this booklet in Spanish in available at cnewa.org/es/ cuaresma A teen in Deir el Ahmar, about 60 miles from Beirut, receives a food box on behalf of his parents.

Major Archbishop Sviatoslav Shevchuk extends his blessings over a video message recorded on 25 February.

Kyiv, after a celebration of the Divine Liturgy in the basement, was evacuated.

CNEWA works in some of the most turbulent places on the globe, and it is stories such as these that remind us of our own fortunes here in North America and our need to be generous with our patience, our time and talents, our prayers and our gifts.

As an agency of the Holy See called to work with the Eastern churches, CNEWA asks you to pray for a just and lasting peace and to consider making a gift to support the church’s efforts to comfort those affected by the madness of men.

Visit cnewa.org/ukraine to make your secure gift.

There is even more on the web

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Visit cnewa.org for regular updates And find videos, stories from the field

and breaking news at cnewa.org/blog

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THE TRAGEDY OF

Russia Ukraine AND

by Michael J.L. La Civita

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odern Belarussians, Carpatho-Rusyns, Russians and Ukrainians share the same origins, all regarding one medieval realm as their own. In the ninth century, the Varangians — a Scandinavian tribe known for their ferocity and piracy — swept into Eastern Europe, settling among and intermarrying with the Eastern Slavs who lived there. Collectively called The 11th-century cathedral dedicated to the Holy Wisdom of God in Kyiv, known in Greek as Hagia Sophia, is the mother church of all Christians who descend from Kievan Rus.

Rusyns, they founded fortified towns along three rivers, asserted control over the trade routes from the Baltic to the Black seas and established commercial relations with New Rome — Constantinople, the great capital of Byzantium.

One Rusyn urban center gradually assumed a dominant role. From this city of Kiev (Kyiv in modern Ukrainian) developed a civilization known to historians in English as Kievan Rus (transliterated from the Ukrainian as Kyivska Rus and the Russian as Kievskaya Rus). Its leader took on the title of grand prince and exacted fealty and taxes from weaker princes, many of whom were members of his extended family. According to Rusyn chronicles of the 12th century, one of these grand princes (Volodymyr in modern Ukrainian, Vladimir in modern Russian) sent out emissaries to learn more about the faiths of his neighbors, including the Latin Christianity of the Franks and the Eastern Christianity of the Byzantines.

The grand prince’s interest in strengthening his commercial and military alliance with Constantinople may have led to his selection of Christianity in its Byzantine form when baptized in the Dnipro (or Dnieper, from the modern Russian) River in the year 988.

The rapid development of Byzantine Christianity among the Rusyns — which the prince pursued with vigor — coincided with the rise of the state. Its grand princes consolidated their power, promulgated the first code of law of the Eastern Slavs, constructed churches, sponsored monasteries and supported learning and the arts.

One, Vladimir’s son and successor, Yaroslav the Wise (978-1054), achieved some ecclesial independence from Constantinople by overseeing the installation of a metropolitan archbishop of Kiev

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PEOPLE, LOOK EAST

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rom the perspective of the one God who created us all, nothing divides us — neither our race, nationality nor religion. As the old African American spiritual tells us, “In Christ there is no east or west, in him no south or north; but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.”

But from the perspective of humanity, every distinction divides us. While studies in the evolution of humanity demonstrate the intimate connections among all human beings, societies accentuate what divides us, ranging not only from the usual groupings of race, nationality, ethnicity and religions, but also by values, lifestyle, politics, class, economics and education.

Sadly, these distinctions, many of which make each of us a unique child of God to be celebrated as such, can be weaponized to divide one from the other. These weaponized differences prevent solidarity, inhibit our ability to forgive, reconcile and make peace, whether between family members or among nations.

The tragedy of Russia and Ukraine is a lesson in the dangers of weaponizing distinctions. A look at the development of the church in the region provides some historical context.

and all Rus in 1037. Eventually, Rusyn natives dominated the church of Kiev, whose subordinate episcopal seats were located in various regional centers governed by the family of the grand prince. This Rusyn metropolitan church, however, remained under the authority of the Byzantine ecumenical patriarch in Constantinople.

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he ascendancy of Kievan Rus was short-lived. Rival Rusyn cities resented its control of trade and sought increased autonomy. To the far northeast, the cities of Novgorod and Pskov declared independence and set up a republic in 1136.

To the north and east, Vladimir and Suzdal grew in economic and political independence, sheltering isolated outposts, such as one known as Moscow. To the west of Kiev, Vladimir’s descendants forged an independent realm in Halych and Volhynia.

The weakening of the Rusyn confederation opened it to invasion from nearby rivals — Teutonic knights, Magyars, Poles and Lithuanians — all of whom relished the wealth of its cities. The most devastating invasion, however, came from the east. The Mongols, a nomadic people from Central Asia, swept through Rus in the 13th century, burning and sacking its cities, including Kiev in 1240. They ravaged the land, killed much of the population and enslaved those who survived. Kiev and the lands under Created in Constantinople in the 12th century, this revered icon of the Virgin was venerated first near ancient Kiev, then was transferred to a rival Rusyn principality, Vladimir, where it was enshrined for centuries.

Later transferred to Moscow to protect the city from invaders, the icon has assumed the status of a national standard or palladium.

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its immediate control never recovered fully.

The destruction of Kievan Rus led to the unraveling of its metropolitan church. Survivors sought refuge, migrating to its more remote principalities. The de facto leader of the Rusyns, Maxim, metropolitan of Kiev and all Rus, left a depopulated Kiev and traveled east, settling in Vladimir in 1299. His successor, Peter, moved the historic see of the Rusyn church from Vladimir to Moscow some 26 years later. Born in Halych-Volhynia, Metropolitan Peter strengthened the relationship of the Rusyn church with the grand princes of Moscow, forging an alliance that would lead to the development of a powerful Muscovite church and state, the nucleus of what constitutes modern Russia.

and achieved complete independence in 1589, when the ecumenical patriarch reluctantly enthroned the metropolitan of Moscow as patriarch of Moscow and all Rus.

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oscow was not the only claimant to the legacy of Kiev. The Rusyn princes of Halych and Volhynia, whose dominions bordered Hungary and Poland to the west and northwest, forged a unified state in the 13th century. Halych-Volhynia, known today as Galicia, rivaled Kievan Rus in size and wealth, even as its sovereigns paid homage to their Mongol overlords.

One such prince, Danilo I (died 1264), invited Armenian, German, Hungarian, Jewish and Lithuanian merchants to the realm, who formed

filling the void created by Metropolitan Maxim’s departure of Kiev for Vladimir just four years earlier.

Halych-Volhynia’s dominance also proved short-lived. By the middle of the 14th century, the kingdom’s Lithuanian and Polish neighbors carved it up, seizing Lviv and Kiev. Although long past its prime, the allure of Kievan Rus remained. This “mother of all Rusyn cities” continued as the spiritual center of Rusyn Christianity even as Rusyn society splintered.

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ronically, the definitive schism between Rusyn Christianity and the Church of Rome did not occur until the year 1441, just two years after the rift between the churches of Constantinople and Rome ended at a council held in

The tragedy of Russia and Ukraine is a lesson in the dangers of weaponizing distinctions.

For more than a century, Metropolitan Peter’s successors claimed Kiev within its jurisdiction.

However, in 1448, the Rusyn bishops separated formally into two distinct metropolitan provinces, Kiev and Moscow. While in full communion with one another and technically under the care of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Constantinople, the bifurcation of the Rusyn church into two provinces marked the beginning of the fracturing of a unified Rusyn culture into distinct camps: one centered west of Kiev and open to the powers of Central Europe; the other largely isolated from and hostile to Europe — especially Lithuania and Poland — and centered in Moscow.

The Church of Moscow, reflecting the emerging power of its princes, challenged Constantinople regularly

self-contained communities. He strengthened alliances with neighboring powers and enlisted the aid of the papacy to ward off the Mongols. Although the churches of Constantinople and Rome were in formal schism for nearly two centuries, Rusyn Christians in Halych-Volhynia maintained communion with both.

In 1253, a representative of the pope crowned Rusyn Grand Prince Danilo king, despite the Rusyn church’s allegiance to the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. Three years later, King Danilo founded the city of Lviv, naming it for his son and successor, Lev, who in 1272 made Lviv the capital. In recognition of the kingdom’s capital, the ecumenical patriarch erected a metropolitan see in Lviv in 1303,

Florence. When Isidore, a Byzantine Greek appointed by the ecumenical patriarch as metropolitan of Moscow and all Rus, pronounced the restoration of full communion between the Catholic and Orthodox communion of churches at a liturgy in the Cathedral Church of the Dormition in Moscow’s Kremlin, he was sacked and imprisoned almost immediately for his “apostasy of Orthodoxy.” He eventually fled Moscow and found refuge in Rome.

His native Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks in May 1453.

As the Catholic Polish-Lithuanian state consolidated its gains in ancient Rus, its nobility bound Orthodox Rusyn peasants to the land. Many fled to the southeast, finding refuge in “Ukraine,” an old Slavic term for borderlands.

Eventually, these refugees formed

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autonomous communities of nomadic horsemen, known as Cossacks, who defied the law of their overlords.

Those Rusyn (or Ruthenians, from the medieval Latin for Rusyn inhabitants of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) serfs who remained were harassed and subjected to ethnic assimilation campaigns of the government, which also heavily taxed the Orthodox clergy and laity and denied bishops permission to build churches.

The Protestant Reformation, and the wars associated with it, altered the confessional dynamics of Central Europe, including the Polish-Lithuanian state. Constant clashes ravaged the countryside.

Disease and war devastated the population. Meanwhile, Calvinist, Lutheran and Unitarian congregations grew, particularly among the Ruthenians’ “masters.”

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The Jesuits, vanguards of the Catholic Reformation, worked among Central Europe’s Orthodox leaders to combat the spread of Protestantism. They promised the Orthodox they would retain their Byzantine liturgical rites, customs and privileges, including a married clergy and the method of electing bishops, in exchange for their loyalty to the papacy. In addition, Orthodox Ruthenian clergy would be granted the same civil rights and privileges extended to Roman Catholic clergy.

In 1596, the Orthodox Metropolitan Mikhail Rohoza of Kiev, Halych and all Rus severed ties with the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate in Constantinople and the Orthodox Patriarchate of Moscow and, in the city of Brest, accepted the primacy and authority of the Roman pontiff, thus establishing the Greek Catholic Church (“Greek” referred to the

Byzantine heritage of the Ruthenians). The Polish-Lithuanian Roman Catholic nobility promoted the union among their Ruthenian subjects to hold in check the growing power of neighboring Moscow, which remained staunchly Orthodox.

Many Ruthenians accepted the union, but rebellion fomented in Kiev and in the Cossack-dominated areas of Ukraine. Hostilities forced Metropolitan Mikhail and his successors to settle in friendlier, pro-Catholic territory, thus creating a void in church leadership filled by the establishment of a rival Orthodox metropolitan archbishop of Kiev in 1620.

The crises posed by foreign domination, discrimination, economic hardship and the Union of Brest fueled the Khmelnitsky Uprising (1648-54). Led by the Jesuit-educated Cossack nobleman Bohdan Khmelnitsky, the uprising sought to unify the Ruthenian peoples in an independent Ukraine.

But this independent Ukraine soon began to collapse even as Khmelnitsky entered Kiev in triumph. Reluctantly, the Cossacks sought aid from Moscow’s grand prince, who had assumed the title of tsar and worked to unite the lands of historic Rus under his authority.

The late Baroque interior (at top left) and exterior (at right) of St. George Cathedral in Lviv, western Ukraine, which became the mother church of Greek Catholics of historic Halych in the 1800s. After the Soviets suppressed the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church in 1946, the cathedral served as an Orthodox cathedral of the Moscow Patriarchate. A symbol of Ukrainian identity, particularly for Ukrainians in the diaspora, the cathedral was returned to the Greek Catholic community as the Soviet Union unraveled.

In 1654, Khmelnitsky and representatives of the tsar signed the Treaty of Pereyaslav. The treaty marked the end of the rebellion and the beginning of Ukraine’s divide.

Poland retained Ukrainian lands west of the Dnipro River. To wipe out any potential influence by Moscow among the Ruthenian populace, the Poles suppressed the Orthodox Church in areas of its control and advanced the interests of the Greek Catholic Church. By the 18th century, two-thirds of the Ruthenian population in western Ukraine, especially Galicia, had become Greek Catholic. Meanwhile,

tsarist Russia absorbed territories east of the Dnipro, including Kiev.

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o advance the unification of ancient Rus with Russia, the tsar annexed the metropolitan province of Kiev to the Moscow Patriarchate in 1686, despite the protests of the ecumenical patriarch in Constantinople. Initially, Greek Catholics living in areas absorbed

by Russia were tolerated. This ended, however, after Greek Catholics supported an uprising following the partition of Poland by Austria, Prussia and Russia in the

late 18th century. By 1839, the tsar abolished the Greek Catholic Church in areas under his rule and reintegrated its eparchies with the Orthodox Church. One lone eparchy remained Greek Catholic, but the Russian Orthodox Church eventually absorbed it in 1875.

Ironically, the tsars’ attempts to integrate Ukrainian lands with Russia ignited a sense of Ukrainian nationalism that burned fiercely among the people living in those areas west of the Dnipro River, where the Greek Catholic Church had prospered. This nationalism also fueled a desire among self-

The Ukrainians’ fierce defense of kith and kin has united a nation once thought to be broken permanently.

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A priest of the underground Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church celebrates a Lenten liturgy in a forest in 1987.

Opposite, an Orthodox priest leads a memorial service in Kharkiv, eastern Ukraine, on 22 February 2022, for those killed seven years earlier by a landmine that had been planted on the route of a procession marking the anniversary of the Maidan revolution.

About two days later, Kharkiv was shelled.

identified Ukrainian Orthodox leaders for ecclesiastical independence from Moscow.

After the collapse of the tsar in 1917 and the political and social chaos that ensued, political and religious independence movements in Ukraine gathered steam. In 1921, a group of Orthodox priests in Ukraine created the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church.

Stalin annihilated this expression of Ukrainian nationalism during the purges of the 1930s.

When the Nazis occupied Ukraine in the early days of World War II, nationalists reestablished the church, which was suppressed again when the Red Army asserted Soviet control in 1945. A year later, Stalin liquidated the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church — which had survived in parts of Galicia under control of the AustroHungarians and their successors, Czechoslovaks and Poles — and integrated its parishes and priests into the Russian Orthodox Church, led by the patriarch of Moscow.

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he breakup of a united Orthodox Church in Ukraine began even as the Soviet government sanctioned plans for the public celebration of the millennial anniversary of Christianity among the Rus with the Baptism of Vladimir.

In 1987, priests and laity of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church began to emerge from the underground, petitioning for the restoration of their church. Soon after, a considerable number of priests of the Moscow Patriarchate in western Ukraine revealed their loyalties to the suppressed church.

The Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church resurfaced in western Ukraine again, with significant numbers of Russian Orthodox clergy and parishes switching their allegiances to the revived church, too.

The unraveling of the Soviet Union in 1990 and 1991 exacerbated the situation. When more than 90 percent of Soviet Ukrainians voted

for independence in 1991, Orthodox Metropolitan Filaret Denysenko of Kyiv petitioned the Moscow Patriarchate for greater autonomy, fearing the collapse of a unified Orthodox church in an independent Ukraine. The synod of the Orthodox Church of Russia rejected his petition and Patriarch Alexei II denounced him.

Attempts to correct these schisms and unify the fractured Orthodox churches of Kyiv have largely failed in the past three decades. A unification council, which included varying degrees of support and participation among the feuding churches, declared a unified Orthodox Church of Ukraine in December 2018, electing a metropolitan of Kyiv and all Ukraine. In January 2019, newly elected Metropolitan Epiphanius traveled to the Ecumenical Patriarchate in historic Constantinople (modern Istanbul), where in the patriarchal Church of St. George he received from the ecumenical patriarch, Bartholomew, the directive recognizing his election and the independence of the newly erected Orthodox Church of Ukraine.

The Moscow Patriarchate rebuked the actions of the Ecumenical Patriarchate and is now separated from it. The Russian government then pledged to defend the interests of all Orthodox Christians in Ukraine against what it believed were the illegal activities of

the Ecumenical Patriarchate, encouraged, it said, by pressure from the United States.

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hich all brings us to the present. By February, a massive buildup of Russian arms, munitions and soldiers — a force the likes of which Europe had not seen since World War II — surrounded Ukraine on three sides. Russia denied any intention of invading Ukraine, claiming instead that it was under siege by a hostile West and needed to protect its interests, namely Ukraine. Then, in the wee hours of the morning on 24 February, the Russian military invasion of Ukraine began just as the intelligence community in the West said it would, with missiles targeting key military and communications posts near Ukraine’s principal cities: Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odessa, even as far west as Lviv.

Regardless of the military outcome, how Russians really feel about this military folly — once

thought to be unknown — is emerging: Tens of thousands of Russians have taken to the streets in protest, despite the risk of arrest.

As the ruble and Russian economy collapse, and the invasion deteriorates into bloody and protracted street fighting, those protests could grow, undermining the government’s grip.

For decades the feelings of Russians toward their Ukrainian neighbors, who are often described as their “little brothers,” ranged from patronizing fondness, as one would have for a child or a relative who knows no better, to pompous arrogance. How Ukrainians felt about their neighbor to the east was complex and almost wholly personal, depending on family, geography, language and religion.

But the tide has been turning since 2014, as the Ukrainians’ fear of Russian aggression and dismemberment of their country has become a reality. Their fierce defense of kith and kin has united a polity once thought

to be broken permanently — perhaps forging a nation determined more than ever to follow its own course.

And what of Russia and Ukraine’s shared history, patrimony and culture? All is relative when approaching these subjects from varying perspectives and points of view, conditioned by history and experience, and rooted either in a sense of security or insecurity. For centuries, Russians and Ukrainians alike have asked: Is the West friend or foe? Should we turn to Asia?

What of modernity, democracy and diversity? Can our culture and ethos survive the onslaught of the free market?

The intolerance demonstrated for the approaches to these questions and the subsequent weaponization of these differences lie at the heart of the tragedy of Russia and Ukraine, whose peoples rightly claim Kievan Rus as their own.

Michael J.L. La Civita is CNEWA’s communications director.

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Editors’ note: The names of the students have been changed to protect their privacy.

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eseret’s thin fingers dance effortlessly on a thick white sheet of paper as she reads aloud an excerpt from her art textbook. Her loose braids are tied back. A gray mask covers her face.

Seated behind individual wooden desks, four other second-grade students listen carefully as their hands simultaneously decipher the dotted braille relief covering the pages.

Meseret and her younger sister were born blind in Ethiopia’s countryside. When their mother heard they could attend a special school, she seized this opportunity — rare in the country — and signed them up. Now the two girls can read and write braille and are taught a full school curriculum.

“Our biggest goal is for them to sustain themselves and not be dependent on others,” explains Sister Haregewein Kiflemariam, the school supervisor.

Dressed in a gray habit, she walks calmly through the school premises, occasionally greeting children as she passes by.

“All of our students who have graduated are independent,” she says proudly.

St. Raphael Boarding School for the Blind was established by the Daughters of St. Anne in 2002 in response to the poor conditions of children born blind in Ethiopia. It was the first formal boarding school for visually impaired children in the country.

Located in the town of Azezo, about 16 miles from the city of Gondar, in Ethiopia’s northern Amhara region, the area is believed to be home to about 40 percent of A blind student is accompanied on his walk home to St. Raphael Boarding School by his classmates from the government-run school.

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CHILDREN IN NEED

No Longer Cursed

School teaches independence for the blind text by Maria Gerth-Niculescu with photographs by Petterik Wiggers

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the country’s visually impaired population.

Sister Haregewein has been working at the school for 12 years, together with two other sisters of the Daughters of St. Anne and about 20 employees. The Ethiopian Catholic Eparchy of Bahir DarDessie oversees the school.

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n a January afternoon, the sun shines tirelessly in the azure blue sky. In the shade of a wall-less shelter, a group of students are huddled, listening attentively to a local radio

station. Other students take walks, arm in arm, around the garden or study in the libraries, stopping from their study to tell the occasional joke.

The school’s quiet compound encloses several single-story buildings, painted gray, white and beige, containing classrooms, a library, a recreation center, workshops and dormitories.

Classrooms are supplied with braille textbooks and relief geography maps. No blackboards hang on the wall and the punch of styluses replaces the creak of chalk.

Currently, 63 students live at the school, but only students in the first to fourth grades are taught within the compound. The older children attend public government-run schools in the area — an oftendifficult transition to life “on the outside.”

A wide road separates the boarding school compound from the cobblestone path that leads to Azezo’s public elementary school.

Crossing safely is a challenge. The students walk hand in hand, using white canes to orient themselves and avoid obstacles. They are often

“I used to feel bad about my blindness. ... But once I came here, I understood that a blind person can do whatever they want to do.”

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The

CNEWA Connection

Sister Haregewein Kiflemariam sits with two St. Raphael students.

Bottom opposite, students from St. Raphael Boarding School take exams at the government-run school.

assisted by passersby and friends, who gently ensure their safety.

But the terrain around the government school is perhaps the most daunting challenge. Giant tree roots cover the uneven and rocky soil, where hundreds of children run around in joyful chaos.

“The school is not hospitable, even for students with vision, let alone for the visually impaired,” says Yilak Mamo, the director of the public school.

Most of the facilities are falling apart. Few desks and benches are usable; the windows are simple apertures with wooden bars.

Students from St. Raphael follow the same classes as everyone else in the public elementary school. They rarely use their braille tools here, mainly because of the noisiness of the slates and styluses. Their only option is to listen to the lessons and memorize them by heart.

“When we attend class [in the government schools] we have to learn in the same way as the other kids. There is nothing provided for us, be it technology or other things,” explains Hailu, a ninth-grade student from St. Raphael. However, the school makes some accommodations for exams, even if they are not convenient, he adds.

Seated under the shade of an old eucalyptus tree, four fifth-grade students are taking their semester exams in social sciences. Temesgen is dressed in his beige school uniform and pink sneakers. He focuses on the questions a tiredlooking teacher reads aloud. He responds by raising one, two, and up to eight fingers to communicate his answers. Temesgen is a quickwitted boy, brought to Azezo by his family after his brother, who lives in

Ethiopia’s Christian roots run deep, and CNEWA seeks to nurture these deep roots and their growth through a number of programs, including the accompaniment of those with special needs. Among these programs, CNEWA supports St. Raphael School for the Blind. Since its founding in 2002, this school of the Daughters of St. Anne has been teaching blind children the skills they need to become self-sufficient, pursue careers and families of their own, sparing them from a life on the streets.

To support these and other parts of our mission in Ethiopia, call 1-800-322-4441 (Canada) or 1-800-442-6392 (United States).

Gondar, convinced their parents to give him this chance at an education.

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espite the trying context, the test results of St. Raphael students are astonishing, among the best in their respective schools. Among the alumni of St. Raphael to date, 35 have graduated with university degrees and work at different governmental and nongovernmental organizations.

Some alumni have found jobs in local offices; others have become well-respected lawyers.

Sister Haregewein knows the children’s stories and admires their progress. Her biggest reward, she says, is seeing the students embark on a life of independence after graduation, with paid employment and sometimes a family of their own.

Selamawit, a St. Raphael graduate, now teaches at the school. It is a

job that extends way beyond the classroom, she says.

“The relationship we have with the students is like brothers and sisters. They are going through what we have been through,” she explains.

With role models such as Selamawit, Sister Haregewein hopes the students will continue to dream big.

Hanna just graduated from 12th grade and will start university. Her dream is to become a journalist. She has been at the boarding school for 14 years.

“Before, when I was in the countryside, I used to feel bad about my blindness. I was hurt psychologically. But once I came here, I understood that a blind person can do whatever they want to do. That’s what I learned, and it has brought great happiness in my life,” says Hanna.

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“I felt pity for the students because of their condition. But now, I am happy. I realized it takes a human to make a human.”

Her experience in the rural areas is no exception. In towns, people have gradually become more accepting and respectful of people with special needs. But in the countryside, the stigma still runs deep. A blind child is often considered a curse on the entire family. Sometimes, the mother or father, or both, will abandon the child. As well, in many cases, blind children are kept hidden inside the home.

“They hide their children, especially the girls,” says Sister Haregewein. “At least some boys, when they grow up, could be admitted to church school. But the girls are made to stay at home. It’s common knowledge.”

In response to these customs, part of the school’s mission also

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has been to raise awareness that visually impaired children are capable and able to learn, develop, be self-sufficient and contribute to their families and their country.

Yalaw, 10, was brought to St. Raphael when he was 7 years old. His parents, who were impoverished, told the sisters that Yalaw had never been in the sun before and had never learned to walk.

“He was as white as a paper,” Sister Haregewein recalls.

“He’s better now, even though he struggles with his education. But he’s very good with music, he sings a lot,” she adds, observing the boy as he makes his way slowly into the dining room.

Students eat lunch in the refectory of St. Raphael Boarding School.

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thiopian society generally gives little attention to the conditions, feelings and opportunities of people with special needs. According to a 2015 survey, about 7.8 million people in Ethiopia — amounting to just over 9 percent of the country’s population — live with some form of disability. The most recent assessment on visual impairment found the national prevalence for blindness at 1.6 percent. This percentage includes those who develop visual impairment later in life due to disease or accidents.

For those who lose their vision later in life, adapting to blindness is

a lengthy process, requiring psychosocial support. In Ethiopia, civil society organizations fill the gaps left by the almost nonexistent public facilities for the blind.

The Hiwot Center for the Blind in Addis Ababa, the national capital, is one of those organizations.

Its director, Atsebayush Abebe, cofounded the center almost 22 years ago.

In Ethiopia, “a very small percentage of people with disabilities attend school. Why? Because the government and the community are not giving them enough attention. Before I was blind, I also didn’t pay attention to these groups,” she says.

When she started working at the center, Ms. Abebe was determined to change things.

“We provide different activities in this rehabilitation center to allow people to continue their life, for example to tend to their education or continue their work,” says Ms. Abebe.

But without government backing and adequate research, progress on a larger scale is limited. The challenges are reinforced by an overall lack of funds and understaffed public offices.

According to a UNICEF report, more than 40 percent of disabled children have never been to school in Ethiopia. Few students are able to attend the facilities where education is tailored to their needs.

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ack at St. Raphael’s, the center’s director, Tareke Mekonnen, observes proudly a group of studious kindergarten children.

“Those are the lucky ones,” he points out. “Many others are left begging on the streets.”

As the week of exams ends, students enjoy some well-deserved rest. A group of girls plays braille cards, while another group listens to Ethiopian music, bouncing their

shoulders up and down to the rhythm, a move that is part of the traditional Ethiopian dance called Eskista.

This apparent insouciance hides a world of understanding and knowledge that surprises even Sister Haregewein.

“They understand everything that is going on,” she says.

The Amhara region, where the school is located, was until December the scene of clashes between the forces from neighboring Tigray and the Ethiopian army, backed by Amhara regional forces. Azezo and Gondar were spared from the fighting, but sounds of military training or celebratory gunshots after a victory were heard coming from a nearby military camp on various occasions.

“The students were very scared and crying, saying they would die before meeting their parents again,” Sister Haregewein recalls.

The situation has calmed down in Amhara, to the relief of its residents.

In the school’s grassy field, a group of boys has started a game of soccer. This is no ordinary game, as the players have to follow the sound of the ball. The referee is charged with hitting the ball with his hand, so the players can identify its location when out of play.

“When I first came here, I struggled for some time because I felt pity for the students because of their condition,” Sister Haregewein says.

“But now, I am happy. I realized it takes a human to make a human,” she adds.

“I’ve been here for many years and I should probably start getting bored. But I’m not bored of this,” she says. “When you see the students all grown up, there is happiness in your heart.”

Maria Gerth-Niculescu is a freelance journalist based in Addis Ababa.

She has worked for France 24 and Deutsche Welle.

Help them touch the future cnewa.org I cnewa.ca

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Lebanon

A Letter From

Living in solidarity with the dispossessed

by Sister Magdalena Smet, P.S.N. with photographs by Raghida Skaff

EMERGENCY RELIEF Sister Magdalena Smet of the Little Sisters of Nazareth visits with a sick, elderly woman in her home at Dbayeh, a refugee camp north of Beirut.

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aturday evening.

The beautiful light of the setting sun envelops the camp. I feel it like a balm on the many wounds the refugees live with daily. In the evening silence, I hear their sighs: “How long, Lord? Will you utterly forget me?” They repeat the psalmist’s petition in Psalm 13, imploring to be heard and set free.

In 1987, the Lord called the Little Sisters of Nazareth — a community of women living the spirituality of Blessed Charles de Foucauld — to live in the camp of Dbayeh, north of Beirut. Initially, in 1951, Dbayeh was a Palestinian refugee camp and was entirely Christian. Since the civil war in Lebanon (1975-1990) and the war in Syria (2011-present), displaced Lebanese families and Syrian refugees have found a home here, too.

We share the daily life of these dispossessed: a daily life of joys and sorrows, marked always by the struggle for survival, by the struggle

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to obtain their human rights, by the eager desire for a dignified life. Our life of solidarity — through loving presence — translates into hospitality for every person who knocks on our door, for every person who seeks refuge, for everyone who needs to share a small part of their life, to tell their story. We are here simply to “be there” for them, listening to their stories, understanding more deeply their experiences — even in the words they do not speak — welcoming their joys and pains, their worries and needs, their challenges and hopes.

Listening makes us privileged witnesses. It obliges us and commits us to help where we can, by praying for all these intentions, but also by asking for help, so our brothers and sisters may live. After all, we are all brothers and sisters, children of the same Father, sharing the trust that has grown over the years. The camp

Clockwise, from top right: Sister Magdalena receives visitors at her convent, located in the refugee camp. People of all ages — Christians, Muslims, Palestinian, Syrian, Lebanese — visit continuously, seeking help, support and encouragement; Sister Cecilia reads an obituary notice of a man she cared for who had COVID-19; Sister Cecilia makes her way through Dbayeh camp on her home visits with a backpack full of medication and other supplies.

in Dbayeh has become our home, the inhabitants are our family of Nazareth, and our life is a journey with them, sharing with them and bringing them a little of God’s tenderness, despite our smallness.

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ear after year, the living conditions of the camp’s inhabitants have become harsher and more difficult. We were

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Above, Sisters Magdalena and Cecilia check on a prescription for a resident of Dbayeh camp. Opposite, Sister Magdalena gives a catechism class to the children of the camp, who are preparing for first Communion.

already living through a social and economic crisis: Work had become more difficult to find, many fathers lost their employment, their families were deprived of income, as food and other basic necessities became increasingly expensive, not to mention children’s health care and school fees.

Our kind and generous benefactors responded to our urgent and growing needs. Solidarity and sharing were necessary for our survival. But the situation worsened day by day, and we continued our downward slide, from bad to worse.

But how much worse could it possibly get?

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Then, on 19 October 2019, the situation erupted. The revolution began. The country was declared bankrupt. Nevertheless, we remained hopeful for a better future, for a more dignified existence. People put up with the lack of money, food and water, for they believed the situation was only temporary. They believed better times would come.

But better times did not come and, on 4 August 2020, we were dealt the fatal blow. The Beirut port exploded and Beirut was devastated.

The explosion was felt even in the camp, in our convent and in people’s homes, wounding our hearts. Many children were traumatized by the event and still suffer from anxiety.

Unfortunately, the revolution has not brought about the desired solution and COVID-19 has only increased the chaos. We have endured lockdown after lockdown, without any help of the government

for its people — a crucified people, a people who has begged and still prays fervently for deliverance.

These were difficult times for us, Little Sisters, and very busy days: caring for the sick; responding to urgent needs; trying to find food for families without income; searching for milk for hungry babies, all while offering hospitality and listening to the people, despite all of the COVID-19 restrictions.

During this period, the Lebanese currency imploded, causing unprecedented inflation. Currently, more than 60 percent of the Lebanese population — once largely middle class — now lives below the absolute poverty line.

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he days and months follow one another at a frenetic pace. As I write this in January 2022, the situation continues to go from bad to worse. The descent into hell seems endless. Winter is harsh

We are here simply to ‘be there’ for them, listening to their stories, understanding more deeply their experiences — even in the words they do not speak. and cold. Everything is difficult and problematic, and everything is lacking here. There is little or no work; no income, therefore, little or no money; not enough food; no electricity; no water; no oil to heat our houses, and the price of a generator is often greater than a person’s meager income.

I can continue the lamentations, but not everything is darkness and misery. Over the past year, we have often experienced how God provides and is close to his children in Dbayeh with tenderness. He has

sent angels with richly filled boxes of food for all the inhabitants, without distinction, so that no one would starve. Others have provided assistance with health care or children’s education. The residents of the camp are grateful for their generosity, grateful to all those who illuminate their daily lives and do not extinguish the small flame of hope. May God bless them!

And we, Little Sisters of Nazareth, try to care for this little flame. Our strength and our joy are the words of Jesus of Nazareth, who reminds

us that “ ‘whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me’ ” (Mt 25:40). And every day he sends us out to our brethren, saying, “ ‘Give them some food yourselves’ ” (Mk 6:37).

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Líbano, un País de Neveras Vacías por Alicia Medina con fotografías de Raghida Skaff

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na gélida mañana en Deir el Ahmar, Salwa abre la puerta de su casa y recibe, muy abrigada, a los padres Shadi y Youhanna de la Eparquía Maronita Católica Baalbek-Deir el Ahmar que le traen un paquete de alimentos básicos, como arroz, alubias, harina o pasta.

Rodeada de cordilleras nevadas, esta región rural del norte de Líbano es una de las más pobres del país.

A sus 83 años, Salwa vive sola pero los sacerdotes están al tanto de si le faltan medicinas para el alivio de dolores o un plato caliente.

“Llevo casi un año sin comer carne”, confiesa Salwa mientras revisa el paquete. Bienestar para el Cercano Oriente Católico (CNEWA por sus siglas en inglés), conocida en el Oriente Medio como Misión Pontificia, ha repartido, a través de trece organizaciones asociadas, 25,000 paquetes de alimentos a 7,000 familias en Líbano en el año 2021.

Salwa es una de las 3 millones de personas que necesitan ayuda humanitaria en Líbano, un país sumergido en una de las diez peores crisis económicas a nivel global desde 1900, según el Banco Mundial. La moneda nacional ha perdido el 95 por ciento de su valor desde 2019, arrastrando al 74 por

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ciento de la población bajo el umbral de la pobreza. El 34 por ciento de los libaneses y el 50 por ciento de los refugiados sirios sufren inseguridad alimentaria.

El cambio oficial de la libra libanesa (LBP) está fijado a 1,500 libras por dólar, pero desde 2019 se ha desplomado alcanzando las 34,000 libras en el mercado paralelo.

Esta devaluación se traduce en penuria en los hogares. “¡Una ristra de ajos por 90,000 libras! [60 dólares al cambio oficial, 3 en el cambio paralelo.] Y ayer pagué 1,300,000 libras por el generador eléctrico y 400,000 por el gas butano, ¿cómo vamos a vivir así? ¡Es inaceptable!” exclama Salwa.

Desde hace meses, el gobierno proporciona apenas dos horas de electricidad al día, obligando a las familias a abastecerse con costosos generadores eléctricos.

Ayudándose de su bastón, Salwa va a la cocina y muestra su nevera: vacía.

Justo enfrente de su casa, se encuentra el edificio de la eparquía maronita y la Catedral San Jorge en lo alto de Deir el Ahmar, con vistas al fértil valle enmarcado por las montañas fronterizas con Siria.

Antes de que la crisis estallara en 2019, las 35 parroquias de la eparquía atendían a 50 familias

necesitadas. Hoy, 2,193 familias reciben el paquete de alimentos básicos.

“El kilo de carne vale 240,000 libras. Si una familia compra cuatro kilos, se les va el salario”, explica el Obispo Hanna Rahmé de BaalbekDeir el Ahmar. Los precios de los alimentos han incrementado un 557 por ciento en los dos últimos años.

“Esto es una catástrofe no vista en Líbano desde la Primera Guerra Mundial y la Gran Hambruna del Monte Líbano”, alerta el obispo Rahmé. “Hablamos de familias que no tienen para comer, que sufren en silencio, pedimos ayuda para evitar el colapso total del pueblo libanés, no podemos aceptar que la gente pase hambre”, añade.

El Banco Mundial señala como responsables de la crisis a la clase política libanesa por sus políticas ineficaces y corruptelas y estima que la economía libanesa tardará entre 12 y 19 años en recuperar los niveles de 2017.

El salario mínimo, que equivalía a 450 dólares, hoy no llega a los 23.

Rose, una libanesa, recibe una vital ayuda, un paquete de alimentos enviado por CNEWA, del Padre Youhanna Maroun. Foto tomada en Deir El Ahmar, Eparquía Maronita Católica de Baalbek-Deir el Ahmar.

CUIDADO PARA LOS MARGINADOS

Entre 2019 y 2021, el producto interno bruto libanés se ha contraído un 58.1 por ciento, evaporando la clase media.

Laurette formaba parte de esa clase media. Hace ocho años, esta libanesa dejó su trabajo como enfermera en un hospital en Beirut y volvió a su pueblo, Deir el Ahmar.

Con sus ahorros arregló la casa familiar y abrió una pequeña bodega en su planta baja. “Gracias a Dios, saqué los ahorros del banco antes de la crisis”, explica en referencia al colapso bancario que Pág. anterior: Zahra Al Hamad, su hijo y amigos de su hijo, quienes viven en un viejo edificio, comparten un desayuno. Campamento Dbayeh.

en los dos últimos años ha cercenado los ahorros de los libaneses.

La bodega le permitía salir del paso, pero la cerró el año pasado.

“Con la crisis, nadie venía a comprar, los suministros se encarecieron y no tenía beneficio”, cuenta Laurette. A sus 60 años recibe el paquete de alimentos de la eparquía. “La situación es muy difícil, vivo día a día”.

Al igual que Laurette, Akel dejó Beirut por Deir el Ahmar. Este padre de dos hijos trabajaba estacionando autos en la capital libanesa, pero la empresa cerró cuando COVID-19 azotó Líbano.

Hoy sobrevive con algún ingreso informal cuidando cerdos.

Con gesto cansado, Akel espera su turno para recoger el paquete de alimentos en la eparquía. “Es la primera vez en mi vida que pido ayuda”, cuenta este libanés de 39 años. “Nos cuesta incluso comprar la leche para nuestros hijos, esto es una catástrofe, si tuviera la posibilidad de emigrar lo haría”, añade.

El Padre Paul Kairouz, rector de la Catedral San Jorge, se muestra inquieto por el número de familias que han emigrado. “Nos da miedo el gran éxodo, la gente busca maneras de obtener sustento y en Líbano no lo encuentran, necesitamos apoyo para poder permitir que estas familias se queden en esta tierra”, urge.

“Un proverbio árabe dice e‘ l mundo se tambaleará, pero no caerá’, tenemos que resistir, hay esperanza”.

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Conexión CNEWA, Líbano Los niños de Rose sonríen para la cámara. Foto tomada en Deir El Ahmar, Eparquía Maronita Católica de Baalbek-Deir el Ahmar.

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n los últimos años, miles de libaneses han emigrado en lo que se ha apodado el ‘tercer éxodo’. En el primer éxodo, durante la Gran Hambruna y la Primera Guerra Mundial, 300,000 abandonaron estas tierras y otros 900,000 lo harían en el segundo éxodo durante la Guerra Civil Libanesa (1975-1990).

En 2011, el estallido de la guerra siria obligó a Rose y su familia, que vivía del pasturaje en Hama, a buscar refugio en Líbano. Tras la llegada de 1.5 millón de sirios, Líbano se convirtió en el país con mayor índice de refugiados per cápita del mundo.

Rose, su marido y sus ocho hijos viven en una escuálida tienda de plástico y madera en un ‘asentamiento informal’ de refugiados en Deir el Ahmar. “Antes sobrevivíamos, pero este es el momento más difícil de nuestra vida”, explica Rose, angustiada por el precio del pan que ha pasado de 1,500 a 12,000 libras.

“Estamos saliendo del paso gracias a la eparquía”, dice tras recoger el paquete de alimentos.

El 91 por ciento de los refugiados sirios en Líbano vive en la extrema pobreza con menos de 490,000 libras mensuales (16 dólares en el mercado paralelo).

Su marido está incapacitado para trabajar por una lesión de espalda.

“Estoy cansada psicológicamente, a veces no consigo dormirme por las noches, ¿cómo vamos a salir de esta?” se pregunta. “A veces mis hijos me piden galletas, y soy incapaz de dárselas, me miran de una manera … se me encoge el corazón”, añade con voz apagada.

En lo alto de la colina al norte de Beirut, se asienta el campamento de refugiados de Dbayeh. En un

La presencia de Bienestar para el Cercano Oriente Católico (CNEWA) en el Líbano, a través de su oficina de la Misión Pontificia, es de larga duración. Ya sea que se ocupe de los refugiados, los desplazados internos o los pobres y marginados, los programas holísticos de CNEWA se centran en la mente, el cuerpo y el alma.

Eso nunca ha estado más claro que después de la explosión del puerto en agosto de 2020, que no solo hizo estallar gran parte de la histórica Beirut, sino también los últimos hilos de los frágiles sistemas políticos y socioeconómicos del Líbano.

El trabajo de CNEWA para alimentar a la población, cada vez más carente de alimentos, del Líbano, descrito en este artículo, es solo un componente de nuestro trabajo allí, que también incluye revitalizar el alguna vez próspero sector de atención médica del Líbano y reforzar sus escuelas católicas, que están en peligro de cerrar.

Líbano tardará años en sanar de sus heridas económicas, físicas, espirituales y psicológicas. Pero su apoyo marca la diferencia.

Llame al 1-866-322-4441 (Canadá) o al 1-800-442-6392 (Estados Unidos) para saber cómo puede ayudar.

edificio semi abandonado vive Zahra al Hamad con su marido, cinco hijos y su cuñada. El azul intenso del mar mediterráneo y su helada brisa invernal se cuelan por la ventana de su sala.

La familia Al Hamad huyó de los bombardeos en Idlib, una ciudad en Siria, en 2014. Hoy, los trabajos informales de su marido no cubren las 700,000 libras de alquiler ni las 800,000 del generador eléctrico.

“Tenemos muchas deudas, le debo hasta al verdulero”, explica Zahra.

Los tres paquetes de alimentos que han recibido del Joint Christian Committee ( JCC), uno de los socios de CNEWA, le dan un pequeño respiro. “Somos siete en casa, los precios están imposibles, un kilo de patatas son 14,000 libras y del pollo olvídate”, dice esta madre siria.

“A veces mis hijos me piden una bolsa de papitas chip, y no puedo comprársela”.

La familia Al Hamad es una de las 80 familias sirias que conviven con las 535 familias palestinas y libanesas en el campamento de

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refugiados de Dbayeh, fundado en 1952 para acoger a los refugiados palestinos cristianos.

Por las empinadas calles, ataviadas con buganvillas y pinos, pasea el palestino Elias Habib, director del Joint Christian Committee parándose cada dos pasos a conversar con los vecinos.

El JCC, con apoyo de CNEWA, ha distribuido paquetes de alimentos a 550 familias en el campamento de Dbayeh.

Muchas familias “sobreviven gracias a la ayuda de los familiares en el extranjero, de la diáspora”, cuenta Elias quien apremia a que continúen las donaciones desde el extranjero. “Necesitamos un empujón”, dice.

Cyrine, de 16 años, y Vanesa, de 18 años, son dos de las voluntarias que ayudaron en la distribución de alimentos. “Ayudamos muchísimo, es duro ver a la gente que vive en la pobreza, pero al ayudar me sentí realizada”, dice la palestina Cyrine.

“Es bonito ayudar, pero también es duro escuchar el dolor de la gente”, confiesa Vanesa, joven libanesa que aspira a ser psicóloga.

El sofá de la Hermana Magdalena es testigo de ese dolor. “Dedico mi tiempo a acoger a las personas en este sofá, se sientan, y las escucho”, explica esta religiosa belga que vive en el campamento de Dbayeh desde 1987.

“Hacemos apostolado por la presencia, y con la presencia vemos las necesidades de la gente”, afirma la Hermana Magdalena, al tiempo que le interrumpe un niño que entra a la sala para que le curen una herida en su dedo. A sus 77 años, la Hermana Magdalena vive con otras dos hermanas de Hermanitas de Nazareth en una casa cedida por CNEWA. “Hemos visto crecer generaciones aquí y hemos visto cambiar este campo”, explica la Hermana Magdalena. “La vida se ha tornado muy difícil, lo más grave es que

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las familias ven vulnerados sus derechos, se sienten humillados, hay mucha depresión”, añade.

Recientemente, gracias a donaciones en Bélgica, han logrado traer leche para niños menores de tres años.

La palestina Lara Abou Elias es una de las que recibió leche para su bebé, además del paquete de alimentos. Antes de la crisis, el sueldo de su marido les daba para mantenerse. Hoy pasan “estrecheces económicas”, pero se resiste a quejarse. “Gracias a Dios tenemos un techo, una mesa en la que comer. Hay señoras mayores que comen de la basura, hay padres que envían a sus hijos a vender rosas por la calle”, explica.

En una calle paralela, vive en un semisótano la libanesa Jessica Massis con su marido, que trabaja estacionando autos, y su hijo de un año. Su familia le ayuda a pagar el combustible para la estufa que a

Randa Krayem, una mujer paralítica, es beneficiaria de RAM.

duras penas mantiene caliente la habitación.

El techo del dormitorio está plagado de humedad. “Al bebé le afecta la humedad; pasa más tiempo en casa de mi madre, aquí se enferma”, explica. El paquete de alimentos y el apoyo de su familia “nos ayuda para salir del paso, sino no sé cómo sobreviviríamos”, se lamenta Jessica.

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na tarde lluviosa, Rita Mallat, presidenta de la Asociación de los Hijos de María (RAM por sus siglas en árabe), se afana en recibir a las 50 familias que esa tarde recogen sus paquetes de alimentos en la oficina de RAM en la ciudad de Dbayeh.

Por ahora han distribuido paquetes a 810 familias de las

1,450 que tienen registradas, las otras 640 familias están a la espera.

“Nuestro objetivo es poder conseguir fondos para repartir paquetes de alimentos cada dos meses a cada familia”, explica Rita.

Cuatro horas ha conducido Abed el Jabbar Ahmad el Said para recoger su paquete. “Todo está muy negro, hay que intentar salir adelante”, explica este joven de Wadi Khaled, uno de los pueblos más pobres del norte de Líbano.

Cuando Abed se enteró por redes sociales de que RAM distribuía sillas de ruedas para personas con necesidades especiales contactó con Rita. El hermano de Abed tiene 28 años y es parapléjico de nacimiento; hace cuatro meses, gracias a RAM, se sentó en su primera silla de ruedas.

“El Estado libanés está ausente, ha abandonado a las personas con necesidades especiales, por eso en RAM sentimos que es nuestro deber estar a su lado para que puedan vivir en dignidad”, explica Rita.

Abed, tras perder a su padre dos semanas atrás, se ha convertido en el sostén de su hermano parapléjico y su madre, que sufre diabetes. Su trabajo intermitente en un restaurante no le permite pagar el generador eléctrico. La familia sobrevive con una hora de electricidad diaria. “Esta mañana ha helado. Para calentarnos con la estufa recojo leña”, explica este libanés antes de emprender las cuatro horas de vuelta a su casa.

A la entrada de la oficina de RAM, descansa un antiguo Mercedes blanco con pedales adaptados. Es el coche de Fouad Said, quien desde que fuera herido durante la guerra libanesa en 1976, se mueve en silla de ruedas.

Fouad se ganaba la vida como taxista en ese Mercedes del que está muy orgulloso, pero hace cuatro años las autoridades libanesas no le renovaron la licencia, arrebatándole su sustento.

A sus 60 años, recibe el paquete de alimentos, aunque hoy no ha venido a recogerlo, sino a apoyar en el reparto.

Al final de la tarde, Rita carga en su coche un paquete y conduce hasta la casa de Randa Krayem.

Randa trabajaba decorando porcelana, pero con la crisis se acabaron los pedidos. “Antes, con mi trabajo me sentía realizada, no dependía de nadie, pero ahora, me encuentro en situación de necesidad”, explica esta libanesa que, tras ser herida en 1987 durante la guerra, quedó parapléjica.

Aunque admite que está cansada psicológicamente, Randa no pierde la esperanza. “Nuestro Dios no nos abandonará, la fuerza me viene de Él, nunca me ha dejado en mi vida ni me dejará”, dice emocionada.

“RAM nos da fuerza, nos hace sentir que podemos hacer algo por otros, sin ese sentimiento de hacer algo por el prójimo, no hay felicidad, RAM es mi familia”, añade.

“Hubo un tiempo en que en Líbano abrimos nuestros brazos y acogimos a todos los refugiados que huyeron de sus países, hoy son los libaneses los que necesitan ayuda, no tienen para comer”, dice Rita mientras se le quiebra la voz. “No abandonen a Líbano, ayúdennos,” añade.

En 2022, CNEWA espera repartir ayuda alimentaria a 5,671 familias y para ello necesitan recaudar 700,000 dólares. “Un proverbio árabe dice ‘el mundo se tambaleará, pero no caerá’, tenemos que resistir, hay esperanza”, explica Michel Constantin, director regional de CNEWA en Beirut. Llenar la nevera es cuestión de dignidad.

Alicia Medina es una periodista independiente española con base en el Líbano desde 2018. Su trabajo ha sido publicado en medios internacionales como News Deeply, Syria Direct, Syria Untold, DW y Radio France International.

Ayude a Sanar los Dolores que Causa el Hambre en las Familias del Líbano cnewa.org/es cnewa.org I cnewa.ca

__ __ __ __ __

Las familias libanesas dieron la bienvenida a CNEWA en sus hogares y, ante la cámara, compartieron sus luchas de la vida real. Escuche sus historias, disponibles en inglés y español, en

cnewa.org/blog cnewa.org/es/blog

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Wounded Healers Iraqi sisters offer health care to the poor, refugees in Jordan text by Dale Gavlak with photographs by Yazan Hmoud

Sister Habiba Toma speaks to patients in the waiting area of Mother of Mercy Clinic in Zerqa, Jordan.

A densely populated city of about 800,000, Zerqa is largely impoverished, lacking infrastructure and employment opportunities.

While its civic leaders have worked to address the city’s economic challenges and improve the quality of life, Zerqa also has been home to Islamists and extremists, who find anonymity in its crowded quarters.

Sister Habiba, head physician Dr. Ibrahim Kamil Alghabash and the staff empathize deeply with the clinic’s disadvantaged patients.

They themselves are “wounded healers.”

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ister Habiba relates how she and her other sisters were forced to flee Qaraqosh, Iraq, a thriving Christian commercial town of 50,000 people in the Nineveh Plain outside of Mosul, when ISIS swept through in August 2014.

“We vowed we would be the last to leave because we had to ensure other townspeople were safely out,” she says of that traumatic, fearful ordeal.

“Escaping in the middle of the night on foot and by vehicle, we headed north toward the Kurdish area of Erbil seeking safety. We fled under the threat of having to pay the Islamic jizya protection tax or be killed by the militants,” says the older, spritely nun in earnest, her eyes widening.

“All along the way, there were constant stops at checkpoints. We made room in our vehicle for fleeing mothers and put children on our laps until we reached St. Joseph’s Chaldean Catholic Cathedral in Ankawa,” Sister Habiba explains.

Despite experiencing their own trauma and loss, she and the other sisters cared for the thousands of Christians who fled their homes and businesses. Having lost all their possessions, many of these people had only the clothes on their backs

and slept on church pews and on mattresses strewn on the floors of churches, youth centers and schools.

As she recounts the story, Sister Habiba points to the sun shining through the clinic’s kitchen window.

“Later we were housed in trailers in Ankawa, where there was just one tiny window,” she says, her voice trailing off.

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wo other sisters who are nurses, Sister Ibtisam Girguis and Sister Maryann Kamii, serve at the clinic with Sister Habiba. They are both from Batnaya, an Iraqi town that had been overrun by ISIS militants as well. Sister Maryann, who has been at the clinic for 11 years, is currently working on a Ph.D. in counseling in view of helping young people discern their future after experiencing the trauma of conflict or the coronavirus pandemic. Sister Ibtisam has been at the clinic only four years.

Sister Habiba, also from Iraq, has been in Jordan the longest among the three, having served there in various capacities on and off for more than 14 years. She started at the clinic in 2001, but was reassigned to Iraq in 2010. She returned to Jordan seven years later with the defeat of ISIS to serve at the clinic once again.

Dr. Alghabash is a Palestinian refugee, originally from Jaffa. He had won a United Nations scholarship to study medicine in Egypt and later came to the Zerqa clinic, where he has been working for the past 30 years.

“My family and I have been refugees since 1948. I like to work here because we assist the refugees and poor around this industrial area and those living in the surrounding harsh desert region,” he says.

“I feel good when I give my expertise and help to these people, because as refugees, we suffer. And

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HEALTH CARE PROGRAMS

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talls displaying used clothing and other colorful wares flank either side of the church compound in which the Mother of Mercy Clinic is located. The clinic offers medical care to tens of thousands of refugees and poor locals living in and around Zerqa, Jordan’s industrial hub.

Sister Habiba Toma, who oversees the clinic, comes outside to welcome her visitors. Housed in an older building of cut limestone blocks, the traditional building material found throughout Jordan, the clinic is immaculate, wellmaintained and fully equipped.

Administered by the Dominican Sisters of St. Catherine of Siena since 2001 and funded by Pontifical Mission, CNEWA’s operating agency in the Middle East, the clinic provides prenatal and neonatal care for the city’s poor women and children, as well as medical treatment to many others needing care.

The clinic was established more than 30 years ago by CNEWAPontifical Mission with the Franciscan Missionaries of the Divine Motherhood, an English community of sisters who then worked in Jordan to combat the kingdom’s high infant mortality rate.

Located 12 miles northeast of the Jordanian capital of Amman, Zerqa was founded at the turn of the previous century by Chechens displaced by the wars between the Ottoman Turks and tsarist Russia.

Later, Palestinian refugees found refuge there, and the United Nations set up a camp to offer immediate aid. Refugees from other countries — Bangladesh, Iraq and Syria — have since settled at the camp, situated near the Latin Catholic compound of St. Pius X of which the clinic is a part.

as Palestinian refugees, we have suffered for a long time and are still suffering,” he says, his brown eyes expressing sorrow.

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t the clinic’s door, one of the sisters welcomes patients and takes their temperature before allowing them entry. The clinic is pristine. Patients are instructed to use hand sanitizer, while masks and gloves are also available for those who need them.

Patients represent more than 20 nationalities, although the majority is Jordanian, says Sister Maryann.

She points to the clinic’s online report, which demonstrates the diversity: Egyptians, Palestinians,

Syrians and other Middle Eastern nationalities, including Kuwaitis, Yemenis, Saudis and Lebanese, as well as those further afield from Bangladesh, Myanmar, Romania and Turkey. Most patients are Muslim.

“Our specialty is maternity and child health. We have a vaccination program, excluding coronavirus vaccines, for children from the age of 1 to 1½ years old. But we also treat adults, both men and women, for a variety of diseases and infections,” she explains.

“We follow up with pregnant women from the first week of pregnancy through the ninth month when the mother decides which

hospital to deliver her baby,” adds Sister Habiba. “We offer ultrasounds and a variety of tests, including protein, diabetes, routine urine, general chemistry, stool and others.

Visits are scheduled weekly or monthly.”

The clinic also has a female doctor, several nurses, a pharmacy and a well-appointed lab for ultrasounds and other tests.

Rasha Khalil al Toum, the social worker at the clinic, teaches people about disease prevention and helps those struggling with autism and a variety of personal and social challenges, including financial and psychological stress, and family or marital issues.

“By receiving• these people with a smile and kindness, we look to restore the bonds of love, friendship and faith, acknowledging • • that there is no refuge • except in God.”

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The

CNEWA Connection

At right, Dr. Ibrahim Kamil Alghabash, the clinic’s head physician. Bottom left, a doctor at the clinic gives an infant a routine vaccination.

Some patients will exhibit symptoms, such as tension headaches, sleep problems, shortness of breath and abdominal pain, that are psychosomatic.

Others suffer from psychological disorders of varying degrees, from mild to severe, including depression, mood disorders, phobias and anxiety.

One of the biggest challenges is “a lack of awareness of the importance of mental health and psychotherapy,” says Ms. Al Toum.

“They seem to know little about the effective methods of education and behavior modification.”

“Some parents seem to be unaware of the importance of valuing childhood,” she adds. “So, they need instruction on the best methods to raise their children.”

Children in difficult parenting situations and requiring assistance may suffer from pronunciation delay, involuntary urination and distraction.

“The clinic provides support and assistance as much as possible to sensitive cases of women suffering domestic abuse or other forms of violence,” Ms. Al Toum continues.

“We listen to them, provide psychological support, and show them all available options to help them make decisions about their lives.”

“We see results that are good and quite advanced in treating children or women,” says Sister Habiba.

“This is very important for us, especially in providing psychological counseling.”

“I see our service as very important, especially for the poor, because we do not consider any class or religious differences, just people in need of medical

For nearly a century, the church has been a health care force in Jordan, beginning with Amman’s Italian Hospital founded in 1926.

CNEWA has long collaborated with women religious who provide health care to the poorest of the poor, including the Comboni Missionaries in Amman and Kerak, the Rosary Sisters in Irbid, the Franciscan Missionaries of the Divine Motherhood, whose mobile clinics took on Jordan’s once high infant mortality rate, the Dominican Sisters of St. Catherine of Siena in Zerqa and the Dominican Sisters of the Presentation in Amman. Whether in refugee camps or impoverished villages, CNEWA is present through these valiant servants. They have much to do, as the need remains great.

Call 1-800-442-6392 (United States) or 1-866-322-4441 (Canada) to help.

treatment,” she adds. “We see God in every person, and when we serve them, we feel that we are serving God as well.”

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ordan enforced a tough lockdown in spring 2020 in a bid to combat the spread of the coronavirus, which gripped the resource-poor Arab country, seeing many businesses shuttered and unemployment skyrocket from 17 to 25 percent.

In this same period, the Mother of Mercy Clinic stepped up to meet the many challenges posed by COVID-19, even exceeding past performance.

“From the start of the pandemic, our clinic has been sanitized every month, following Pontifical

Mission’s directives, including the wearing of masks and gloves.

Everything is meticulously cleaned and disinfected, including door handles,” Sister Habiba explains.

“The Jordanian Ministry of Health visits numerous times to inspect our facilities and they see that all is fine.”

“More people are coming to our clinic because they feel safe here,” she adds. “They know we are taking the necessary precautions and measures, so they have confidence to come here. They trust us and they know we are worried about the condition of their health.”

Due to the need for social distancing, the elder sister is often instructing patients to sit further apart on the wooden benches lining

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Rasha al Sheikh and her younger daughter, Rand, wait for medical staff in an examination room.

people out of the nearly 18,000 patients in 2021. The rest paid at greatly reduced rates.

“We have helped a lot of people who have no money, no jobs or who have lost their jobs. Most of the financial assistance for the clinic comes from Pontifical Mission and we are very grateful for this generous support,” Sister Maryann says.

T “We see God in every person, and when we serve them, we feel that we are serving • God as well.” the clinic’s waiting area corridor.

A nurse teaches patients as they wait about the necessary hygiene measures to combat the spread of the coronavirus. One woman sits quietly, listening as she cradles her tiny baby. The baby wears a white cap embroidered with the phrase, “I (heart) Mom.” Colorful pictures of babies and children adorn the waiting area walls, along with information for visitors on how to stay safe during the pandemic, medical advice for pregnant mothers and those struggling with Hepatitis A, bladder infections and other disorders.

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Dr. Alghabash says he has noticed more psychosomatic symptoms among patients due to the pandemic and the harsh living conditions they face. The poor are most affected by the pandemic, lacking the funds to meet daily needs for their families.

“Every morning, they think about how they will manage the day and how they will provide food and other necessities for their families,” he says. “It’s not just a one-time concern, but it continues always.”

Sister Maryann says the clinic spent 33,023 Jordanian Dinars (US $46,577) on providing free health care services, including lab work and pharmaceutical costs, to 15,225

he clinic has built up a loyal following over the decades, as well as drawing those who are new to Zerqa.

Ghadeer Hazim Jalayleh, a Jordanian Palestinian Muslim, sits in the waiting area, wearing a black headscarf.

“After I married seven years ago, I started coming here. I love this Catholic clinic,” says the 30-yearold. “I’ve now had three children and I’ve brought each one here for vaccinations and check-ups and the monitoring during my pregnancies.

The staff treat us warmly and well.”

“In other places, we wait for a long time to see a doctor or to get test results. Not so here,” continues Mrs. Jalayleh, recounting the reasons the Mother of Mercy Clinic is her first choice. “Everything is prompt and professional. We can quickly see a doctor or staff and have confidence in knowing they are competent.

“But there is added value here, because of the relationship the staff fosters with patients,” she adds.

“There is a personal touch. You’re not treated just as a number.”

Wearing a traditional keffiyeh headscarf, Farhan Tamun stands out among the women and their babies.

The 27-year-old father plops his tiny son, Ibrahim, on a cushioned examination table surrounded by colorful pictures of animals and other objects.

“My family and I came to Zerqa fleeing the conflict in Syria in 2013,” says Mr. Tamun. “We escaped the bombing and fighting in our hometown of Homs. We have nothing to go back to, as our home was destroyed. It was a physically grueling journey, most of it on foot and occasional travel by car. It took us 13 days to arrive because Homs is very far from Jordan.

“Now, I am married with three children and I’ve come to this clinic for help with them all,” he says. “Somehow, being in this environment I can forget some of my problems and feel relaxed in knowing that this is a good and safe place.”

“Life for refugees is not easy,” he continues. “I am unable to find permanent employment in a restaurant or pizza shop, so I try to work as a day laborer. And it has been especially difficult to find work during the coronavirus pandemic, so the help provided here is really appreciated. I am grateful the nuns are taking great care of the refugees who come here.”

Iraqi Christian refugees Savio Metty, his wife, Aynaq, and their 6-year-old daughter, Maryam, are also regulars at the clinic. Mr. Metty, a security guard at the nearby Catholic parish church, is having his diabetes condition checked by the doctor. The family fled to Jordan in 2019, after their village was overrun with ISIS militants. They had sought shelter at a camp for internally displaced people in Ankawa, before leaving for Zerqa. They hope to resettle in Australia.

“We are thankful for all the services provided to my family by the sisters and this clinic. We don’t know how we would be able to manage without them,” says Mr. Metty, 33.

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ister Habiba puts into words her sense of calling at the clinic.

“I try to be with the patients and feel what they feel. I want to be beside them and try to help them as much as possible, spiritually, emotionally and with free medical services, if that is what is needed,” says Sister Habiba. “Of course, I always pray for them.”

“I want to help as well those who are refugees, who once lived well, had their own homes, businesses and finances, and now they have nothing,” the sister explains. “Many have no jobs, so when they have health problems, I really want to see them treated, but our finances are also tight as costs rise.”

“I try to call Pontifical Mission sometimes for some refugees requiring surgery or for help with the delivery of their babies. And Pontifical Mission always assists them by providing funds for medication,” Sister Habiba explains, praising the consistent assistance made possible thanks to benevolent donors around the world.

She says she tries to help refugees find work by calling on those known in the community and by supplying some foodstuffs, baby formula and blankets through donations.

“We have dedicated our lives to God’s service and so we are in the service of everyone he puts along our path. We spread his love, tenderness and care to those in poverty, sickness and every kind of distress,” she says.

“We know that, without this clinic, the poor would be greatly hurt. But by receiving these people with a smile and kindness, we look to restore the bonds of love, friendship and faith, acknowledging that there is no refuge except in God.” Based in the Middle East for the past 30 years, Dale Gavlak has reported for CNEWA from Iraq, Egypt and Jordan.

Your gift can help her give even more cnewa.org I cnewa.ca

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‘Go and Do Likewise’ Samaritan Sisters heed call to help children with special needs text by Anubha George with photographs by Sajeendran V.S.

Sister Pushpam Francis Akkara attends to Aswin Rajesh during an occupational therapy session at Snehadeepthi Special School.

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Sister Pushpam Francis Akkara, the school principal, stands at the front door and waves to visitors as they approach. She has a warm smile. Aswin Prince, a 12-year-old student, is beside her. He has been living at Snehadeepthi since he was 6. His parents divorced and his mother supports him at the school. She visits when her job allows.

Aswin sings beautifully, but the lyrics have no connection with the tune because he cannot remember them.

Most children at Snehadeepthi have intellectual disabilities, some have severe behavioral problems or are autistic,” says Sister Pushpam, a member of the Congregation of the Samaritan Sisters, which operates the school.

The congregation was founded

by Father Paul Chittilapilly in 1961. He was teaching chemistry at a college in Thrissur, an economic hub in Kerala, when he saw the misery of those suffering from Hansen’s disease. Touched by their need, he established the

CARE FOR THE MARGINALIZED

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ango orchards line either side of the driveway to Snehadeepthi Special School, a facility for children with special needs. The air feels fresh and fragrant. Thousands of tiny mango flowers are in bloom. Tall coconut trees sway in the breeze.

Snehadeepthi is located on a sprawling eight-acre campus in Mannuthy, a small town known for its hundreds of garden centers and plant nurseries in the Syro-Malabar Archeparchy of Trichur in the southwestern Indian state of Kerala.

The

CNEWA Connection

CNEWA has long supported the Samaritan Sisters and their work among the most vulnerable. In addition to supporting the formation of novices through CNEWA’s novice sponsorship program, CNEWA provided the Snehadeepthi Special School last year with funding for therapeutic equipment, furniture and electrical work.

To learn more, call 1-866-322-4441 (Canada) or 1-800-442-6392 (United States).

Damien Leprosy Institute in Mulayam, outside Thrissur, to care for those with this disease. As the number of patients grew, he founded the Samaritan Sisters to assist with the mission.

The congregation’s motto is “Go and do likewise” (Lk 10:37) — the directives Jesus gives his disciples at the end of the parable of the Good Samaritan — becoming messengers of Christ’s love.

Care for people with leprosy remains the main concern of the Samaritan Sisters. While the Indian government claims Hansen’s disease was eradicated in India in 2005, at least 120,000 new cases of the illness are reported in the country each year, accounting for nearly 60 percent of cases worldwide. The main reason for this ongoing infection rate is lack of awareness about the persistence of this disease, so early symptoms are often ignored. If caught early, however, Hansen’s disease can be treated and cured.

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Sister Pushpam was caring for patients with Hansen’s disease in Dhanbad, a rapidly growing city in the eastern Indian state of Jharkhand, when she was called to return to Kerala in 1999 to help establish Snehadeepthi. The sisters had decided to extend their original mission to include care for other poor and marginalized populations.

Sister Pushpam has been at Snehadeepthi since it opened as a day school in 2000. Only two years later, it started a residential program to help meet the needs of the local community. The school also offers therapy sessions by appointment to children with special needs from the local community, to assist them in their development.

“Some parents had to work night shifts and had other children to take care of,” she says. “Or there were elderly grandparents at home, so it wasn’t possible for parents to give proper attention to a child with special needs.”

The school’s 155 students range in age from 3 to 40 years old. Of these, 90 are day students and 65 are residential. However, at the height of COVID-19, most of the residential students returned to their families. They only recently started trickling back to school.

“We follow COVID protocol strictly,” Sister Pushpam says. “But parents still worry. So, it’s fair that they stay home until mom and dad feel confident enough to send them back.”

“Everyone is struggling during COVID. It’s not just financial, but mental, emotional and spiritual as well,” she continues. “Life as we knew it doesn’t exist anymore.”

The school is served by six sisters and a 26-member staff, including teachers, therapists, drivers, helpers and a handyman.

“We also have dance and music teachers coming in every day because that’s an important part of what we offer here, and some children are talented dancers and singers,” says Sister Pushpam.

The majority of students are Hindu, with some Christians and Muslims. Tuition is free and parents contribute what they can toward the upkeep and maintenance of the school. Most parents are day laborers, though some are teachers or work in banks or offices.

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he school day starts at 10 a.m. with an assembly that includes prayer, exercise and the recitation of India’s oath of allegiance. A student rounds up the day’s news, informing peers about what is happening in India and Kerala regarding COVID-19. Then, there is another routine of simple exercises, before the assembly concludes with the national anthem, and students go off to their respective assignments. Some go to class. Others go to therapy or to the vocation center, adjacent to the main school building.

Sister Jisna and physiotherapist Anjalo James assist a student, Joel Anto, during a physical therapy session. Opposite, students at Snehadeepthi Special School in a dance lesson with their dance teacher, Sanitha.

“We felt the students needed not just to study, but to learn skills that would come in handy,” Sister Pushpam says.

The vocation center, which began in 2010, teaches students how to garden, arrange flowers, and make candles, paper bags and other simple objects. The sisters deposit money in a bank for students who do vocational work. Their families do not have access to these accounts to ensure students have exclusive funds for their personal needs, such as hospital visits, explains Sister Pushpam.

In one of the center’s workshops, Femi and other students make bouquets of artificial flowers. Her challenges are not obvious, but she has been at Snehadeepthi for six years. She is 22 years old.

For years, her father could not accept that his only child has autism. So, he would force Femi to do things he felt all “normal” children should do, such as study and take exams. More recently, he wanted her to get married. Femi’s mother, too, is autistic.

Femi’s aunt eventually enrolled her at Snehadeepthi. Her father has now come to understand she has special needs and is more empathetic toward her.

Conversations with the Samaritan Sisters and other teachers have helped him come to terms with his daughter’s situation.

“The trouble of the heart is the same whether you’re rich or poor,” Sister Pushpam says. “My heart goes out to the parents, because the children … can’t comprehend their situation. But the parents come to me and cry, worrying about what

“The children here need more attention, care and patience. They also deserve love and looking after.”

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“The trouble of the heart is the same whether you’re rich or poor.” will happen to their children, especially after they’ve passed.”

The sisters want to address this concern. When a student ages out of the institution, it is up to their family to find another place where they can spend the rest of their years. However, this can be a significant challenge.

Nixon Jose is 40. His parents died when he was younger. For years, he lived with his brother and attended Snehadeepthi as a day student.

However, he enrolled in the residential program in 2016, after his brother was diagnosed with leukemia. His brother visits whenever his health allows. Nixon spends a lot of time at the vocation center, where he gardens and makes candles and paper plates.

“We do have plans to extend Snehadeepthi’s services,” says Sister Pushpam. “So, students who are already with us can stay until the

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end of their time, if that’s what their families want.”

Sister Jisna assists a student with a craft in the school’s vocation center.

n the main school building, as part of an occupational therapy session, Aswin Rajesh, 14, builds a model airplane with therapist Anjalo James. Aswin’s father is a day laborer and his mother just had a baby. They enrolled Aswin at the school as they feared he might harm the baby. Aswin is known to have pushed children in front of oncoming vehicles while out on a walk. However, due his intellectual disability, he does not realize the full consequences of his actions.

“The children here need more attention, care and patience,” says Mr. James, who completed his master’s degree in social work last year and started working at the school three months ago.

Mr. James says he has always wanted to work with children with special needs.

“They also deserve love and looking after,” he adds. “They’re affectionate children.”

Nearby, Ishita Chandrakant is working on her speech with therapist Nanda S. Chully. Ishita’s parents are migrant workers from the western Indian state of Maharashtra. She comes to the school by appointment two times per week for speech therapy. Her sister with autism, Rituja, lives at Snehadeepthi.

“I find my work fulfilling and satisfying. Being able to help children is what I’ve always wanted to do,” says Ms. Chully, who has been working at the school for a year.

The sense of fulfillment is precisely what has motivated

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Fermin Sunny to stay on at the school for more than three years.

He is a handyman and ensures the school is secured at night, computers are switched off and teachers have what they need in their classrooms.

“I like working with children and playing with them,” he says. “They need respect and love just like the rest of us.”

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ister Pushpam shares her purpose for her life’s work.

She recalls how her parents were opposed to her vocation, but her heart was set on becoming a religious sister.

“I had a dream once that I was flying in the sky looking down at this place, which had thousands of huts,” she says.

Her dream became reality years later, when she flew over Mumbai and saw vast slums on the ground below as the plane prepared to land.

“That’s when I knew Christ was showing me the way and becoming a nun to be of service to others was the right thing for me,” she says.

As with many of her sisters in religious life, she is multilingual and has worked in different parts of India with many people who have been abandoned by their families and who are in need of help.

Through all this, it is her faith that keeps her grounded.

“I know Jesus is up there and it is he who has a plan for me to serve humanity. He gives me strength,” she says. “There has never ever been a time when I have doubted my faith in him.”

Sister Pushpam believes we need faith, not just in times of crisis or need, but at all times.

“Knowing that Christ is looking after us, that he cares, is so comforting,” she says. “You can lean on him, give your worries to him and believe what’s best for you will happen. It takes away all the stress.”

Then, she shares more about her students. So many come from poor or difficult family situations or from families overwhelmed by the children’s needs. For many students, the school serves as a safe haven.

Joyal came to Snehadeepthi at age 5. His parents are separated.

His mother works as a nurse in New Zealand to support herself, Joyal and her aged parents, who had looked after Joyal when he was a toddler. Due to his special needs, Joyal is unable to chew his food. He also cannot be left unattended, as he runs and climbs without understanding the risks. Looking after Joyal became too difficult for his grandparents as they aged, so they turned to Snehadeepthi. Joyal is now 10 years old.

Sachu, 6, has been at Snehadeepthi for about three months. He has intellectual challenges. His father, an engineer, and his mother, a doctor, are going through a divorce.

His twin sister lives with his mother.

Sachu’s father suffers from mental illness, which his mother’s family was not told about before they married. Sister Pushpam says Sachu’s family situation is common.

“A lot of the time, families keep mental health problems a secret or keep the other family in the dark about things that aren’t all right.

They believe marriage will solve all the problems or make things better, but it never does,” she says. “What we often see is that things only get worse with time.”

Sachu, however, is completely unaware of what is going on with his family. He has a care group to go to and he will enjoy coloring in class. He is excited about playing with crayons. That, to him, is the most important thing; it makes him happy.

Anubha George is a former BBC editor. She is a columnist and writer for various publications. She is based in Kerala, India.

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The Last Word: Perspectives From the President

by Msgr. Peter I. Vaccari

It is our natural right and sacred duty to defend our land and our people, our state and all that is dearest to us: family, language and culture, history and the spiritual world! We are a peaceful nation that loves children of all nations with Christian love, regardless of origin or belief, nationality or religious identity.

We do not infringe upon others and do not threaten anyone, but we have no right to give our own to anyone! At this historic moment, the voice of our conscience calls us all as one to stand up for a free, united and independent Ukrainian state!

The history of the last century teaches us that all those who started world wars lost them, and the idolaters of war brought only destruction and decline to their own states and peoples.

I

write these reflections at the end of February 2022.

The world still suffers from the horror of COVID-19, which has killed nearly six million people. Other disasters impact the world where CNEWA and Pontifical Mission serve, such as drought and food scarcity in the Horn of Africa. There is political instability throughout the Middle East, and anti-Christian violence in India.

Oppressive political, economic and banking crises affect large numbers of people whom we serve. Trust in all institutions, political and religious, is collapsing.

At this hour, Russia has invaded Ukraine by air, land and sea, from the east, the north and the south. This crisis threatens well beyond Russia and Ukraine. Please note that CNEWA and Pontifical Mission remain committed to three goals: prayers for justice and peace in the region, the dissemination of accurate information and collaboration with our partners in the coordination of aid, especially for those in need throughout Ukraine.

On 24 February, from a bunker under the Cathedral of the Resurrection in Kyiv, Major Archbishop Sviatoslav Shevchuk of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, issued an impassioned declaration. He wrote:

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We believe that in this historic moment the Lord is with us! He, who holds in his hands the fate of the whole world and of each person in particular, is always on the side of the victims of unjust aggression, the suffering and the enslaved. It is he who proclaims his holy name in the history of every nation, captures and overthrows the mighty of this world with their pride, the conquerors with the illusion of their omnipotence, the proud and insolent with their self-confidence. It is he who grants victory over evil and death. The victory of Ukraine will be the victory of God’s power over the meanness and arrogance of man! So it was, is and will be!

Our holy church-martyr has always been and always will be with its people! This church, which has already survived death and resurrection, as the body of the risen Christ, over which death has no power, the Lord gave to his people in the baptismal waters of the Dnipro River.

From the horrific images of suffering, death and destruction that inhabit our social media, print sources and the seemingly endless cacophony of empty political rhetoric, the Gospel and the prophetic vision of Pope Francis emerge as much-desired glimmers of hope.

In his encyclical letter, “Fratelli tutti, on Fraternity and Social Friendship,” the pope identifies a major theme as the need to build a new culture, a “culture of encounter.”

The Holy Father calls for “a need for peacemakers, men and women prepared to work boldly and creatively to initiate processes of healing and renewed encounter.”

We need “to cultivate a penitential memory.” Only the cultivation of such memory will permit us to move into the future.

Is this not true for our personal relationships, as well as in the relations of nation states?

Then, there is the role of reconciliation and forgiveness.

Some may see forgiveness as a sign of weakness.

Forgiveness is a central theme for the Christian. It is central to the message of Jesus, who tells us to forgive “seventy times seven” (Mt 18:22). However, forgiveness

never permits the oppressor to continue to oppress.

Forgiveness never means we forget: “The Shoah must not be forgotten,” the pope writes, nor can we forget “the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” Ultimately, we look to the crucified and risen Jesus, especially as we enter into the seasons of Great Lent and Easter. In his life, death and resurrection, the true meaning and mystery of the theodrama, God’s engagement in human history, is unlocked before us!

In these seasons of Lent and Easter, overwhelmed as we may feel at times by the enormity and omnipresence of suffering throughout the world, let us strive to be people of hope. Through our prayer, commitment to the truth, and generous self-giving through our gifts, we can emerge as instruments of hope pointing always to the source of hope, the crucified and risen Jesus!

Opposite, children say goodbye to their father as they are evacuated to Lviv from Kyiv in early March. Below, a Slovak priest gives drinks to Ukrainian refugees who crossed into eastern Slovakia on 25 February.

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