Kiev, September 1941: A Neighbor Facing Babi Yar

In late September 1941, Kiev has just fallen into the hands of the Wehrmacht. At the crossroads, posters order all the city's Jews to assemble on the morning of the 29th, near the freight station, bringing their papers, money, and warm clothing. The tone is administrative, almost reassuring: many believe in a transfer, a deportation to the east. You have lived on the same landing as a Jewish family for years. On the morning of the departure, you pass your neighbors on the staircase, suitcase in hand, convinced they will return.

The occupier has imposed a terrifying rule: helping a Jew, hiding one, feeding one means risking death, for yourself and your loved ones. The city teems with informers and watchful eyes monitoring every door. You already know, from the rumors, that the columns that set off toward the ravine at Babi Yar have not come back. Fear is everywhere, and so is uncertainty.

Your neighbors knock at your door as night falls, asking for shelter for a few days. Outside, the patrols pass. You must decide now.