This was a real, all-too-real, full-scale, total disaster

Illustrations: Esti Saposh

Chapter 1: Disaster

The war in Ukraine was about as far removed from eleven-year-old Yitz Scheiner’s mind as polar bears at the North Pole or giraffes roaming the African plains. Every now and then he heard some fragments of news, but the war had been going on for a while by now, and, well, it was far away. So when the adults started talking worriedly one day, Yitz didn’t pay much attention. But it seemed like his good friend Ruvy did.

“Yitz, are you scared?” Ruvy asked as the boys headed home from school one Thursday night.

“Of what?”

“You know… Putin. The war.”

“The war? Putin?” Yitz gave Ruvy a funny look. “What are you talking about?”

Ruvy huffed, annoyed. “Hello, earth to Yitz. You know, Vladimir Putin? The president of Russia? The guy who took over Ukraine and wants to conquer the world?”

Yitz stopped walking and stared at his friend. “Ruvy, that’s like a bajillion miles away. Why exactly are you worried?”

Ruvy’s eyebrows drew together. “Whoa, Yitz, you are so out of it. The war’s coming and it’s coming fast. Putin’s charging through Europe and countries are falling by the dozen. And they say the US is next.”

“Bah,” Yitz scoffed, kicking hard at the sidewalk. “You’re just a scaredy-cat. We’ve got a good army and lots of defenses.”

Ruvy shook his head. “Yitz, this is a real threat, everyone’s worried. You’re living in la-la land.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yitz said, waving his hand as if he were swatting away Ruvy’s pessimism. “You’ve always been a chicken.”

Ruvy’s face looked serious as the two boys said goodbye in front of Yitz’s house. He didn’t say anything, and instead gave a weak wave before leaving. As Yitz walked up the path, he had no idea that it would be the last time he’d see his friend.

The house was buzzing with a frightening current. Something was really wrong. His parents were flying around the house, frantically stuffing belongings into suitcases, duffle bags, and old backpacks. Mrs. Scheiner met Yitz at the door and threw a knapsack in his direction. “Pack,” she barked. “The news is breaking; Putin’s invading the US in the next 36 hours. We’re going underground.”

Yitz stared at his mother as his heart began pounding. “W-w-what?” he managed, his voice sounding strange to his ears. His mother spun him around by his shoulders and gave him a little shove toward the stairs. “Go pack!” she said, her voice shrill. “Clothes, some books,  your siddur — whatever you can fit.”

Mr. Scheiner rushed past them with another duffle bag. He paused when he noticed Yitz. “Hey, Yitz,” he said softly. “Hopefully this is all just to be safe, and everything will blow over soon. For now, our family and the Weisenbergs and the Adlers have decided that this is the wisest course of action. Listen to Ma, go pack. As much as you can fit.”

A foreboding sensation washed over Yitz. His hands turned icy and thousands of questions roared in his brain but before he could even formulate a single syllable, both his parents had disappeared, desperately rushing to pack whatever they could.

Ruvy might not have been chicken, after all. This was a real, all-too-real, full-scale, total disaster.