When dad isn't sitting by the Christmas tree

For seven-year-old Arina Grechowa there is probably no better time of the year than Christmas. It's not just the snow, gifts and sweets that get them excited for the holidays. Arina also loves spending time with family: decorating the house and Christmas tree with her father Oleksiy – her “magician” who fulfills all her wishes; to have a snowball fight with her 22-year-old brother Artjom (outcome: "tie") and to secretly take a look at the already wrapped presents with him.

These are all memories of a time before February 24, 2022. A time before Russia invaded Ukraine; before President Vladimir Putin bombed Arina's hometown of Zhytomyr in the north of the country; before the seven-year-old had to flee to Germany with her mother Tatjana Grechowa, leaving her father, brother and dog Funtik behind.

7.8 million people fled from Ukraine to Europe, more than a million people found refuge in Germany. Most of them are mothers with their children. The fathers had to stay because men between the ages of 18 and 60 are not allowed to leave their country. It is not known exactly how many Ukrainian children came to Germany. Only the number of school-age children is recorded: 202,343. Almost everyone will see at least one empty chair at Christmas dinner.

They not only experience Christmas in a strange environment, but sometimes on an unfamiliar date. About 60 percent of Ukrainians are Orthodox Christians and only celebrate the birth of Jesus on January 6th and 7th. Some celebrate on New Year's Eve with a New Year tree and gifts.

The custom dates back to Soviet times when religious festivals were banned. Even today, mostly non-denominational families celebrate this alternative festival. December 25 has only been a public holiday since 2017 - out of consideration for Catholics and Protestants in Ukraine.

Arina and Tatjana Grekhova will celebrate Christmas twice this year. Once on December 24th with her new German friends. And once in early January, as they usually do with their family in Zhytomyr. For Arina Grechowa, however, the double Christmas is no reason to be happy.

Because it will be overshadowed by fear for their relatives who are fighting for their country many thousands of kilometers away. The father, a retired Air Force officer due to illness, is currently training soldiers. Brother Artem goes through his military training.

Arina and her mother Tatjana find it difficult to talk about their family. As soon as the mother and daughter sat down for the conversation in the playroom of the "Arche" in Berlin-Hellersdorf - a place they have been visiting regularly since their arrival in Germany - tears welled up in Tatjana Grechowa's eyes. Her daughter, a light-blond, petite girl, wraps her arms around her mother: "You don't need to cry," she says in a monotonous voice.

It sounds as if she has had to say the sentence many times, knowing that it will not have much effect. "We must be strong," her mother keeps whispering, more to comfort herself than her daughter.

Arina is actually a bright, happy child. At home in Zhytomyr she studied acrobatics, dance and modeled. With the war she lost her light-heartedness. The childlike curiosity disappears from her eyes when she talks about her father and brother. The seven-year-old knows what's going on in her home country. “Bombs are flying and everyone misses everyone,” she says in a low voice.

For 13-year-old Eva Milman, everything will be different this Christmas. Mother and daughter have been living in Brandenburg an der Havel since the beginning of March. They originally come from Kyiv, where father Sergiy Milman also lives. The parents are separated but have a close relationship. Eva regrets that she has to spend Christmas without her father for the first time this year, the 13-year-old tells WELT AM SONNTAG in a video call. Sitting next to her is mother Julia Fishman.

Eva and her mother have visited their father twice in the past few months, but since the attacks on the capital in October, mother Julia has found it too unsafe to travel there. Eva's father left Kyiv and lives in a village in the west of the country. He is the head of an IT company, and during the war he takes care of the army's cyber security.

At the moment he doesn't have to go to the front, but that could change at any time, says Julia Fishman. Your daughter is very worried about him. "I wish that he would be protected just like we are," she says, "and that he wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone."

It hurts her to think that her father won't be able to spend Christmas with his family as usual. On December 31, Eva tells of life before the war, they celebrated with grandparents, girlfriends, boyfriends and godparents.

They prepared Ukrainian salads "Schuba" and "Olivier", after eating they watched Christmas films. Eva's highlight: a quiz for which her father came up with questions and moderated them. "No one makes it as fun as dad," she says. Once they would have played it until four in the morning.

This year Julia and Eva will spend Christmas with two Ukrainian friends. They are like the two, mother and daughter, who had to leave their home country. Will they maybe play the quiz with father Sergiy this year?

Eva shakes her head. "Then I would miss him even more," she says. Next year, the 13-year-old hopes they will be able to play together all night again. It is the moment when the mother starts to cry.

Arina Grechowa also has a wish. Normally, so says mother Tatjana, each member of the family writes a wish on a piece of paper in the run-up to Christmas and puts it in the freezer. On the holidays, according to belief, it should come true. This year, Arina wrote down a special wish: a visit from father, brother and dog Funtik in Germany.