When she started school at Harvard Westlake this fall, 12-year-old Tali Kann heard stories from friends about their summer vacations to sun-drenched tropical locales. When asked how she spent hers, her stories were somewhat different: She spent a week with refugees escaping a war zone.
“They were like, ‘WHAT?! You did what now?!’” said Tali. “Then, I told them: ‘It’s called the JCC,’ and I explained to them what they’re doing.”
Together with her father and sister, Tali traveled to Krakow, Poland this summer to volunteer at the Jewish Community Center there, aiding refugees from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. In them, Tali saw a reflection of her own family, her forebears who had survived as refugees thanks to the kindness and generosity of strangers.
“I wanted to do something to help the world, but also to help me understand where I’m from, and help people that escaped from war,” she said.
Just 160 miles from Ukraine’s western border with Poland, Tali witnessed sights few Americans her age ever see. She saw firsthand the brutal human toll of the invasion: separated families, traumatized children, and heart-wrenching decisions. But, as she cataloged donated goods, packaged food, sorted through clothes and toys, and hauled supplies from warehouses to showrooms, she also witnessed hope and human dignity persisting in the face of overwhelming loss. She filmed it all to raise both funds and awareness through a GoFundMe page as part of her bat mitzvah tikkun olam project.
“What’s happening in Ukraine is not in the news anymore, and most people are like, ‘OK, it’s fine, it’s dying down,’ or whatever. No,” Tali said. “Now, it’s more crucial than ever that we help our brothers and sisters in Ukraine and Krakow.”
Tali does not use those familiar terms lightly. All of her direct ancestors are refugees: Her father Patrick’s grandparents survived Nazi work camps and pogroms. Tali’s mother Afsoun came to the United States with her parents to escape an Iran gripped by revolution.
“The concept of the refugee has been around our family her entire life,” Patrick said. “She had the yearning to do something.”
At Wise, each bar or bat mitzvah student is expected to take on a tikkun olam project as part of their experience. In that project, Tali found an opportunity, an outlet for her desire to both serve and learn.
“Becoming bar or bat mitzvah is not just about leading our worship and chanting and teaching Torah; it’s also about demonstrating a commitment to a life of Torah.” said Rabbi Yoshi Zweiback, Tali’s bat mitzvah teacher. “The tikkun olam project is just that: a powerful opportunity for a young adult to demonstrate his or her commitment to being God’s partner in repairing the brokenness of our world.”
When Tali expressed her desire to help Ukrainian refugees, Rabbi Yoshi happily connected her with Jonathan Ornstein, the executive director of JCC Krakow.
For years, Ornstein and his staff have worked to rebuild the Polish Jewish community decimated by the Holocaust. After the invasion, the JCC pivoted its primary mission to humanitarian aid. Working seven days a week, they provide food, housing, and services ranging from Polish resume writing to medical care. When Ornstein first spoke with the Kanns over Zoom in July, he was struck by their dedication to support those in need.
“Tali impressed me right away,” Ornstein said. “Someone so young but so caring and committed to helping others. Very special.”
Soon after Ornstein and the Kanns spoke, Tali and Patrick booked plane tickets to Poland. Younger sister Gabriela, 11, insisted on coming along, too. Their first day in-country was a holiday, giving them time to explore.
Tali and Gabriela Kann stand in front of the gates to JCC Krakow. (Photo Courtesy the Kann Family)
The three piled into a touring taxi for a drive around the city. Unaware of his passengers’ Jewish heritage, their driver took them through a neighborhood called Kazimierz, Krakow’s Jewish Quarter for more than six centuries until the Nazis wiped out 90% of Polish Jewry. He pointed out the moldy, rusty, abandoned synagogues—the remains of a world destroyed—and said, “The Jews were here. They used to live here, but they don’t anymore.”
Tali’s great-grandfather, Wolf Ickowicz, grew up in Strzemieszyce Wielkie, a town an hour’s drive away. He was imprisoned in forced labor camps and survived Gross-Rosen, Buchenwald, Dormettingen, and Dachau. After he was liberated by American troops, he lived as a refugee in Germany, France, and ultimately Brazil.
“Eighty years ago, my grandfather Wolf was there in a position that required help from others,” Tali said. “I was so fortunate to be back in a position to help people in a similar situation.”
Tali, Patrick, and Gabriela worked for two organizations during their stay: JCC Krakow and Szafa Dobra, the Polish equivalent of Goodwill. Both place a high priority on maintaining the human dignity of those they serve. Rather than standing in line and being handed a one-size-fits-all allotment of necessities, refugees get to shop the donated items for what they want and need, providing a dose of normalcy to those whose lives have been irrevocably changed. The only payment required: showing their Ukrainian passport.
To make all that happen, volunteers like the Kanns repackage foodstuffs—bought in bulk through deals with local grocers—into retail packaging, sort through literal tons of toys and clothes to arrange them by sizes and age groups, shuttle carts full of goods back and forth from warehouses, and stock showrooms.
When the Kanns arrived at the JCC for their first shift, most of the adults—paid workers, volunteers, and refugees—were on edge. Food shipments had already been delayed. As they waited anxiously for the next promised shipment to arrive, Tali and Gabi went to the JCC playground to play with some of the younger children. Soon, a woman who worked at the JCC brought out a Bluetooth speaker, and all the children started dancing together. When the shipment came, it was time to go to work. The music stopped, and one young girl began to cry. In English, she told Tali, “I just want to dance.”
Recalling that moment this month, Tali reflected: “They just wanted their lives back.”
Gabriela Kann shares her camera with curious 3-year-old Slata, a Ukrainian refugee, on the playground at JCC Krakow. (Photo Courtesy the Kann Family)
Each story Tali heard detailed the human cost of Russia’s territorial ambitions. She met 18-month-old Maryana who, before the war, rarely cried and often slept through the night. As bombs began to fall on her family’s home city of Doslidnyts’ke, that changed. Maryana’s mother said she cries often now, and rarely sleeps at night. Maryana’s brother, almost 12, volunteers at another refugee center and spends much of his time unsupervised. He started smoking to deal with the stress.
Tali met aspiring photographer Misha, a bright and warm 17-year-old from Kharkiv. His family fled to Poland when their home was destroyed by Russian bombardment. Yearning to be in a place where they spoke the language, the family recently returned to Western Ukraine, but was forced to make a difficult decision.
“If Misha went back, he would have to fight,” Tali said. “He stayed in Krakow, and found someone to host him, and he’s working at Szafa Dobra.”
Misha now makes sure that the clothes donated to Szafa Dobra are in good shape and organized, and that the customers are served properly. He and other volunteers like the Kanns work four-to-five-hour shifts in a defunct shopping mall-cum-refugee center, sorting, cataloging, and inventorying donated clothes and goods for refugees to shop. There is no climate control, and the ventilation is poor.
“It was intense,” Tali said. “There was no break time; you had to go on your own. My dad, sister, and I, we powered through, not taking any time off.”
“Tali is a bright and committed young woman who puts 100% of herself into everything she does,” Rabbi Yoshi said. “To know that a young person is ready to step up when they hear the call and say, ‘hineini—I am here,’ inspires me deeply.”
None of the volunteers, Patrick said, seemed to be bothered by the conditions. Like Tali, they came from all over the world to help. Some were recent college grads from Japan, Europe, and the United States. Others—like the Kanns—were descended from refugees of other human disasters: the Holocaust, persecution in Uzbekistan, mass killings in Cambodia, the war in Yugoslavia, genocide in Turkey, and Soviet political persecution. Some, like Misha, are refugees themselves.
Fifteen-year-old Ukrainian refugee Ania shows the Kann family one of her art pieces at JCC Krakow. (Photo Courtesy the Kann Family)
Fifteen-year-old Ania volunteers at the JCC every day. In March, she and her family escaped from Irpin, a once-quiet town outside of Kyiv that has seen some of the war’s most intense fighting. Her father, an anesthesiologist, decided to stay behind. Ania, her mother, and her grandmother will likely never return.
It took some time for Ania to open up to Tali, but once she did, the two quickly formed a deep friendship. A soulful artist, Ania even showed Tali her sketchbook. Pages of cute elves, flowers, and butterflies gave way to portraits of life as a refugee, including a piece Tali now has as her cell phone’s home screen: a mother embracing a daughter, both wrapped in the Ukrainian flag.
“I miss my life,” Ania told Tali. “It feels like someone stole it from me. I’m trying to find something good.”
Tali and Ania still text regularly, and have become even closer since they parted.
“Every text, she always leaves little hearts, and if I ever compliment her, she finds a way to return it right back,” Tali said. “She’s amazing.”
Tali checks the GoFundMe page every morning. So far, she’s raised over $6,000 for JCC Krakow. She shows the video to whoever will watch.
“I always try to explain it so that maybe it could spark interest in other people that also want to have the chance to help,” Tali said. “But now, with the video, I think it’ll be a lot easier, because people will be able to fully understand what is happening with Ukrainian refugees.”
Tali Kann (left) and her sister Gabriela package food for Ukrainian refugees during their time volunteering in Krakow, Poland, in the summer of 2022. (Photo Courtesy the Kann Family)
“Video,” Ornstein said, “is the language we all speak … Projects like Tali’s can hopefully inspire others to get involved. I think the important idea is that every single person can help. If you have money, donate some. If you can raise some, also great. If you have no way to do that but have a voice, raise it and amplify the stories so others can learn and respond. There is no excuse to not do all we can to alleviate suffering. That is what I learned from Tali.”
After seeing the video, one of Tali’s teachers asked how she, too, could make a difference.
“That’s when I realized that people want to help,” Tali said. “It’s not like only some people who really have a passion for it; people see other people suffering, and they want to help.”
