In 2014, when my cousin was in Kiev, Ukraine, he fell in love with a Kiev woman. Today, Sofiia is my cousin by marriage, having immigrated to the United States in 2016. Sofiia still has family and lifelong friends in Ukraine, and our family watched Putin’s military buildup along Ukrainian borders with deep concern.

On the evening of Wednesday, Feb. 23, my cousin texted me: Sofiia’s family in Kiev was reporting that Kiev was under siege. We knew, before any news, that Russia was going to war. For real.

It took a while, perhaps several days, to wrap my mind around the significance of Russia’s invasion: That Russia was instigating a war in Europe, within living memory of a war so devastating that eight decades later the wounds have not fully healed. That the nature of war today is essentially the same as through centuries — rampaging men with weapons, intent on conquering territory, with behaviors inseparable from the terms “rape,” “pillage,” “plunder” and “kill.” That for the first time in my memory, Russia was moving to take over a separate country with a historically separate language and culture and a long-voiced desire to be an independent nation.

That a nuclear superpower was willing to start a war that would inevitably bring it into conflict with almost all of Europe, and perhaps even with the United States. That one possible outcome of this invasion could be a nuclear war of the kind that all of us have dreaded for all of our lives.

As Ukrainians took up arms to defend their country, it occurred to me that this invasion is not much different than the 1956 Soviet invasion of Hungary or the 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia — in both cases, the Soviets prevailed, and immediately instigated brutal, repressive regimes. And if the Ukrainians lose here, Russian retaliation will be equally as swift and brutal.

Within two days, Ukraine was already in chaos. Some of Sofiia’s friends and family remained in Kiev, vowing to defend Ukraine at any cost. Others, including her sister and nieces, fled to be closer to the borders or attempted to leave Ukraine altogether. Sofiia was still in touch by phone and text with many friends, family and former church members, and I realized that perhaps the only thing we could do from here would be to raise money. It was still possible to transfer funds into Ukraine to specific individuals — for food, clothes, medicine or cellphone minutes, or for gasoline to enable people to travel. Anyone who managed to make it out of Ukraine would need money, because Ukrainian money has virtually no value outside of the country.

GoFundMe was refusing to certify Ukraine-related accounts before vetting them, which was taking days. But even without GoFundMe, we have a wide-ranging circle of friends who understand what this war signified, and many of them would have some amount of money to give. An email plea for money went to friends and family, including many residents of La Grande: For every pledge to donate money, my husband and I would transfer the identical amount to my cousins for immediate distribution inside Ukraine and wait for reimbursement. We may not necessarily see eye to eye on politics or religion, but all of us can recognize mortal danger when we see it.

The outpouring of money has been amazing. People offered what they could afford, from $10 to thousands of dollars, without questions or hesitation. In less than 48 hours, we received pledges of more than $10,000, allowing for immediate disbursals inside Ukraine. It has been an endeavor of faith at every level.

Faith that when you press the “send” button, the money that disappears from your own account will somehow travel through the internet to actually show up in another account across the country.

Faith that the cousins to whom we send money are the people I believe them to be, and will distribute the money as we have discussed and agreed. Faith that when my cousins hit the “send” button, their money will somehow make it to the intended recipient, whether in or outside Ukraine.

Faith that the people who receive money will use it for what they need most and share it with others who are also suddenly trapped inside a devastating, unwanted war. Faith that my husband, who has certainly traveled down unexpected roads since marrying me, would support my newest insane endeavor.

And perhaps most important, faith that these efforts and contributions will at some level make a difference — that although we may never know it, we may have helped even one person to escape from Ukraine, or to survive the assault on their country.

The outpouring of money, including from La Grande residents I may or may not know well, has also been the only way I could ever have known that when the chips are down, people will not hesitate in resisting tyranny.

It feels as if every one of us is saying to Vladimir Putin: “Not. Standing. Down.”

———