odesa under fire, march 3, 2025

Odesa welcomed us with blue and peaceful skies. The city center was bustling with pedestrian activity, Starobazarnyi square dotted with throngs of exuberant teens enticed by spring’s early arrival to venture outdoors into the day’s last rays of sunshine.

The rosy glow of the evening proved to be deceptive. As I was leaving the Antoshka toy store, laden with bags of new toys for the kids at the Path Home shelter, an explosion rocked the city. I’ve heard explosions on my previous trips to Ukraine, but this was the first time I could actually feel the impact of a ballistic missile reverberate my internal organs. Like a heart attack in the middle of an earthquake, followed by an eternally long second of silence that expunges all atoms of oxygen from the air. And then the hustle. The store’s main door front slams shut and locks and you barely have time to ponder the absurdity of running with a few dozen stuffed animals under your arms as you scramble for another exit.

Stumbling out of the store, I half expected most of the locals to be continuing their evening with the steeliness Ukrainians now have about explosions. But this one arrived fast and stealthy, with no aerial alarm warning, slamming into Odesa’s sea port. It sent everyone scrambling toward the closest subterranean shelter. Moms plowed their baby strollers through the crowd, the elderly picked up an uncomfortable pace and the teenagers, so carefree about their existence a few minutes ago, hurried with expressions of concern.

Reflecting on this as I write, I realize that I was the most stupefied oddity in the crowd, oscillating between whether I should run underground or jump in the car and drive the hell out of there. “Yeah, obviously, let’s get out of here,” said the reasonable voice of Michelle Miller, who weathered the explosion inside our car and watched me in disbelief as I flapped about with bags of toys under my arms, with smoke rising a few blocks away.

Later that night, snow, sleet and Shahed drones made their descent on the city. “Yeah, this is normal,” said my friend Olga. “They hit with ballistic missiles in the afternoon and then all night, they send the Shadeds. This is normal.” The night following our departure, Odesa came under relentless aerial attack that left our host sheltering out the blasts for 6 hours in her bathroom, the safest area of the house we had just stayed in.