The Cross Border House came together in Poland

to meet the needs of Ukrainians seeking shelter from war.

What we do

How we help

My mother-in-law, Rose Popiel Kieniewicz, sheltered forty-plus refugees during World War II in her manor home at Ruszcza (Poland). The family always regretted not having an account of those six years.

As I had found myself under similar circumstances, I recognized the importance of such a journal and in early March started keeping a diary. I knew I was next to something big—something that needed to be documented. The result is The War Diaries.

 

About

Help, hope and opportunity

The Cross Border House came together in Poland to meet the needs of Ukrainians seeking shelter from war. The holistic philosophy of care and service supports a sanctuary for our residents to reclaim their sense of human dignity, hope and optimism. When all has been taken away, The Cross Border House is here to offer the space and the time so that each individual may have the opportunity to restore meaning and purpose to their life.

Cause

Winter Supplies Needed

ALERT: Europe is facing a critical situation with gas prices expected to quadruple over winter. Our residents will need the necessary clothes to keep warm, extra blankets, electric heaters and winter shoes. Your donations are especially helpful during this time.

Letter

Meet Stepan, our son.

He recently turned 13 years old. We haven’t seen him for almost half a year, 180 long days and nights to be precise.

On that horrible day, February 24, our life was changed forever. As for Stepan, it happened around noon of the same day when he saw planes and black helicopters flying, as it seemed, right at our house. They were on their way to bomb Hostomel while in our home in Bucha, as in some infernal theatre, we were watching this horrifying “play”: a swarm of helicopters over Hostomel which is pretty close, machine gun bursts could be seen and heard, explosions, fire, downed helicopters falling to the ground and exploding. Seeing all of this, your consciousness refuses to accept it as real, happening here and now, in the nice and quiet Bucha, in the middle of Europe.