The streets were teeming with crowds and the bars and restaurants were packed when I left Kyiv just a week ago.

I’d been there with my TV crew to cover the growing tension, but we decided the feared full-on war wasn’t going to happen and went to report on the large Jewish community in Odessa. We expected conflict to escalate out in the east in the Donbas region. No one among us had imagined that Kyiv itself would be pummelled by Russian forces just days later.

On Monday, I returned to find a city changed virtually out of all recognition: the streets deserted, most of the shops closed, those thronged bars and restaurants now entirely empty. The authorities had imposed a curfew. For the moment, we’re holed up in a hotel near Maidan Square with other journalists.

Armed guards are there to provide security, though who knows what assurance that can give us as Russian troops edge ever closer. Outside the hotel doors is a city that is rapidly becoming steeped in the catastrophe of war. The bare streets are eerily reminiscent of Covid lockdowns.

A couple of hours ago, there was an enormous explosion not far from here that rocked the hotel and left it shaking. Every now and then there’s the sound of warning sirens, which can last for several minutes, though we can barely hear them here.

Ukrainian residents have been suspicious of us. There are three of us in my team, and they sometimes think we might be part of Putin’s forces. There have been reports saying there are Russian saboteurs embedded in the city, marking important buildings to target.

There was a moment when I feared we’d be lynched while we were filming people queueing for the supermarket. Even though we were wearing our press vests, we were surrounded by an angry crowd who wanted to know who we were and if we were working for the Russians. The confrontation threatened to become violent, until they checked our identity papers and saw we were Israelis.

Immediately, the mood changed. They were suddenly effusively warm and friendly, cheering: “Slava Ukraina! Slava Israel”, meaning: “Glory to Ukraine! Glory to Israel!” The people here seem to love Israel and see it as friendly to Ukraine, even though Israel has had to maintain a delicate diplomatic balancing act over its relations with Russia.

Earlier, we were on the road trying to get to the frontline. About two miles from the city centre, we came across an abandoned truck with smoke pouring of it, bearing Belarusian number plates. It was full of munitions. Spent shell casings were strewn on the ground, alongside the armoured vest of a Ukrainian soldier.

The air was thick with the smell of burning and I could barely speak or breathe. Around us were troops dug into their trenches, preparing for the arrival of the Russians.

We continued north on the road that head towards Belarus to try to find the fighting, following the sound of gunfire and explosions.

At regular intervals, we were stopped by soldiers and armed civilians at barricades, checking our papers. We kept going, until the explosions seemed to become more frequent and sounded far closer, and we came to a point where the soldiers didn’t want us filming.
Tanks and mortars surrounded the area and a huge cloud of smoke hung overhead. We recorded some material but eventually had to stop filming and turn around.

People here want to defend their country. They’ve come together around the soldiers, trying to help them as much as they can. Some are bringing them food, others are giving their trucks to help form a barricade. They’re building trenches. Morale has been holding up; they believe in the final victory of Ukraine.

In Odessa, I’d found what seemed to be the entire Jewish community helping each other. All Ukrainian males aged 18 to 60 are required to stay and defend their country. The community has been giving these men food and shelter, and any other help that they need.

Around Kyiv, people have been trying to flee. On the road to the city’s main train station, I saw families on foot dragging along their possessions in their luggage, among them children and the elderly, their faces exhausted, perhaps never knowing when they can go home.

The station has been jammed with crowds of Ukrainians hoping to find refuge to the west. The shelter there can accommodate 2,000 people. The day that I was there, every square inch was full.

In the supermarkets, you have to queue for hours to get anything at all. It is the same at the pharmacies.

People get into the shops one by one, or two by two, and they are rationing how much food people can get so that there is enough for everybody. There’s no money in the banks. It’s war, but at this point there is enough food to go round. In a week or so, if the situation stays the same, there will be a big, big problem.

The mood of the people, even when they’re queueing for hours to go to the supermarket, is very calm and patient. You might say they’re very different from us Israelis. They have self-control. There’s no fighting between them. They remain silent and calm. It’s quite amazing to see. Maybe it’s the cold blood of the eastern Europeans, but they don’t panic and manage to keep their heads.

They are one nation, united. Everyone believes that in the end, Ukraine will win this war.

Mael Benoliel is a correspondent for Israel-based television channel i24News