3 Years Into War, Ukrainian Musicians Ask, ‘Will We Ever Go Home?’

Since Russia invaded Ukraine nearly three years ago, Tetiana Martyniuk-Bahrii, a violinist in the Kyiv Symphony Orchestra, has lived the life of a refugee, moving from apartment to apartment with her husband and 14-year-old daughter, Olesia.

She has watched the war unfold from a distance, fearing for the safety of her family back home and believing she has a role to play as a champion of Ukrainian culture.

The orchestra’s musicians were welcomed in the German city of Gera for two years, and when that came to an end she felt lucky that Monheim am Rhein, a town of about 40,000 along the Rhine River, invited them to a two-year cultural residency. It provided a much-needed haven for the 73 musicians and their families at a moment when the support of Western governments for Ukraine seemed to be softening, and many places appeared less welcoming toward refugees.

More than 1,000 days after she and her fellow musicians were first displaced, Martyniuk-Bahrii, 44, said she had grown accustomed to the uncertainty.

“It’s a life, but I can’t say it’s a totally happy life,” she said. “Who knows what will be next?”

In Germany, migration has been a hot issue ahead of a parliamentary election this month, with some politicians calling on the government to pass tough new restrictions. Some have suggested curtailing assistance to asylum seekers, including those from Ukraine, as a way of encouraging them to find work.

Martyniuk-Bahrii said she tried not to think about her future in Germany because she was powerless to control its laws or politics.

Her daughter is enrolled in a local school, studying German and playing violin, like her mother. She covers her ears when her parents talk about the war.

Martyniuk-Bahrii is focused on the safety of friends and family in Ukraine, receiving air-raid alerts on her phone and scanning the headlines for news of devastation.

“My body might be here,” she said, “but my heart is in Ukraine.”

IN MONHEIM, the Ukrainians have had a warm welcome, though some residents initially questioned whether the town could afford to help others when it faced its own social and economic problems. The musicians have held benefit concerts, recorded works by Ukrainian composers and toured around Europe.

Martin Witkowski, the intendant of Monheimer Kulturwerke, the cultural center that invited the Kyiv Symphony, made a point of employing the Ukrainians as orchestra musicians on a full-time basis, saying he wanted to show they were contributing to the economy. The town expects to spend up to 3 million euros (about $3.1 million) this year on salaries and other benefits for the Ukrainians.

“They are our brothers and sisters,” Witkowski said. “The war is not in our streets, but that doesn’t mean it could never come here. We have to think, ‘How would we want to be treated if we were refugees?’”

Oleksii Pshenychnikov, 25, a violinist in the orchestra, said it was difficult not knowing how long the orchestra might be able to stay in Germany, or when the musicians would be able to return to Ukraine.

“It’s a whole soup of anxiety,” he said. “At some point, you start to wonder, ‘Will we ever go home?’”

In Monheim, the musicians describe a friendly atmosphere. But in Gera, a city of about 96,000 in the eastern German state of Thuringia, they sometimes felt the glare of strangers. Gera was occupied by Soviet forces after World War II and still has a pro-Russian contingent. Some days, a small group of demonstrators marched in the streets, criticizing German politicians for supporting Ukraine.

“It was the last thing I expected,” said Denys Karachevtsev, 32, a cellist in the orchestra. “I can’t explain these nostalgic feelings.”

Karachevtsev, who drew attention during the war for playing Bach amid the rubble and destruction in Kharkiv, his Ukrainian hometown, said he understood why some Germans might initially be skeptical of migrants. “The closer you have to live together,” he said, “the more questions you have.” But he said music could help dispel stereotypes.

“By playing just a few notes,” he said, “we can open people’s eyes.”

IN THE DAYS before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the Kyiv Symphony was deep in rehearsals. The orchestra, founded in 1979, was planning a Wagner concert, including excerpts from “The Flying Dutchman,” “Tristan und Isolde” and “Die Walküre,” at the National Opera of Ukraine in Kyiv.

Then, in late February, missiles fell on Kyiv. The orchestra canceled its engagements and its players took shelter.

At home, the musicians turned to their instruments for comfort. But they missed performing together.

Pshenychnikov, who joined the orchestra in 2021, fled with family to the suburbs of Kyiv, where he tried to distract himself from the constant boom of artillery fire.

“I could not sleep; I could not eat,” he said. “And suddenly, we were all cut off from one other.”

In April 2022, with the war continuing and in-person concerts still out of the question, the Kyiv Symphony’s leaders announced plans for a “Voice of Ukraine” tour across Europe, with stops in Warsaw, Berlin, Hamburg and elsewhere.

The orchestra would work to fight “Russia’s aggression in every possible way,” the ensemble said at the time, and to “become the powerful voice of Ukraine in the world.” It got permission from Ukrainian cultural and defense officials so that male players of military age could leave the country.

The tour reunited the musicians and gave them a mission: promoting Ukrainian culture. The inaugural concerts in Poland included works by prominent Ukrainian composers like Borys Lyatoshynsky and Myroslav Skoryk.

The tour was “like a miracle,” said Martyniuk-Bahrii, who had fled to Lviv, in western Ukraine, with her husband, a sound and video engineer for the orchestra, and her daughter.

“Cultural life was frozen across Ukraine,” she said. “And then, finally, we could play again.”

WHEN THE TOUR ended a few months later in the summer of 2022, the musicians were exhausted. Some had lost friends and relatives in the war, and they felt guilty that they had been shielded from the turmoil.

Kateryna Demianchuk, 24, a violinist, struggled to come to terms with the death of her uncle, who was killed in March 2022 in Bucha, a suburb of Kyiv that came under heavy attack.

“Russia decided that they could take our lives in just one moment,” she said. “Suddenly, he was gone. And I couldn’t do anything. It was terrifying to me.”

Every time she played the violin, she cried. She felt bad, she said, that she was living a life of privilege while her loved ones did not have running water or electricity.

The musicians were torn. Some wanted to return to Ukraine. But they also felt their efforts to keep Ukraine’s struggle in the spotlight were having an impact. (The Kyiv Symphony is one of several Ukrainian ensembles working to promote Ukrainian culture abroad; the others include the Lviv National Philharmonic Orchestra of Ukraine and the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra.)

With the help of German officials, the Kyiv Symphony Orchestra settled in Gera. They became a symbol of Germany’s embrace of displaced Ukrainians, visiting parliament and performing for top officials. (Germany hosts about 1.2 million Ukrainian refugees — the most of any European country.) The Berlin Philharmonic became a patron of the orchestra, providing instruments and helping organize performances.

But after two years, funding began to dry up in Gera. And some musicians felt increasingly unnerved by the city’s pro-Russian population.

“Every time you said you were from Ukraine, people changed a bit,” Demianchuk said. “They looked at you in a different way, as if there were just one too many Ukrainians coming in.”

WHEN WITKOWSKI, the cultural leader in Monheim, heard last year that the Kyiv Symphony was looking for a new home, he thought of bringing them to Monheim, about 280 miles west of Gera on the banks of the Rhine. The town is working to become a cultural hub; a new performing arts complex will open next year inside of a refurbished oil plant.

“The war is theoretical for most Germans,” Witkowski said. “But face to face, when you have these human beings next to you, it suddenly becomes very real.”

In July, 120 people — the musicians and their families — arrived by bus in Monheim, their instruments in tow. Their arrival caused some commotion. Pro-Russian news outlets falsely reported that the orchestra’s musicians were seeking asylum in Germany, and that the men in the group were performing as a way to avoid military service.

But a few weeks later, the Kyiv Symphony made its debut in Monheim, playing an outdoor concert featuring works by Schumann, Max Richter and the Ukrainian composer Levko Revutsky. More than 1,000 people picnicked on the lawn.

When she took a bow onstage, Martyniuk-Bahrii recalled feeling a sense of relief.

“For a moment,” she said, “we could breathe.”

ON A BLUSTERY December night, the musicians gathered in an auditorium in Monheim to rehearse a holiday program. They played waltzes, polkas and traditional Ukrainian carols — the sort of cheery music meant to welcome the new year.

But during a break, the mood turned somber as the players checked their phones for news of Russian attacks: drone strikes near Kyiv, bombs in the eastern city of Zaporizhzhia.

Karachevtsev, who made a habit of messaging friends and family after each attack, said the distance from Ukraine exacerbated their fears.

“The most scary moment,” he said, “is when you see a warning about a missile, and you don’t know where it is.”

As the third anniversary of the war approaches, the Kyiv Symphony is planning a concert in Monheim to mark the occasion. It will be led by Oksana Lyniv, a renowned Ukrainian maestro, who was recently named the orchestra’s principal guest conductor.

In an apartment complex in northern Monheim, where she and her colleagues live, Martyniuk-Bahrii prays each morning and night. Sometimes she is joined by her daughter, who keeps a prayer book in her backpack, one of the few items the family brought from Ukraine.

Martyniuk-Bahrii said she often gets lost in memories of Ukraine: Christmastime celebrations, summer hikes in the mountains and the taste of stuffed cabbage rolls and borscht.

After a concert on New Year’s Eve, Martyniuk-Bahrii invited a few friends over for Champagne at her apartment. They watched a speech by Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, and toasted the new year, praying for peace in Ukraine.

Martyniuk-Bahrii said she worried the world’s attention was shifting away from the war. But she said she hoped the musicians could play a small part in advancing Ukraine’s cause.

“The world is tired; even we are tired,” she said. “But we need victory, and we need justice. All we can do is hope and pray.”