At nine o’clock every morning in the western Ukrainian city of Chernivtsi, the entire town square stands for a moment of silence to mourn the war dead.
Police officers block roads. People hold their hands over their hearts. Faint, operatic music flows from a speaker placed on a wrought-iron balcony overlooking a cobblestone square. For a few minutes, as the sun beams down and flags snap in the air, everyone and everything stops.
It’s a singular ritual, and the elaboration is necessary, city leaders say, because standing here, in the middle of this beautiful town, where there’s not a sandbag, a cracked window or soldiers to be seen, you can almost forget that this country is at war.
Chernivtsi, in the southwestern corner of Ukraine, hundreds of miles from the front, has never been hit by a missile — and it’s not small, 300,000 people. As is always the case in Ukraine’s cities in the east, center and south, there are some checkpoints or military vehicles or groups of camouflaged youths filling a coffee machine in a supermarket.
The peace here is remarkable, said Deputy Mayor Vasyl Jazuliak, “and we must remember to whom we owe.”
But the city is not resting. It is trying to do its part to contribute. Behind the 19th-century facades and gorgeous avenues, where young people wander in their own thoughts and savor the long summer nights, wartime activities are quietly unfolding.
People here and in nearby villages are building dune buggies for the front lines, providing homes for thousands of displaced Ukrainian citizens, shipping supplies east, and using their proximity to Poland and Romania to make the most of them.
Chernivtsi and much of western Ukraine has become a post-war office.
“The troops are not marching in our streets. Missiles will not fly over our heads, ”said Lily Bortich, a farmer, president of a large charitable organization and member of the Chernivtsi regional council. “But we understand the responsibility to help.”
She listed what her charity does: imports medicines; distributes millions of pounds of humanitarian aid; trains hundreds of emergency counselors; and provides vegetable seeds to women in recently liberated areas so they can start growing their own food again.
“Wars are won by the people who are at the front, but also by the people who are behind,” he explained.
A couple of hundred miles west of Kyiv is an unmarked line where things start to look and feel different. This region has its own history. It was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian Empire until World War I. Its buildings and urban design are less Soviet-era and more continental Europe – colorful, ornate and subtle.
Since the start of this war, western Ukraine has also been different in another respect: it has been a haven for millions of Ukrainians fleeing bloodshed from other regions, people who can be safe and still be in Ukraine.
“I don’t feel the war,” said Volodymyr Tatsky, an electrical mechanic who fled the occupied zone in Zaporizhia with his wife and child.
Not all of western Ukraine was spared. Lviv, the largest city and home to major factories and military establishments, has been hit several times, including a strike in July that killed 10 people.
Chernivtsi ranked at the bottom of the list of air raid alarms. Feel relaxed. Every night, the town’s prettiest strolling spot, Olhi Kobilyanskoi Street, named after a feminist writer, is filled with families, couples and groups of teenagers, as in cities around the world.
“We are lucky to live here,” said Yurii Ivanchuk, the prosecutor. While other Ukrainian cities have army surplus stores along the main street, in Chernivtsi it is chocolatiers and candy shops, which Mr. Ivanchuk visited with his wife and son.
“Our little area isn’t producing anything for the military,” he said, as his son dug into a bag of candy. “Apparently, the Russians are not interested in us.”
Less than 30 miles from Romania, Chernivtsi has been a trading center for centuries, attracting a multilingual population and a large Jewish community. Most Jews perished in World War II, but their ancestors remain here, buried in a seemingly endless, weed-choked cemetery. It’s filled with crooked headstones carved in three languages - Russian, German and Hebrew – that look like they’ve been rolled over.
Most of the city is lively and well kept. Magnificent buildings in all hues, designed with arched windows and mysterious cupolas, line the avenues. UNESCO recognizes the golden-brick University of Chernivtsi as a World Heritage Site, calling it “an outstanding example of 19th-century historical architecture”. Locals call it the “Ukrainian Hogwarts”.
The university attracts students from thousands of miles away, and the other night, Labil Sheikh, a medical student from India, walked slowly through the center of the city.
“My parents call me all the time and ask: ‘Are you okay? Are you in danger?’ he said. “So I’ll come on this promenade and take a little video and send it home and they’ll be cool.”
“Annoying,” he added.
Gazing up at the intricate wrought iron balconies or down the polished cobblestone streets, you might think for a moment that you are in Vienna or Paris.
But many Ukrainians don’t even touch the safest parts of their country and say the war connects every Ukrainian like a spider’s web. In a recent survey of several thousand Ukrainians, 78 percent said a close relative or friend had been killed or wounded in the war.
Chernivtsi lost a lot of people. Sometimes it buried two young soldiers a day.
A moment of silence each morning is intended to mark the sacrifices of all Ukraine’s forces. It’s another smart move by the country’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, a former actor with a knack for public gestures.
Mr. Zelensky signed a decree ordering public institutions to observe a minute of silence every day at 9 a.m. in honor of the war dead. Chernivtsi took it a little further.
First, city officials began playing “A Prayer for Ukraine,” a 19th-century anthem, in the town square. Then, as some continue their business, they “spoil the mood,” said Deputy Mayor Mr. Zazuliak said the city instructed police to cordon off the streets for three minutes or the ceremony would be over.
“Yes, I’m in a bit of a rush,” said taxi driver Serhiy Kovalchuk, his arm dangling out the window as the ceremony began, trapping him behind a police barricade and staring at a green light. He cut his engine.
“I just got another job,” he said, looking at his phone. “But they can wait.”
As the music played, the couple in their 30s stood especially tight. A tear slid down the woman’s cheek.
Later, when asked what she was thinking, Irina Kachinskya, who came from a town 300 miles away, said: “My brother.”
She paused and then said: “He was killed in the East.”
She and her family were taking a road trip across western Ukraine. She had read about Chernivtsi’s celebration on Facebook and thought it was important to see it.
“It’s a beautiful city,” he said. “A Mini Paris.”
Before leaving, she took one last look at the square.
“I’m glad we came,” she said.
Oleksandra Mykolyshyn Contributed reporting from Chernivtsi.
