Joseph Sabino Mistick: Kindness at times of war

Edin Mesic is a Pittsburgher now. But he will never forget the Austrian grandmother who shared a train compartment with him and his brother, Mick, on the night train from Vienna to Munich three decades ago. The brothers were running for their lives from genocide in Bosnia and the “liquidation” of young men of fighting age ordered by Yugoslavian dictator Slobodan Milosevic.

They had barely made it from Bosnia to Vienna, and they knew that, if they made it into Germany from there, they would be allowed to stay. But if they were stopped at the border, they could be returned to the war zone. That’s why Edin thought they were done for when German police boarded the train and started checking passports.

As the officers worked their way toward them, the grandmother in their compartment took Edin’s passport, held it in her hand with her own passport and whispered, “Everything will be fine.” She spoke to the officers at length and in German, little of which Edin understood.

But he recognized her grandmotherly tone — that gentle scolding that will embarrass you into doing the right thing when you are about to do the wrong thing. The officers moved on, expelling other passengers along the way.

At her stop, the grandmother turned to Edin and said once more, “Everything will be fine.” Then she slipped into the night, nameless and gone forever. She had saved them.

Their parents were not as fortunate. They lost their home, and Dad spent eight months in concentration camps. And they all lived the uncertain life of refugees until they settled here and in Canada, and the war in Bosnia ended.

Recently, as Edin watched the horrors of war in Ukraine, his own journey as a refugee became fresh again. He knew that he had to do something.

“A moment of warmth from a stranger during your greatest time of need can put your life on a better path,” Edin says. He was remembering the Austrian grandmother.

He found a volunteer group in Poland called Strawa Warszawa, or Nourishment Warsaw, operated by young people in the arts. Their simple mission is to provide as many hot meals to as many Ukrainian refugees as possible. His wife knew that he had to go. His boss told him to take the time. And he was off to Warsaw.

For 10 days, he cooked and delivered hot meals alongside other volunteers, hardly sleeping, but singing and smiling as they worked. They started as strangers but now are family. And, while he knows that his contribution is small by itself, and just the beginning, that was the real point.

“The Poles are amazing. Everybody I talked to has at least one refugee family living with them. They are cooking and knitting hats and helping how they can. Together, they are a ray of light in this world,” he says.

On his way back home, Edin stopped in Sarajevo. He stood at the exact intersection where he was standing when he heard the first shell of the war explode on April 6, 1992, exactly 30 years earlier to the day.

Edin thought about the sadness of those days and the happiness he now shares with his wife, Tina, and their children, Gabriel and Neyra, in Mt. Lebanon. Brother Mick is living happily in Toronto with his wife and children. Mom and Dad are retired, at peace now back in Bosnia.

As he stood there, Edin counted his blessings. He does that a lot these days. And he thought about the Austrian grandmother whose kindness put him on this path.