In March 1944, exactly 80 years ago, I returned to my native city, Kyiv, which had just been liberated from three years of German occupation. My city lay in ruins, with most of its inhabitants having disappeared in the darkness of war, and the victims of the Babyn Yar massacre crying out for revenge.
I was only 10 at that time, but I already knew that I had survived thanks to American food aid. There was a lively trade of American products at school, including chewing...