How to Talk About the Babi Yar Massacre Without Breaking Your Kids

I was standing at the kitchen island at 2:14 PM on a Tuesday, wearing my husband’s stained college sweatshirt, trying to order a baby shower gift on my phone while Leo, who's four and completely feral, was repeatedly ramming a plastic dinosaur into the refrigerator. I meant to type in “baby gifts” or maybe “babies,” honestly my brain is mush, but I fat-fingered it and typed “babi” instead. Google, in its infinite wisdom, auto-filled my search to the Babi Yar massacre.

And suddenly, I’m not looking at organic cotton onesies anymore. I’m staring at a Wikipedia summary of a ravine in Kyiv. September 1941. Over 33,000 Jewish civilians murdered by Nazi forces in two days. It’s one of the largest single mass-murders in the history of the Holocaust, and I’m just standing there with my lukewarm third cup of coffee, watching my kid try to make a T-Rex eat a magnet, feeling the air completely leave my lungs.

The biggest myth about teaching our kids about horrific historical events is that we've to sit them down in some formal, somber lecture room and deliver all the cold, hard facts at once, or else they’ll grow up to be sociopaths. We get this idea that if we don't expose them to the darkness immediately, we're failing as parents. But oh god, that's just not true. You don't have to break their hearts before their brains are ready to hold the pieces.

Later that night, I was looking at Maya. She's seven. Earlier that afternoon she had a full-blown existential meltdown because her Eggo waffle tore slightly in the toaster. I’m looking at her tear-stained, sticky little face, and I’m thinking, how the hell do I ever explain this kind of systemic evil to her?

The timeline for terrible truths

I actually brought this up to my doctor, Dr. Evans, at Leo's last checkup, probably sounding like a complete lunatic because I was spiraling about the state of the world while he was just trying to check my kid's ears. He said something about how little brains literally lack the hardware to process large-scale trauma. Like, they physically can't do it. So if you've a kid under eight, like my two chaotic gremlins, you just... don't tell them the graphic details. At this age, I'm just trying to teach Maya not to be a jerk on the playground. We talk about empathy. We talk about standing up for the kid who's sitting alone. That's the foundational stuff.

But when they hit that middle-grade age, like 8 to 12, things shift. They start learning about World War II in school, and the bubble pops. I was reading a parenting forum late one night, because sleep is a concept I no longer participate in, and another mom suggested focusing entirely on the "helpers" during those years. There’s this incredible story about a Babi Yar survivor named Wassili Michailowski. He was an orphaned child, and an orphanage director literally hid 12 Jewish kids in a tiny room under the stairs to keep them safe from the occupation. That’s the kind of story a ten-year-old can hold onto. They can understand bravery in the dark.

Then they become teenagers, which I'm absolutely terrified for, and that's when you've to take the training wheels off. Teens need to understand how prejudice becomes systemic, and how unchecked hatred ruins societies. I’m pretty sure I read an article where a historian—maybe the former Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv? honestly I can't remember his exact name, my memory is garbage—said that because the world basically shrugged and stayed quiet after the 1941 massacre at Babi Yar, the Nazis felt emboldened to just go ahead with the "Final Solution" a few months later. That's terrifying, and it's exactly the kind of harsh reality a 15-year-old needs to grapple with so they understand why speaking up actually matters.

Speaking of trying to keep tiny humans safe and happy...

So anyway, the whole reason I fell down this historical rabbit hole was because I was trying to buy a gift for my sister-in-law, who's pregnant with her first boy. And it’s wild, right? How you can be agonizing over the darkest parts of human history one second, and the next you’re just trying to find a non-toxic wooden ring for a baby to chew on. But that’s motherhood. We hold the existential dread in one hand and a diaper bag in the other.

If you're in the trenches of the early days, you can check out Kianao's teething toys collection and just try to survive the week, honestly.

When Leo was teething, he was an absolute demon. I’m talking exorcist levels of drool and screaming. I ended up buying him the Bear Teething Rattle Wooden Ring Sensory Toy, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it saved my sanity. I specifically remember sitting in the Target parking lot at 3 AM one night—don't ask why we were there, I was just driving around trying to get him to sleep—wearing that same gross sweatshirt, crying into the steering wheel. Leo was in the back, finally quiet, just gnawing on the untreated beechwood ring of that little blue bear. The crochet cotton was so soft, and it was literally the only thing that calmed him down. I ended up buying one for my sister-in-law because I refuse to let her suffer without it.

I also threw the Zebra Rattle Tooth Ring into my cart for her, mostly because it looks super chic. It's fine, honestly. It has this high-contrast black and white pattern that's supposedly amazing for a newborn's developing visual focus, which is great, but Leo never really vibed with it when we had one. The crochet work is a little stiffer than the bear. It looks absolutely gorgeous on a nursery shelf though, so she’s getting it anyway.

My husband Greg, who chimed in while I was ordering, actually told me I should get the Deer Teething Rattle Wooden Ring Sensory Toy instead. His exact reasoning was "deer are majestic," which is the most random dad-logic ever, but whatever. It does have an incredibly cute little pink bib and delicate antlers, and since it’s the same chemical-free beechwood, I know it's safe. Men are weird, but he occasionally has good taste.

Resources that don't genuinely suck

Anyway, getting back to the heavy stuff. When Maya eventually becomes a teenager and starts asking real, terrifying questions about what happened over there, I’m not just going to hand her a textbook. Textbooks are clinical. They distance you from the humanity of it.

There's a book called Babi Yar: A Document in the Form of a Novel by Anatoly Kuznetsov. He was 12 years old when his city was occupied, which means he was the exact age of a middle-schooler when he witnessed this nightmare firsthand. It's not a dry history lesson; it's a documentary novel written from the perspective of a kid trying to survive. That’s how you teach them. You give them a perspective that matches their own.

Just don't sit a nine-year-old down on a random Thursday and make them watch Schindler's List.

Letting them be little while preparing them for big

Sometimes the mental load of millennial parenting makes me want to scream into a pillow. Seriously, the pressure is absurd. We're expected to micromanage every aspect of their physical development—making sure their toys are painted with organic dyes, agonizing over whether pureed carrots or baby-led weaning is better for their jaw development, tracking their sleep cycles on four different apps.

And while we're doing all of that, we're also supposed to be raising these deeply emotionally intelligent global citizens. We have to limit their screen time so their dopamine receptors don't fry, but also make sure they're socially aware enough to not repeat the geopolitical atrocities of the 20th century. It’s exhausting. It’s completely, utterly exhausting.

I brought this up to Greg over dinner, asking him how we're supposed to balance protecting their innocence with teaching them the horrors of the world, and he just looked at me over his taco and said, "Can we talk about this after I finish the guacamole?" Typical.

But maybe he’s right to just slow down. We don’t have to have it all figured out by tomorrow. Maya is seven. Leo is four. Right now, their biggest tragedies involve broken waffles and gravity. My job is to protect that innocence for just a little while longer, and then, when the time comes, arm them with the truth. You just have to take a deep breath, hold your kids tight, teach them to look for the helpers, and tell them the hard history when they're really ready to hold it.

Anyway, before I go spiral into another existential crisis about the state of humanity, if you've a tiny one who's currently screaming because their gums hurt, go grab one of those teethers from Kianao so you can at least get some sleep tonight.

My Messy FAQ About Teaching Hard History

How do I even start talking about the Holocaust with a kid?
Oh god, slowly. For my kids (who are little), we don't even use the word yet. We just talk about fairness, and what happens when bullies get too much power, and why we've to stand up for our friends. You have to build the framework of empathy first, or the history won't mean anything to them anyway.

Is seven too young to learn about the Babi Yar massacre?
Yes. Hell yes. My doctor basically said their brains can't process it. Unless they specifically hear about it and ask (in which case, keep it vague and focus on the people who tried to help), let your seven-year-old worry about Lego bricks and Pokémon.

What's the deal with that book you mentioned?
The Anatoly Kuznetsov book? It's amazing for older kids (like teens). He was 12 when he lived through the occupation in Kyiv, so he writes from a perspective that teenagers can honestly relate to. It bridges the gap between some dusty history book and real, actual life.

How do I handle my own anxiety when teaching them this heavy crap?
If you figure it out, please email me. Seriously though, I just try to remind myself that raising kind, aware kids is the ultimate rebellion against the darkness. But also, it’s okay to cry in your car about it. And drink way too much coffee. We're all just doing the best we can.