Christmas in Kyiv: How Ukrainian Soldiers Celebrate Amid War

A Different Kind of Christmas Light

The golden domes of St. Michael’s Monastery gleam under a dusting of snow, while strings of LED lights flicker to life along Sofiiska Square. It's December 2025 in Kyiv, and the air hums with the faint jingle of carols, interrupted, as always, by the wail of an air-raid siren. Families bundle into metro stations, scarves trailing like blue-and-yellow flags, emerging later to resume their holiday errands. This is Ukraine's fourth wartime Christmas since the full-scale invasion began in February 2022, and the third on the Revised Julian calendar's December 25 date. Yet amid the blackouts and boom of missile strikes, the city refuses to dim its glow. It's a holiday born of defiance, where joy is rationed but never extinguished.

Christmas in Kyiv: The Civilian Experience

Kyiv's Christmas has always been a tapestry of ancient rituals and modern cheer, but war has woven in threads of resilience. The switch to December 25 in 2023, adopted by the Orthodox Church of Ukraine and Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church marks a cultural pivot, distancing the nation from Russian influence. Many now celebrate solely on December 25, though some hold dual observances, blending old and new in a "double Christmas" tradition.

Sofia Square hosts the capital's main tree, a tall spruce with energy-efficient LEDs designed to shine through power outages. Decorated in pastel colors inspired by the frescoes of St. Sophia Cathedral, it stands as a symbol of hope. Nearby, the Christmas market is a scaled-down affair compared to pre-war years: fewer booths hawking mulled wine and pampushky (garlic-rubbed dough balls), more stalls collecting donations for the front. Security is tight, bag checks and metal detectors but the atmosphere pulses with life. Children chase soap bubbles shaped like snowflakes, while volunteers wrap gifts for soldiers: thermal socks, drone parts, handwritten letters from schoolkids.

Charity drives amplify the spirit. Concerts at the National Opera feature carolers in vyshyvankas (embroidered shirts), raising funds for front line medics. "Christmas convoys", armored vans loaded with fir trees and parcels fan out from the capital, delivering holiday cheer to checkpoints near Kharkiv and Kherson. Even in wartime, Kyiv's markets evoke folklore: didukh sheaves of wheat symbolizing ancestors, andkutia (sweet wheat pudding) shared under the watchful eye of Saint Nicholas statues.

At the Front: How Soldiers Actually Celebrate

In the frozen trenches near Donetsk or the mud-churned fields of Zaporizhzhia, Christmas arrives not with fanfare but with quiet ingenuity. The 12 Lenten dishes of Sviatyi Vechir(Christmas Eve supper) - beets, mushrooms, fish, morph into whatever aid packages and ingenuity allow: canned beans simmered over a camping stove, buckwheat porridge flavored with smuggled honey. A didukh might be a fistful of wheat stalks taped to a sandbag, and carols echo through soldier's radios, blending with the crackle of drones overhead.

Field chaplains, often in fatigues, lead services under camouflage netting or in bombed-out chapels, their voices a bulwark against the cold. Videos from brigades capture this stark poetry: soldiers in snow-dusted gear huddling around a flickering lantern, sharing tea from a dented pot. It's a holiday pared to essentials, yet fiercely observed, with small trees decorated from battlefield scraps like rebar and unit chevrons.

Personal Stories (the Emotional Core)

These celebrations gain heart from the voices of those living them. Take the soldiers from various units who, in a recent initiative, wrote letters to Santa sharing their holiday wishes. One defender, in a raw appeal shared online, described the brutal winter - "December is already halfway through. Christmas is coming, families will gather around warm tables... but none of this is the reality for a Ukrainian defender. At best, he’ll manage to greet his loved ones through Starlink. Winter on the front line is brutally hard". His plea underscores the isolation: no family feasts, just brothers-in-arms rationing warmth from a single generator.

Another story comes from medics in a mechanized brigade, who erected a makeshift Christmas tree along the Donetsk border, festooned with Ukrainian ribbons and tourniquets. One soldier, sharing the image, wrote "A beauty amidst the war... Wish our defenders happy holidays." It's a symbol of normalcy forged from refuse.

Volunteers highlight the human side too. A supporter posted about exhausted troops fixing a broken generator after a wet patrol - "Tired, exhausted, soaking wet and cold... They really give all! Because they have a country to fight for". Back in Kyiv, civilians adopt units, sending parcels so "St. Nicholas might visit" even the youngest fighters. These stories, raw and unfiltered reveal a holiday not of glamour, but grit.

The Role of Faith and Identity

This Christmas isn't just festivity; it's identity in action. The calendar shift symbolizes resistance, a break from the Moscow Patriarchate's shadow, aligning Ukraine with Western Europe while honoring roots tracing to Prince Volodymyr's 988 baptism. Soldiers sing koliadky (carols) not only for solace but to reclaim heritage, polyphonic hymns that predate the war, now remixed by Kyiv ensembles for viral resilience anthems.

Faith anchors the front, chaplains invoke the Nativity as a reminder that light endures darkness. In a war of erasure, these rituals affirm: Ukraine's soul can't be shelled away.

Logistics and Danger

Holidays clash with duty. Rotations rarely sync with December 25; many pull night watches, eyes on thermal scopes as temperatures plummet to -15°C. Russian strikes often spike around Western Christmas, psychological jabs, as seen in past years' missile barrages on civilian hubs. Fuel costs for a traditional Eve supper have risen sharply since 2022, straining even rear bases.