For Ukrainian immigrant Olivia Babin, fireworks evoke fond memories. They remind her of Ukrainian Independence Days in Kyiv as a child — everyone gathering in Maidan, the main square, and mingling below the sparkly sky. This year, her 23rd in the United States, she’s debating the best spot to watch the display, Hampton or Tuscan Village. She’s very excited.

But this attitude isn’t unanimous among Ukrainian immigrants. Many of those who fled the country after Russia invaded in February 2022 prefer to avoid July 4 celebrations completely. The booming overhead triggers recent memories of war.

“For families who have heard the sirens and bomb explosions,” Babin said, “fireworks are devastating.”

Babin left Kyiv for New Hampshire in 2001. She and her husband Andre decided to join Andre’s family in Manchester and crossed the ocean with their 3-month-old daughter and $700.

Babin had grown up as a Baptist Christian. Under the Soviet Union, this was essentially unacceptable.

“People only worshiped the government and the Communist party,” she said.

As a child, she bore the consequences. Other kids made fun of her at school. She wasn’t allowed into the honors program, despite her stellar grades. Under the Soviet Union, she wouldn’t be allowed to pursue higher education.

Even when the USSR collapsed in 1991, the prejudice against Christians persisted.

“A whole generation of Ukrainians had lived with that mindset,” Babin said. “It doesn’t just go away.”

Moving to the U.S. freed her. Here, Christians bear no minority status. After re-earning a bachelor’s degree at SNHU (she’d already graduated college in Ukraine) she got her master’s degree in community engagement at Merrimack College.

When she first moved, there was the expected culture shock. Kyiv is a bustling city, and Manchester felt like a ghost town by comparison. But now, with two decades in the U.S. and her citizenship under her belt, Babin has adapted. She’s heavily involved in her local Slavic church and has grown to enjoy the calm. In fact, she recently traded her Manchester home for Pembroke — it’s quieter there.

“The longer I live here, the more I appreciate it,” she said.

But her roots in Kyiv remain. When the war broke out, it took over her life. Some of her family escaped to New Hampshire and added 12 members to her household. Her two brothers are eligible to be drafted. She worries for them every day.

She had also always considered moving back to Ukraine to be a potential future for her. Now, it’s not. So for her own sake, she tries to avoid agonizing over the news.

“It really saddens me that it’s still going on. There is no resolution, and my people are suffering,” she said. “So I take glimpses, but I don’t dive into all the details because it distracts my work, my life.”

Maintaining her ties to home while leaning into her new life is a difficult balancing act, especially when her home is facing such peril. And in her experience, it’s almost impossible for the newer wave of immigrants coming from the war to strike that balance.

“We decided to come here,” Babin said. “For them, it was not a decision. It was necessary.”

When she asked some friends from her church what their plans were for July 4, it had never occurred to her that the fireworks would be an issue for them. She invited them to come with her to Hampton or Tucson Village. They said no.

This year, her third July 4 since Russia’s invasion, she’s paying attention to the nuances of the holiday for her people.

“For me, it’s joy,” she said. “It’s always been joy. It’s always been celebration and fun. But for them, it’s traumatizing. So I am putting myself in their shoes.”

Sofie Buckminster can be reached at sbuckminster@cmonitor.com.