The podcast After the Pause is dedicated to Ukrainian musicians in the military who are gradually returning to civilian life. The guest of the second episode is Olha Rukavishnikova — a Ukrainian musician and servicemember (call sign Karateka). She began playing the violin in childhood and had an active musical life before Russia’s full-scale invasion.
From the first days of the war, while still studying, Olha voluntarily joined the Territorial Defense Forces as a grenade launcher operator. During combat, she sustained a severe injury and lost an eye. After a long recovery, Olha returned to service and continues to serve in the 411th Unmanned Systems Regiment Yastruby, while also performing on stage.
The author and initiator of the podcast, Dzvenyslava Safian, spoke with Olha. We publish the text version of this conversation.
We’re speaking on January 21. You’re in Kyiv, and just yesterday you were on stage. How do you manage to combine the roles of violinist, conductor, constant travel, and military service? How are you, generally?
Honestly, that’s a difficult question — one I don’t always have an answer to myself. Everything is as usual: if it works out, then it’s good. I spend most of my time with my unit in the Zaporizhzhia region. I don’t come to Kyiv often, but sometimes things align just right.
Tell me more about yesterday’s concert. It was an event dedicated to the Day of Remembrance of the Defenders of Donetsk Airport.
I had the chance to conduct Barber’s Adagio. It was a long-time dream of mine. I played this piece in an orchestra about ten years ago, and it deeply resonated with me back then.
Now Barber sounds incredibly relevant — both musically and emotionally. Interestingly, it was my first time performing at the Philharmonic as a conductor. Before that, I had appeared on that stage many times as an instrumentalist, but conducted elsewhere. The fact that everything aligned like this — my debut at the Philharmonic and immediately with Barber — is very meaningful to me.
How did you prepare under the conditions of service? Did you have time to study the score?
“Normal” isn’t really about me, so the preparation was unusual. I wasn’t in Kyiv, but at my place of service. I managed to buy a Yamaha synthesizer in a local shop just to have an instrument at hand. The score was with me — it’s not hard to find.
But the main thing is working with the instrument. Barber is not something you can learn just by listening to recordings. Every performer will sound different, so you need to feel every note by yourself. By the way, during the concert, although I had the score on the stand during rehearsals, during the performance it stayed in the dressing room — I conducted from memory.
We met at the National Music Academy, in the general piano class of Naida Mahomedbekova, and even then you were incredibly determined, eager to try new things. Was that your second degree?
Not exactly. Conducting had always been in my plans — I’ve been involved with it since about the eighth grade at the specialized music school. I just needed time and experience. At the conservatory, I completed my bachelor’s degree as a violinist, and then simultaneously entered a master’s program in violin and a bachelor’s program in opera-symphonic conducting. I finished that bachelor’s just a year ago.
Before the full-scale war, it wasn’t uncommon for many musicians — especially violinists — to include works by Russian composers in their programs. How do you feel about Ukrainians who still continue this practice, whether out of inertia or intentionally?
Yes, I also had many works by composers from that country in my repertoire before. But in my opinion, right now this music is not timely. Personally, I would not take a work by a Russian composer to a competition. But that’s my choice.
Tell me about your education.
I actually started learning the violin at the age of four, in the specialized music school. Back then it was called “preparatory class.” I had two such years. When I was five, I had my first performance at the Philharmonic.
I remember we played with a pianist named Kolia — he was already six and in first grade. We were given big teddy bears as gifts. While dignified politicians were giving speeches on stage, Kolia and I were just standing there playing with the toys. We didn’t care at all that it was the Philharmonic stage and serious people were around. We had a joint performance and teddy bears — what else does a child need?
At the school, I did many things. I studied organ for several years with Volodymyr Koshuba. I also tried wind instruments. I even had a solo performance on viola with an orchestra at the Mykolaiv Philharmonic.
By the 11th grade, I was already the concertmaster of the second violins, and often worked with the entire orchestra. The school offered me a job after graduation. I wasn’t even 18 when I officially started working there during my first year at the conservatory — but that’s just details.
At the same time, you’ve also been seriously involved in martial arts: kickboxing, boxing, karate. How does that combine with music? I remember Professor Mahomedbekova wasn’t always happy about it.
She only got upset when I showed up a week before a concert with a strained arm. She’d say: “Are you kidding me?” But everything was always fine at the concert.
Serious training started in eighth grade. We moved closer to school, and I “negotiated” permission at home by saying we saved time on commuting. My mom was afraid of boxing, so I went to karate — but I trained in boxing on the side. Not everyone knew about that.
During the war, sports literally saved my life. During my most severe injury, a fragment hit my cervical vertebra. It’s still there. Doctors said it could have completely severed my spine and left me paralyzed, but my neck muscles saved me — they were strong enough from training to hold it. And psychologically, martial arts teach discipline and calmness under pressure. In war, that’s essential.
You went to war in the first days of the full-scale invasion.
On February 24, I woke up on the 16th floor to explosions. The evening before, my mom and I were joking about rumors, convinced nothing would happen. But in the morning, I simply said I’d go to the enlistment office “to register.” In reality, I knew I wouldn’t come back. By the second day, we had already managed to fire a bit.
My first combat mission was in May 2022, in Komyshuvakha (Luhansk region). That’s where I got my first injury — a fragment grazed my head. I was incredibly lucky because a second earlier I had wanted to lie down exactly where a direct hit landed. Blood poured from under my cap; I was evacuated along a road that was completely exposed to fire. They evacuated me to what was still our Bakhmut at the time.
There were other stories. For example, how our unit got the name “Suicide Squad.” It was during the counteroffensive in the Kharkiv region, Chuhuiv district. We had to approach the enemy in the “gray zone” to draw fire onto ourselves while another group advanced. We got within about 300 meters, lay down near a tree line in the open field. They hit us with everything they had, and we just lay there telling jokes. Bullets were flying in front of our eyes, and we were laughing. The most incredible part is that we had zero wounded on that mission — pure luck.
How do you find the strength and motivation to return after injuries?
There was one truly serious injury — I was left with one eye. The others were moderate or minor. After those, you can return without major problems, at least in my view.
At first, the motivation was simple — that of a normal citizen of Ukraine: someone came to our land, and I can’t stand aside while they try to take it and kill my people.
Later, it became personal. Because there are many friends who are no longer here, who stayed there. And every time, you feel that you are responsible — that there is someone to avenge.
How did the eye injury happen?
Everything’s great with the eye — one hundred percent! I mean the right one (laughs). The left is gone — “just a piece of glass.” There’s an implant, and some kind of metal piece behind it that has already fused with the tissue.
I treat everything with humor. Now I have a “spare.” I always carry my third eye with me (takes out the prosthesis from her pocket). It was painted based on my right eye, so unless I say something, people don’t notice anything unusual. I joke all the time: “Now I can see myself from the outside.”
What does your typical day at the front look like now?
Now I go to positions much less often. Mostly I work remotely — setting up drone systems, sometimes dealing with munitions.
In Zaporizhzhia, I also go to boxing. I was lucky to find a great gym and an excellent coach. I train regularly — I go there in the morning before work, since our workday starts a bit later. So I manage to train, release tension, and then head to service in a good mood. I’m also preparing to apply for a master’s program at the music academy this year.
You’re gradually returning to concert performances.
Yes, during the war I’ve already performed at Carnegie Hall. It happened unexpectedly. We played in an orchestra with Anne-Sophie Mutter in support of Ukraine; I was sitting at the first desk of the first violins. The program included Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, Schindler’s List, and Silvestrov’s Prayer for Ukraine. Christoph Eschenbach conducted. I don’t know how I managed it, since my hands don’t function perfectly after the injuries — but it worked.
I also performed at the Cannes Festival, at NATO headquarters, and met Sting. But honestly, when I’m on such trips, my thoughts are always with my unit, with my guys. I’ll be able to fully appreciate these experiences only when I become more of a “civilian character.”
Do you take your violin with you to Zaporizhzhia?
No. My violin is over 250 years old, made by a Dutch master… It’s too dangerous there. Recently, a Shahed drone changed its trajectory right above our building. My comrade and I instinctively ran into the corridor and dropped face down on the floor. A second later, it hit the neighboring building. The violin isn’t worth that risk.
What has affected you the most during the war?
There have been many moments… One of them was in the Serebrianskyi forest in 2023. The enemy was 100 meters away. Shelling every 10–60 seconds. A direct hit landed in a neighboring trench five meters from me. I climbed out and started digging out my comrade. He was buried up to his chest, conscious, but his head was so badly injured that his brain was literally spilling onto my hands. We got him out, bandaged him, carried him to evacuation — but he died in our arms.
In moments like that, you realize: you did everything possible and impossible to save a life, and in the end, you’re evacuating a body. But this is war. All that remains is to answer for those who are gone — and never forget them.
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With the support of German-Polish Foundation of Cooperation
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