Nov. 2, 2025, 6:57 p.m.
0 
Valentyn Dolhochub became the leader of the Mokosha community of native believers in Odesa at the age of 17. For him, faith is not a set of dogmas, but a deep, bodily and spiritual connection with nature. In the conversation, he explains why paganism is not a recreation of ancient rituals, but a way to live in harmony with the earth, why the Slavs did not have human sacrifices, and how life itself can be a rite of sacrifice.
Read it on Intent and watch the full version on YouTube.
How did you first come to your native faith? What was the impetus: a search for spirituality, disillusionment with traditional religions, or an interest in history?
In my case, the search for spirituality was primary. Actually, my parents considered themselves Orthodox Christians, but they went to church to celebrate Easter once a year. And that was basically the extent of their religiosity, as is often the case. But they were also interested in theosophy and bioenergy. This was typical of the Soviet intelligentsia in the 1980s. But I can’t say that it was discussed much in the family. That is, there were no conversations about God or the spiritual. I was really interested in this since childhood. I don’t know why. Perhaps I also had a tendency to mystical experiences. And I tried to realize this spirituality. Most of all, I responded to communication with the sun, the earth, the sea, and the trees. I was delighted with the steppe space. I am a child of the reinforced concrete jungle, I grew up on Tairova Street in Odesa. For me, going to the steppe was a wow moment. It was almost an impetus for revelation, so to speak. Somewhere around the age of 14, I became interested in Slavic fantasy, then I sat on a forum of the Odesa rock band Reanimation, which used and still uses pagan themes in its work. For me, this forum became a platform where I delved into the knowledge of modern paganism and found like-minded people. Another such platform was the Odesa Regional Library for Youth. We were brought there as schoolchildren. And the librarian, seeing my interest, suggested that we read the Book of Veles. I must say that today most pagans believe that the Book of Veles is a work of the twentieth century. It is not a historical source, it was most likely written by Yuri Mirolyub. But we had to come to this conclusion. I also remember being given a book by Halyna Lozko called The Svarozhe Circle. It made quite a serious impression on me, in fact. So I read, talked, tried to practice something myself. And in the summer of 2009, if we use the Christian chronology, I joined the Mokosh community, which already existed at that time.
How did you become its leader?
When I joined the community, it was already its second generation. The first one emerged in late 2006, as I was told, because I had not met the people who started it. It was a pro-Ukrainian community of Odesa intellectuals. The first leader of the community was opera singer Viktor Drahomyretskyi. At the time, it was part of the All-Ukrainian Religious Center for the Association of Religious Believers. The person who united the community around him moved to Kyiv in 2010. Therefore, other members of the community chose me as a ritualist. They believed that I was probably the most knowledgeable from a theoretical and practical point of view, even though I was 17 years old at the time.
Has your understanding of your native faith changed over time from the first rites to the present day?
Yes, it has deepened considerably. Any topic that you devote many years to reveals new facets to you through books, acquaintances, travel, and, of course, personal practice. Speaking about some more specific things, for example, a year ago, after another visit to the temple on Bald Mountain in Vydubychi, Kyiv, I formulated the essence of native beliefs in theses. These theses are developed into full-fledged doctrines by different people in different texts. These are the doctrine of the unity of all things, the doctrine of the order, the doctrine of the roundel, the doctrine of the three tribal duties, and the doctrine of the three temples: natural, man-made, and inner.
So you are still a systematizer?
I have published two books, Pagans of the Atomic Age and With the Gods in the Heart, devoted to Slavic paganism and Ukrainian paganism or native beliefs. I use these words as synonyms. Paganism is simply a broad concept, the ethnic religion of any people, and paganism is a well-established name for modern Slavic paganism. For me, there is no contradiction.
Did the full-scale war somehow affect this work?
I finally put the second book in order while serving in the army. But these texts were written long before the war. The book “With Gods in the Heart” is the materials of our school of native faith, which was held by the community starting in 2013. I added something, then rethought it, maybe edited it, but the basis of the texts appeared long before the full-scale war. I did not change them significantly.
Do you plan to write new books?
Yes, I do. Will they be entirely devoted to your native faith? I don’t know, I don’t think so. I would like to dedicate my next book to researching eco-settlements in Ukraine, to this kind of downshifting. Because I myself, in principle, also practice it, having moved from Odesa to a small village.
How did your environment-family and friends-react when you began to openly practice your native faith?
My family reacted with extraordinary calmness to this. They should be commended. My grandfather, who had been practicing yoga since he was 55, even approved. For him, it was a spiritual path that was related to the Indian tradition. Of course, he didn’t join the rituals, he just supported it. As for my friends and classmates, I became a little more distant from them internally, but I was not an outsider and remained part of the company. Perhaps I was perceived as a weirdo, but on the other hand, I even tried to involve some of my friends in rituals and meditation, and some of them were at least interested.
How has the Mokosh community changed over the years?
When I became the community leader, a ritualist, I continued to conduct rituals the way they were conducted at the time of my arrival. People began to join through social media, the distribution of brochures, posters that we placed in esoteric stores. The most significant people joined the community sometime between 2011 and 2016. We belonged to the All-Ukrainian Center for the Unification of Religious Believers of Ukraine, participated in congresses. In 2011, I was initiated in the Kyiv community. We published our own brochures, our own calendar of native beliefs – we had and still have a good girl designer. We also kept in touch with many patriotic organizations. These include Prosvita, the youth of Prosvita, the youth of Freedom and Azov. They actively joined us for some time. Even before the Maidan, we had an initiative group for an eco-settlement. We realized that we needed to move from the metropolis to the countryside, and as a result, my wife and I moved to the village in 2018. After that, there was a pause, the community’s activities slowed down. Then there was a certain surge of activity again in 2019-2021. Then the full-scale invasion began. I went to serve, and now, last year, I was officially demobilized on legal grounds, and the community has slowly begun to resume its activities. Since October last year, some events, rituals, and meetings have been held every month.
How many people belong to the community now and who are they?
There is no formal membership in the community. We don’t issue party cards, although we had such ideas once. Currently, there are about 20 active members of the community. These are different people: intellectuals, military personnel, students, young people, and ordinary workers who are interested in Slavic customs.
You mentioned that the community is not officially registered. Is this a principled position or rather a legal difficulty?
No, it’s not. The fact is that for such a small community, legal registration does not bring very significant advantages. And getting it is not a difficulty, it’s a certain legal and bureaucratic hassle. There is no time and no desire for this. Although, by and large, this topic is raised from time to time, and perhaps we will come to this. Perhaps even in the coming years, but the ratio of benefits and costs is not in favor of legal registration.
How do you communicate and interact with all-Ukrainian centers of native believers?
There is a religious center of the Association of Religious Believers of Ukraine, which has been registered since 2001, and a center called “Rodovyi Okhnych” (Ancestral Hearth), but it seems that now they have publicly dissociated themselves a little from the religion. Shortly before the full-scale, the idea of creating a new religious center arose among the younger generation of Rodnovists. And then, again, fate threw us apart. The leader of the Lviv community, my friend Vladyslav Shepit, was killed in the war last year. But a certain registration process has been launched. The Kyiv community has already been registered. Now we are in the process of registering another religious center with a center in Zaporizhzhia. We communicate with them, but we do not have any formal ties.
Valentyn Dolhochub. Photo: Intent / Natalia Dovbysh
Where do you most often perform rituals and what does a typical Mokosh community ritual look like?
Most of the time, we gather on the Black Sea slopes between French Boulevard and the Health Route. There are many lawns there where you can perform a ritual. In general, the rituals are held mostly in the open air. And we know from archaeological sources that, in general, the Slavs were characterized by open-air ceremonies. Even their temples did not resemble the Parthenon. These were rather temporary buildings, most likely wooden. Because it makes sense from a certain religious point of view. Actually, the openness of space, the openness to heaven and earth. That is why, in principle, almost any natural area is suitable. We also performed some rites on Zhevakhova Hill. This is the largest natural elevation in Odesa. But that was before the full-scale invasion. It is now closed. Maybe one day we will return there. We used to spend Midsummer and the summer solstice on the Khadzhibey estuary in the Nerubayske area. There are very beautiful places there, which we can say we have chosen. But this is a departure from Odesa, and there are certain difficulties for someone with this. We even performed some ceremonies in our village, in our estate, after we moved in 2018. But, as it turned out in practice, it is difficult. That’s why we went back to celebrating the main holidays in Odesa. We hold Koliada or the winter solstice in our art center Pidpillya.
What does a typical service look like? It’s a circle of people with a fire in the middle. As a rule, they stand with their hands raised to the sky and, for example, pass around a potion with a drink, praising the gods and ancestors. More specifically, our typical worship service begins with the sanctification of the space by the elements. It is enclosed by earth, water, fire, and air. A fire is lit. The fire is always the center and core of the rite, because fire is the element that literally transforms matter into energy, flesh into strength. And through the fire, we convey our intentions, wishes, requests to the higher powers and make offerings – bread and drink. As a rule, they should be home-made, and we often follow this, but not always. After making offerings or sacrifices, some actions are performed dedicated to a specific deity, for example, the deity to whom the day is dedicated, in whose honor the holiday is held. We can recreate some elements of folklore, songs, folk dances that were characteristic, again, according to custom, of this holiday. Vesnianky, obzhynka songs, carols in winter for the winter solstice. After that, the rite is closed. Then there is a fraternization, usually a joint lunch, where people bring food to the fold. Then there is socializing and eating, which is also an element of the holiday.
What are the most important holidays for you?
The annual circle, according to Pagans, is a round dance of the gods, those higher powers that create, maintain, destroy, and revive the world around us. They manifest themselves at certain points in the annual circle, which we call holidays. There are four major solar holidays that form a kind of calendar cross. These are two solstices – summer and winter, and two equinoxes – autumn and spring. In general, every month we gather for a holiday. December is Koliada, the winter solstice, which begins the native faith year and the solar year as such. In January, it is the Epiphany, which completes the cycle of Christmas holidays after Koliada. We use the word Christmas as the holiday of the birth of the sun. There are good reasons to believe that the birthday of Christ was adjusted in the Roman Empire to the well-known holiday of the birthday of the invincible sun. In February, we have the holiday of Veles. March is Easter, April is the feast of Yaryla, the god of fertility. In May, it’s Mermaids or Spring Grandfathers, a holiday to commemorate ancestors. June is Kupala, July is the holiday of Perun, and August is Obzhynky, a thanksgiving to Mother Earth for the harvest. In September, it’s the autumnal equinox. In October, there is the Mokoshi holiday, as well as the Autumn Grandfathers, an autumn holiday of remembrance of ancestors. In November, it is the holiday of fate, sometimes also the holiday of the arrival of winter, if it comes to our region.
Are there any places in Odesa or the region that you consider “holy” – natural or historical points of power?
Zhevakhova Mountain. This is the place where, as we know, there was an ancient Greek temple dedicated to Demeter. There was a pagan sanctuary of the Hellenes there, which was excavated by archaeologists in the early 20th century, including Professor Dobrolyubsky. Another place that can be called not quite holy, but very significant, is the Kuyalnytsia cemetery, which our community took care of when almost no one knew about it, that is, in 2012-2013. I remember very well how we cleared these overgrown bushes together with some patriotic organizations. Today it is already a popular tourist destination. We sometimes spend our autumn holidays there. Actually, on the one hand, of course, we go to our relatives’ graves and honor their memory. But on the other hand, these are our collective ancestors of Ukrainians who lived here in the Black Sea region, or even before Odesa was founded as a modern city. Again, this is something that unites us. It is a kind of symbol of our collective ancestors, I would say. So we also treat it with great respect.
What is your attitude towards Christianity? Hostile, neutral, dialogic?
Mostly neutral, sometimes dialogic. I can emphasize that it is easier to have some kind of communication with Christians because, at the very least, they are religious people. If they are really sincere Christians, they have this religious experience. Of course, we share the idea of God, the idea of the divine in general, that it exists. We share the idea of a soul whose life does not end with the death of the body. Obviously, it’s much harder to talk about something like this with people who consider themselves to be such convinced atheists or materialists because they don’t have this experience or they think they don’t have it. You know, I often compare it to sexual experience. You either had it or you didn’t. What Christians and I have in common is that we have a certain religious experience or experience of the sacred, as some religious scholars call it.
Do you feel any aggression on the part of Christians toward pagan beliefs?
No, I do not feel any aggression. In the winter of 2016, we held an open pagan-Christian discussion with three young Orthodox Christians. We wanted representatives of Catholicism and Protestantism to be there, but they did not come. There was a polemic-three on three, a battle, so to speak. Our meeting was moderated by a girl who sympathized with Krishnaism at the time, as a neutral person. I think we had a very good conversation. It was a very high-level discussion, actually. We found about ten points of intersection between us and them.
In Ukraine, there have been conflicts, even physical conflicts, between Christians and pagans. In Kyiv, in particular, with representatives of the UOC of the Moscow Patriarchate, and with representatives of the Greek Catholic Church in 2009 in the Khmelnytsky region. These conflicts usually take place where there are sculptures, idols, so-called idols or churches, as we call them. They are sometimes sawn and burned. Unfortunately, no one is responsible for this. 
Valentyn Dolhochub. Photo: Intent / Natalia Dovbysh
How does the native belief explain the concepts of struggle, sacrifice, and protection of the land?
I would develop them a little bit in different directions. The easiest thing to understand about the defense of one’s native land is ancestral duty. A tribal believer, when taking initiation, undertakes to help the kinsmen who live around him or her and to defend their native land in case of danger. There is also a duty to the heavenly family – to continue one’s lineage and pass on the customs of our land to them. And there is a duty to the family of the Almighty, which is to cognize oneself and the world.
As for the struggle, in general, the struggle is a state or action that is a manifestation of the god Perun. The very name of Perun is associated with the concept of resistance, pressure, and beating something. Perun is a god who maintains boundaries and order. Boundaries between worlds, between the living and the dead, between distinctive human communities, and between individuals. Therefore, when you overcome the resistance of circumstances or defend your personal boundaries, your personal boundaries, this is also a small manifestation of Perun. Although you may not realize it. There are people of such a Perunian disposition, Perunists, for whom life is a struggle, a competition, they want to be achievers. This is not necessarily connected with the war. But, of course, war is the sphere where such people reveal themselves most fully. To be honest, I have never believed that life is a struggle. And this ethos of Perun is not close to me, although, of course, I honor this deity along with others.
I am closer to the ethos of sacrifice. In fact, the concept of sacrifice is central to paganism. Not because our ancestors ever sacrificed anyone. There is reason to believe that the ancient Slavs did not have human sacrifices. This is not the point at all. The point is that in various Indo-European mythological traditions there is an image of a primordial god who sacrifices himself. This is a paradox, but it seems so at first glance. God disintegrates and the world emerges from his parts. This is Purusha in the Indian tradition, the giant Imir in the Scandinavian tradition, and Odin, who nails himself to the world tree with a spear, devoting himself to himself, because there is no one higher than him. Eastern Slavs have such medieval folklore texts in the Pigeon Book. They use Christian terms, but they are absolutely not Christian in content. In particular, there is a fragment about how the world arose from the parts of Jesus’ body: the sun from his face, white light from his heart, the moon from his eyes, and small stars from his hair. This almost completely resembles the way the Rigveda describes the emergence of the world from Purusha.
What is the moral here? The moral is that the world came into being and is established through the sacrifice of a deity. Following the spiritual path, we also become like a deity when we sacrifice ourselves to our own spirit, which is this deity. In fact, there is no question of death here. We should not take it in a vulgar way. It means that we learn to perceive our life as a rite of sacrifice. Of course, if this sacrifice takes the form of death for the family and the nation, such a person, of course, manifests the divine in a vivid and complete way. From our point of view, they are godlike. But this does not mean that everyone should be like this. A person has freedom of will and uses it as it is prompted by conscience, reason, or some momentary whims, so to speak. That’s how I would explain the concept of sacrifice in my own faith.
With this material, Intent continues a series of video conversations with clergymen from southern Ukraine. The purpose of this series is to show as broad and complete a picture of religious life as possible.
Ната Чернецька
Editor-in-chief – Valerii Bolgan
intent.press@gmail.com
+38 (048) 737-38-98
65023, Odesa, pb 209
Our team
Editorial policy
Media ID – R40-05831
Advertise with us
2009-2025 © all rights reserved.
When using the materials – a link to the site necessarily. intent.press@gmail.com
