Orthodox Cross
This week at the Academy was a quite one as the holiday and celebration of All Saints fell at the end of the work week and as a result this resulted in a long weekend for Poland with people traveling great distances by rail to join with their families on this important holiday. Dasia, my Polish sister, left on the train for the south of Poland to be with her family, a seven hour train ride away. Pawel and I remained in Bialystok and joined with his family for the celebration. Pawel and his family picked me up at the academy on November 1st early in the morning and we joined thousands of Polish family on the move to their home villages. Pawel’s older brother was to join us but decided on staying in Warsaw due to the horrendous traffic delays on E-67 which joins Warsaw with Bialystok. Pawel’s father drove northeast past the village of Suprasi to an Orthodox Cemetery to light the candles and place flowers on the graves of his family members. The cross of the Orthodox Church can be recognized as having another horizontal cross member on it which is tilted at an angle. I am told that this additional cross member begs the question, “Which way are you headed?”
In a short while we were back on the road again headed to the Belarus Poland boarder. Very near the border is a very small village that Pawel’s mother was born in. What occurred next is one of the most amazing things that I have observed in all of my travels. I would rank this celebration with that of the Happy Cemeteries Northern Romania. We arrived at the cemetery and had to search for a place to park Pawel’s Volkswagen. Pawel provided me with a sweater and said that it was a pity that we did not have gloves as it was shaping up to be a cold day with bitter winds sweeping down from Siberia, just as Pawel’s father had told me about the weather patterns in this area of the world. I replied that I had just purchased a pair of gloves at the Russian Market but I had left them at my apartment. Pawel assured me that, from his previous experience with the cold Polish Novembers, that my gloves would be fine at my apartment and that it was best that at least my gloves were warm on this cold grey day. We walked in the brisk winds to the family grave sites and joined some of his relatives that had already arrived. We stood in an ever expanding circle that increased in size as more relatives arrived. Pawel described the circle in the cemetery in the days of his youth. The children then would joke about the parents in the circle and eat the food their parents had brought to keep them busy as the parents talked about things past, loved ones, and hopes for the future. Pawel then turned to me and said “look…now I am in the circle and there are new youngsters.” I smiled and told him about the American saying of meeting at wakes and weddings. I was very grateful to be received and placed in the circle of this fine family, a family that never forgot the stranger in their midst’s and welcomed him with open arms and Polish hospitality that has helped me to discover my roots here in this part of Poland. The church bells tolled, mass had ended and I looked out to the road and saw every member of the village on the road, traveling to join us at the cemetery. Instead of tears I saw a sea of humanity coming to join together as the human family of God. At the fore front of the procession were alter boys, flags of the church, and the village priest. He blessed us and we prayed together in the chilling winds of the Polish countryside, not far from the Polish Belarus border. A part of my essence had arrived home, praying near the village of my ancestors, reunited with my heritage by Pawel’s and his family. I will never e able to properly thank them for the help and hospitality that they have provided to me. The Siberian winds blew colder as the sun slowly dropped in the sky, Pawel’s farther remarked that I looked like the paparazzi, with my scarf wrapped around my head as I took the photographs that you see here. I was astounded by the sea of humanity that I was a part of. The circle broke and we said our farewells and then we departed to Pawel’s Mother’s family farm house. We arrived at the modest farmhouse and were greeted as family and friends. The dinner was set at a long table and the family presented the meal that we would share together. I sat next to Pawel and his uncle, who kept my glass filled with Nalafka. I could see it would indeed be a long, fun filled family evening. The Nalafka was my favorite, made from cherries grown on the farm. I particularly enjoyed the glonka, which is roasted leg of pork. All of the food and drink consumed that night were either grown or raised on the family farm. In a short while Pawel went to bring the village priest to dine with us. He is a wonderful man, somewhere in his 40’s, rough and tumble man of God that raised his glass to welcome me to the parish. The evening passed while I entered various states consciousness due to the effects of the Nalafka. I finally realized that the reason that the dinner plates were left at the table was that the family, although drinking, joking, and talking, were still eating. Pawel related to me that part of the ritual of the consumption of Vodka and Nalafka was the eating that accompanies it. We had a joyous time singing together even though I did not know the words. Several days before Pawel had cautioned me that when it was time to leave it would be best not to delay. Naturally I had forgotten this sage advice and shook hands with one and all. The Village priest caught my little finger and said “Mark, you must have one for the road with us!” I thought and pondered,”Who was I to doubt the word of a man of God?” I remember having several sots for the road and then being able to see in the pitch blackness of that special Polish evening. One of the things I do remember is the Polish saying that Pawel related to me, “What you do with the Doctor is healthy, what you do with the Policeman is safe, and what you do with the Village Priest is not a sin!” I next remembered traveling down the highway. We passed a cemetery and you could see all of the candles aglow from a great distance. The day was beautiful and the traffic was obscene. At one point we turned around to take a side road. I was assured that if we hadn’t turned back we would have been in traffic for at least two hours. I awoke the next morning with a clear head exactly as foretold by another Polish saying, “If you are poured vodka generously you will not have a hangover.” I had no hangover as the entire day was a fine example of Polish hospitality and generosity.
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