The stories I hear while
I go about Europe are fascinating.
Today I met 36-year-old
Edward whose family manages the retreat center we are staying at for a
leadership course in Germany. I had heard that his family of Mennonite faith
came from Russia. I was especially intrigued since I grew up around Mennonites
in my home state, particularly in the Pennsylvania Dutch Country.
I asked lots of
questions, and Edward was happy to share his family heritage, though he
admitted that in his younger days he and his siblings did not especially like
their family history, but expressed that they have grown to appreciate it. He
wishes he would have had more interest in the stories his grandmother told, who
died in 2000, just short of 100 years.
His story began 400
years ago, when his ancestors were a part of the movement of Menno Simons, a
Catholic priest who eventually turned Protestant following the Anabaptist
beliefs, also the man by whom the Mennonite church derives its name.
Listening intently to
his thick German accent, I thought he said something to do with a Catherine.
"Who did you say?" I asked.
"Catherine the
Great" as he wrote it out on a piece of paper so that I could fully
understand. "She was sire of Russia. Do you know sire?" wondering if
this was indeed an English word.
"Yes, I know
sire."
Apparently, Empress
Catherine had gained a great deal of land after winning a war with the Turks
and invited persecuted people of all faiths to come and settle on this newly
acquired land (present day Ukraine). Edward’s family, along with many other
German Mennonite families, moved to Catherine’s domain where she promised
tax-free living, freedom of religion, and particularly for the Mennonites,
freedom from military involvement, all in exchange for working the land.
"She knew the
Germans were hard-working people. They built buildings like no other in
Russia.”
Then the conversation
jumped to 1941 when Edward’s grandparents were caught in the tug-of-war between
Germany and the Soviet Union during World War II. When the tide of the war
turned, Russians of German-descent fled with the German army, as did Edward’s
father’s family.
“You see” Edward
explained, “we were treated better by the Germans than the Russians.”
Edward told me they have
a photo of his father as a boy with the Nazi insignia on his shirt during the
time the family lived in Berlin. Though they received German passports, the
duration of their time in Germany was short-lived. When the war ended, many
German-Russian families were forced to relocate in Siberia and Kazakhstan. The
Soviets saw them as collaborators with the Germans. This was true of Edward’s
father’s family who ended up in Siberia for 10 years, and later in Kazakhstan.
Through contacts, his
father became a part of the underground church. It was in these circumstances
that he met Edward’s mother. Because of their German roots and the fact that
they were Christians, these years were very difficult. His grandfather was in
prison for 10 years because he was a teacher and for his faith. Often, those
who were German did not make it out of prison, but Edward’s grandfather did,
and lived to return to Germany for the last year of his life.
Eventually, the whole
family - Edward's grandparents and immediate family - moved to Moldova (also a
part of the Soviet Union), where Edward was born, and also where they heard it
was easier for German families to flee the Soviets. In 1976, after 3 years in
Moldova, the family was able to flee and move back to Germany when Edward was
just one year old. The German passport that his father obtained in Berlin years
before, proved to be an asset in their return.
I listened to Edward's
story with the curiosity of a child. To meet people with such history pulls me
in and fills me with wonder as to what it was like to live in the realities of persecution and
war. I learned new things today about the Mennonite history and Catherine the Great's gracious offer, but
most of all, a lasting legacy of faith.
This afternoon I headed out for an 8-minute walk to the nearest coffee shop to skype with one of our colleagues in the Turkic-Arabic world. But before I left the flat, I grabbed my camera hoping to catch spring time in the 11th district of Budapest. 
