An Eastern European Christmas
I was fortunate or unfortunate, due to my circumstances, to jump through three distinct cultures to which I tried to conform. First, born on the last day of World War II into a socialist system as it was manifesting in Eastern Europe. Second, I spent my childhood in a community of Christians in a small town in Transylvania, Romania.
Members of my family and every second neighbor were being sent back from the labor camps in Siberia, and some never made it back. Later on, I discovered that I had saved my mother, and being pregnant; they spared her and one of her sister’s lives.
People were torn in those transitional years between their belief systems and the principles of Communism inflicted on them. Religious practices were discouraged, but not completely banned, and every household still put up a Christmas tree.
Food supplies were scarce, and every single household item was considered irreplaceable. Under the Christmas tree, only children had presents and lollies. The family’s main gathering happened on Christmas Eve when the best cakes and food were produced.
We, the kids, waited until midnight to go into the room to see the tree and open presents. Then, we were told that little Jesus and the angels just left us all that!
Outside, the ground was covered in snow, giving a special meaning to the senses – everything around was submerged in profound silence. Inside, it was warm from the wood burner, and the scent of the fresh Christmas tree was overwhelming.
In my childhood, I felt safe in a big family all living close by. The adults have a common understanding to keep us away from the horrors of what was still happening in the background. Only when we were big enough to ask questions were we able to put the puzzle together.
My first significant cultural change occurred when I left with my husband to move to Moldova, where the Greek Orthodox heritage was prevalent. Already a qualified visual artist, teacher, and Curator of the Art Museum of Contemporary Art, I became an active member of society, researching and promoting the heritage using the framework of the socialist system.
Romania never became completely communist — we were told we were on the right track, going from hardship to hardship toward Communism. Yet, all the time in this part of the country, the Christmas momentum continued in every house and family.
Here in the Orthodox Christian environment, it was only a mountain peak away from where I came from. The customs of celebrating were specific and different from what I knew, with more color, giant ceremonial masks, lots of noise, and people organized in groups singing carols and moving around all night from house to house and all the significant buildings. The real meaning of Christmas shined through less and less.
Then in my late 30s, I left it behind and migrated to Australia with my husband and two children. It was different again. This was the most complex — a new culture and language, no extended family, no close-knit community, and no faith. So my real quest began.
To make sense of it, I began my research, went through Sufism, then Buddhism, and the years passed.
One day, I learned that “when the student is ready, the teacher will find him/her.” And so, finally, I came to Falun Gong. Again, my life had to adjust to a new paradigm, but everything fell into place this time.
I could reach and connect to my roots. But in 23 years of cultivation, I have found my roots are the same as every other culture when you dig deeply enough.
By Juliana Turcu
Recollections of Christmas in an Aussie Town
Australia has many different cultures, and each celebrates Christmas Day synonymous with its culture. The meaning is the same — to celebrate the birthday of an enlightened being that came to earth to help humanity overcome evil and return to harmony and goodness.
The Australian culture at Christmas is seen with beer and sport, but that is only as it appears on the surface. The original Koori culture shows us that the land has an underlying soul. It embraces all who come to live here, allowing us all to feel the presence of the divine in peace and harmony with nature.
I was four years old when World War II began and 10 years old when it was over in 1945. In the Central Western Slopes and Plains of New South Wales where I lived, the war was followed by seven years of drought, then a grasshopper plague, a mouse and rat plague, a rabbit plague, and then devastating floods.
It was difficult for my father being a returned soldier on a run-down 365-acre property 6 miles out of the town of Dubbo. No car, only a horse and bicycles to ride on the rough road into town. My father’s only helpers were my mother, my 12-year-old sister, and myself, aged 10.
However, we enjoyed helping with the outside work of plowing the soil, harvesting the wheat, doing the fencing, and sewing up wheat bags, with the freedom to enjoy the great outdoors.
During the drought, we had precious little water in our rainwater tanks. When the well dried up, we had to walk half a mile to the Macquarie River to bathe and wash our clothes. Looking back, I can see this would have profoundly affected how we celebrated Christmas.
Brought up following the English Christmas traditions, it was a day “to eat and be merry” — a hot baked turkey, vegetables, and a Christmas pudding containing pennies. My sister and I made streamers with crepe paper and used tacks to secure them onto anything we could reach by standing on a chair.
We made decorations to hang on a tree outside. The presents we gave away were a colored pencil drawing or a handmade necklace with some description. My mother always seemed pleased to get them, but I don’t think she ever wore the necklaces! If we had any pretty wrapping paper, we carefully saved it to use again for the following year.
After my sister and I were married and had children, we continued having Christmas together even when living in different towns a long way from each other. Christmas was bowls of cherries and nuts, turkey and ham, and Christmas lights.
On Christmas Eve, most of the family arrived in time for a beer and BBQ. Then, we all gathered around my sister’s at night, playing the piano and singing Christmas carols. This was my greatest joy!
Around this time, I was a leader of a Girl Guide Company. A week before Christmas, I would pile my children and some Girl Guides into the back of my Morris Mini Minor Ute and drive them to different locations, including the hospital, to sing carols.
After breakfast on Christmas morning, some would go to church, mainly singing joyful hymns. Then before lunch, a family member would put on a Santa hat to be Father Christmas and hand out presents from under the Christmas tree. This tradition has been carried on down from family to family.
Next, a late lunch of hot baked turkey and ham with lots of baked vegetables followed by plum pudding with custard, cream, fruit salad, and ice cream.
After dinner, we slept on a nearby couch or sat on the front porch under the grapevines. Then, we watched the energetic ones playing cricket on the lawn, which always resulted in much hilarity and laughter.
By Phillipa Rayment
