Easter

This blog is a little scattered now, I apologize. But I realize that it's important for me to report on some things that I greatly neglected.

Like, for instance, the week of Easter.

Christos Anviat! (Christ has risen!)
Adaverat Anviat! (It's True, he's Risen!)

The Orthodox Easter is later than the Catholic Easter, although I was informed that two years ago the holiday was on the same day. Obviously, the churches are celebrating the same thing, as is evidenced by the above statement. And there are some similarities.

There are eggs. They are even dyed. And there is candy. But many similarities end there.

De exampel: The eggs are only dyed red. The red symbolizes the blood that Christ shed.

But I get ahead of myself.

On Easter Eve, the most hardy of people go to the Basilica (actually called Biserica in Moldova) around 7 or 8 in the evening. They bring with them bread, meat, and the eggs that they've died. Often they also bring $.

Those that get to the Biserica early get prime viewing spots. Not that this matters much, because though the church is *incredibly* beautiful, there are no seats. This is true during every service, not just Easter. Also, it's very difficult to see the priest because half the time he's behind a screen even though he wears the most elaborate costumes, and looks more like a pope with a beard than any priest I have seen.



Only about, oh, 1/4 to 1/3 of the time is spent in talk... the rest in singing. Of one song. With one line.

This ceremony goes on until after sunrise.

Now, most people don't have the stamina to get there at 8pm. Oh no. Most people, myself and my host sister and my host grandmother included, went at around 3:30am.
There is absolutely no room for all the people who show up for church this night, so a line begins to form out the door, and people lay set up their bread, eggs, meat, etc., in very decorative manners. The line of people wraps up and down an entire road, and around the Biserica. It is a quite beautiful site, as everyone is using many many candles.



About a half hour before sunrise the priest makes his first round, going around blessing everyone and faintly waving this incense. But this, my friends, is just the beginning.

He goes back in, another round of speaking, singing then he brings the singing outside for what I assume to be the little sprinkling of water.

Oh no my brothers, this was no sprinkling. In Moldova, a huge swath of some green thing is taken and dipped in holy water mixed with basil and mint and literally flung at everyone, and people are doused in this water. But not just the people, my brothers, but the bread, the meat, the eggs, and the bani.

---This was the moment, by the way, where I realized why people looked at me so funny when I tried to ask for basil in my food. It is used for religious purposes only in this country. Booo.

After the second baptism, people jet out of there. The sun is well on its way up, but not showing her face as of yet, and many people went back to bed. I know that my sister and I did.



Only to be woken up 1.5 hours later, and told to hurry! hurry! Walking into the living room with my PJs on and mussed hair, I realize that I'm walking into a family party, a family masa, completely unawares. There are cousins, and aunts, and piles and piles of food on the table. And a host father with a very large bottle of cognac. Dangerous.

Aşa, realizing there was nothing I could do about it, I sat down and downed a very large shot of cognac. It would have been impolitic not to.

Din Pacate, unfortunately, it's hilarious in people's minds to force the American to make a fool out of herself whenever possible, so I was prompted to speak quite often. "Spuneți, Rain, Spuneți!" My name in Moldova, by the way, is Rain. All Moldovan girl names end in A, and thus people are very confused when introduced to me. I've tried to gently direct the tone to Riă, the name of Gorbachav's wife, but to no avail. Despite my continual assurances that Rain is not my name, and is in fact the same thing as "ploua" in romaneste, it is, nevertheless, my new nomenclature..

Now as you can imagine, it's kind of difficult for a person to be put on the spot and made to talk. One feels a little pressure. Which is, in essence, exactly what I said - "este mai dificul sa spun in față mulți oamani". - it's difficult to talk in front of lots of people. Scoff and Nonsense! We're family! they say, no reason to be nervous! Actually, it's more nervewracking, I have found, to be in front of those who know you. Finally, I smiled sweetly, and said "poate eu voi vorbe mai multe cînd tu dai mîine mai mult cognaic" (Maybe I will speak more when you give me more cognac) and then I raised my glass and said "Mulți Ani, Mulți Bani, Mulți American!" and downed my glass.... Many years, Much Money, and many Americans, a decidedly wicked toast and not that flattering to Americans if I'm being all that truthful about it, as it is a toast that Moldovans make to each other to indicate that having Americans amongst them is akin to... oh, I don't know, letting the good times roll? Good financial times? Hopefully, you get the idea. This little speech got a rousing laugh, and a few pats on the back, and even a clap, with a "brava, Rain, brava" and an immediate refilling of my glass.

Thus began the day of three masa, and thus, three naps.

Oh, something I forgot was the face washing thing. It is tradition to wash your face with the dyed easter eggs. I'm kind of unsure as to the reason for this, but it does give your cheeks a nice healthy glow. As does, I'm sure, the cognac and the subsequent jugs of house wine.

On to the other traditions.... what to do with these red eggs? Well, there's a little bit of a luck game associated with them, kind of like our wishbone thing... two people knock their eggs together, and whoesever doesn't crack has good luck. Also, whoever knocks eggs together will meet in the afterlife. Cute huh?

Very cute, except for when the eggs aren't cooked all the way, and the cracked egg mess goes everywhere.

How about the raciture? De obicei, usually, raciture is chicken jello made from a cock - for easter, it was turkey jello, made from... whatever a male turkey is called. And in case you're interested.... (and really, who isn't?) here's a picture of turkey brain before the jello-ing process.



After the feast, children leave the house with bags and, basically, go trick-or-treating. Only it's easter. They go to People's Houses, say Christos Anviat! and get candy.

"Christos Anviat!"
Adaverat Anviat!"

The above is the greeting and the response that one is expected to make and give on easter and for the 40 subsequent days following. No more "Buna Ziua!" It's all about Christ Rising. Which, you know, is ok for the first two days, even for the first week because really, Easter here lasts an entire week, but for 40 days? It's started to wear on me a little. I admit to not responding back in the appropriate manner.

Exactly one week (or sometimes one week and one day, depending on your tradition) is Paşte de Morte - Easter of the Dead. This year, Easter of the Dead happened to fall on May 5th - Cinco de Mayo, which I thought was very appropriate.

Easter of the Dead is when families celebrate their ancestors by going to cemetaries and having picnics on their graves. They leave little presents of flowers, delicious cakes, candles and bottles of vodka and wine on the graves so that the dead know that they aren't forgotten. Folks pay the priest to do a special blessing for the dead, and all march around the graves three times, as a family and then singularly. I wonder, who cleans up after everybody leaves?

Then they come home for another masa. Perhaps two, depending on the family. There's another round of egg cracking, face washing, and cognac drinking.

Ah, Holidays.

"Christos Anviat!"
"Adaverat Anviat!"