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By Ruslan Tracz, Staff, The Manitoban
Official Student Newspaper of the University of Manitoba
Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, January 7th, 2004
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The snow blanketed the city that year. Cold nipped at our skin and made cars
decide not to start. The air was crisp, as we could see our breath hover in
the air for minutes. With a star totem, or zvizda in hand we left the car
singing the carol Dobryi Vechir Tobi, Pane Hospodariu despite the freezing
temperature. As the family heard carolers coming up the steps, the front
door opened.
They welcomed us in with open arms from the cold and they sang along with
us. As the song ended, one of the carolers stepped forward and recited a
ritual verse of greeting: vinchuvannia. "Vinchyu vam v koliadi, prozhyvaite
v harazdi, bez klopoty, bez bidy,azh do druhoyi koliady. Khystos
Razhdayetsia" - wishing the family the best for the New Year from the carol
this year until the carol next year.
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CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE
For some people, seeing strange groups caroling in the freezing cold on Jan.
7 might be odd. But this has been my Christmas for 15 years now and I would
not change it for the world.
It's a good bet that pretty much everyone in Winnipeg knows someone who
celebrates Christmas two weeks after Dec. 25. Some families celebrate both,
while others hold onto the Julian calendar celebrations on Jan. 6 and 7.
Sviat Vechir, or Christmas Eve dinner is one of my fondest memories from
childhood - the tradition, the smells, the laughter and the songs will be
etched in my mind for eternity. Of course, it was a big plus to get an extra
day off while I was in elementary school, but it was more than that. We did
not get any presents on Dec. 25, as St. Nicholas visited us in mid-December,
placing gifts underneath our pillows. For us, Christmas was more than just
gifts. Even when I was young, I recognized the tradition and the symbolism
of some of the rituals, although I did not fully understand them.
The table was always covered with a gorgeous obrus (embroidered table
cloth), and underneath each of the four corners lay a clove of garlic to
ward off evil. In the corner of the dining room there was always a didukh (a
large sheaf of wheat), symbolizing our forefathers. The one that now
overlooks our table was made by me, thus bridging generations together.
I always felt a sense of excitement as I donned my vyshyvanka, my
embroidered Ukrainian shirt.
As the guests slowly arrived, they often caroled as they entered the house,
or at least recited the greeting. As the years went on, the number of guests
seemed to grow, as girlfriends and other friends that would have been alone
on Sviat Vechir joined us to celebrate. I remember one year, having 15 or 16
people around the table, although we only planned to have 11. Though we had
to scrounge for chairs, all were welcome. Prosymo, Hosti!
STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT
As the youngest child, it was my job to watch for the first star to appear.
The meal would not begin until the first star could be seen. Taking my job
seriously, I planted myself by a window and occasionally went outside,
waiting for a glimpse of light to shine down.
Finally, we gathered around the table, singing Boh Predvichnyi, a
traditional carol as a prayer. At the end of the carol, my father always
said, "Khrystos Razhdaietsia," (Christ is born), to which we responded
"Slavite Yoho" (Let us praise him). After that, I remember lighting the
candle in the centre of the kolach, the braided circle of bread in the
middle of the table that symbolizes the sun, eternity and the family. This
was the pattern that we followed for years until Tato (my father) threw us a
curve ball.
One year, my father surprised us all after the prayer by throwing a spoonful
of kutia to the ceiling. Just like everything on Christmas Eve, this too was
filled with symbolism. If the kutia (traditionally the first and most
special of twelve dishes), made of poppy seeds, wheat grains and honey,
sticks to the ceiling, your family will have good luck and prosperity for
the rest of the year. After all of our guests recovered from the surprise
and my brothers and I stopped laughing, we looked at the ceiling and saw
that the kutia stayed in place. From what I remember it was a good year.
Subsequent years have seen other magnificent throws, such as my near failed
attempt, which saw kutia hitting one of our friends Ian and his rather
shocked girlfriend, who had never been part of a Sviat Vechir. In my
defence, the rest of it stuck to the ceiling.
As we all took our seats, there was always one extra place setting and one
empty chair, symbolizing those that could not be with the family that
evening or to those that have passed away. We always put kutia in one of the
bowls, inviting those spirits to join us, which both frightened and
enchanted me through childhood. Although I have little memory of my baba,
for some reason as a child I always imagined her joining us that evening.
YET MORE FOOD
After the kutia comes a barrage of delicious meatless and non-dairy
delights. There must be at least twelve different dishes. Even now, I am
still amazed at the wonders that come from the kitchen during that day. When
I was a child, I dreaded eating kutia, vushka (tiny wild mushroom-filled
dumplings) and various fish. These dishes now make my mouth salivate,
although I still cannot stand the oseledtsi (pickled herring).
The wine continues to flow freely during the evening, as conversation and
laughter takes over the room. Mama always has carols playing in the
background as we continued the festivities.
Soon enough, the favourite dishes emerged from the kitchen. The borsch (beet
soup), holubtsi (cabbage rolls) and varenyky (perogies) always made my
middle brother and I excited. I recall there were competitions years ago to
determine who could eat more of mama's varenyky. For the record I still
believe I won although my mother did not approve of the competition.
After the end of the meal, desert begins. Various tortes, cakes, cookies,
kompot (compote of dried fruit), fill the table and we all indulge the sweet
tooth. The laughter and conversation continues for a few more hours and more
carols are sung echoing the ones played over dinner.
My fondest memories of the evening occur long after the candle burns out and
long after our guests have left. Christmas, no matter when you celebrate, is
about friends and family. Even though my brothers have moved to different
cities over the last few years, we still come together here in Winnipeg. The
evening filled with rituals, tradition, and symbolism comes together at that
moment in time, as carols are still quietly played in the background. The
traditions are old, so very old, that they began even before Christianity
came to Ukraine more than a thousand years ago.
THE SINGING NEVER ENDS
The next day, youth and church groups gather to carol from house to house,
bringing the joy of Christmas to other Ukrainians who have held on to the
traditions and symbols of the distant past. Doors open and the hosts greet
them again with open arms, like the countless years before, joining in the
song, rejoicing. Raduisia! Oj raduisia, Syn Bozhyi, narodyvsia (Rejoice! The
son of god is born).
http://www.umanitoba.ca/manitoban/latest/cu_02.html
For Personal and Academic Use Only
EDITOR'S NOTE: Ruslan Tracz is the youngest son of Orysia Paszczak
Tracz, a well known Ukrainian-Canadian folk-art expert, writer of many
articles about Ukrainian folk-art, writer for The Ukrainian Weekly and other
publications. Orysia has also translated folk-art books from Ukrainian into
English. She leads an annual folk-art expedition to Ukraine each summer.
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