Calming the Storm. Протоиерей Олег Штельман

no Motherland or church,

      As all Ham’s children have been born,

      A bile and emptiness in words they touch,

      Their hearts with awful deceit burn.

      Oh, Mary Virgin, Mother of God,

      Say a prayer for our world, we call,

      Ask the Holy Son from all our heart,

      To send us peace, once and for all!

      The Cook

      In one monastery of the saints,

      Which are so many through the world,

      Worked special cook, he was not faint,

      With eastern blood in every thought.

      He was all pleasant with his soul,

      He cooked so fine and baked the bread,

      Ways how with four he there followed, —

      Was something that nobody ever knew or had:

      Pancakes, the cakes, and loaf bread,

      An Easter cake, – he could persuade,

      Whatever’s called, it wasn’t bad,

      Without books, he cooked so great.

      A merry one, he liked the jokes,

      And always spoke without angry speech,

      And just like vegetables stewed in oven he would poke,

      He clearly knew the borders he should never reach.

      And then they suddenly announce to me,

      That he is buried in a ground, he is gone.

      In his last journey they have sent him

      And it was only me who wasn’t timely told.

      I was away from home and way too far,

      And even though I was no relative if ever,

      I still felt saddened with a mental scar,

      As soul of cook was gone forever.

      I went to church to light a candle,

      And asked for funeral service,

      Sat on a bench at the door’s handle,

      And our talks saw through my eyes.

      The way we sat in this same place,

      The way we spoke about life,

      Discussing all the worldly ways,

      For sentence for an evil we both strived.

      I asked him, where you’re coming from?

      And how did you come up to God?

      I lived my life and I have found my home

      With those who came with Moses and apart.

      Across the Black Sea full of wonders,

      For forty years walked on straight,

      I was with God as grief would pounder,

      Striving to live in new world’s shade.

      In Belarus I have been born,

      And right before the war would start,

      I suddenly became an orphan,

      As my own home was torn apart.

      I lived with very distant aunt of mine,

      A little village, not so far from Minsk,

      I got along with family of hers so fine,

      And there I went to school to study.

      As war came, I have only turned thirteen,

      Fascists are everywhere with awful grief at feet,

      They took us boys and there we were, fifteen,

      To dig the soil next to forest as they always did.

      To dig a trench so much deep,

      To cover the ones killed right there,

      They lead someone, I turn pale and weep,

      The Jews for the death they prepare.

      They lived in a village next from there,

      A community whole and a Rabbi then.

      They put them. Veins shake in a stare.

      When suddenly German comes up to them,

      Beckoning Rabbi with his finger,

      He said: “You tell-them-any-word!” in barking voice,

      He looked up all with awful fiery ginger,

      Gave sweets to girls and all the little boys.

      And as behind the Rabbi he then stood,

      I thought of teacher right away:

      What out of his heart he took,

      What precious he’d still carry to this day.

      And then a world, just like a diamond shone,

      Flashing with priceless single line of word,

      Arrested spoke like thunderstorm,

      Shining like lighting, like an arrow’s cord:

      “The friends of mine, my fathers and my brothers!

      The sorrow came here for a reason bold,

      Misfortune comes from times that are much farther,

      And comes from hand that has been dealt by God.

      Because back then our ancestors,

      Have crucified the Christ of God,

      Our branches have been cut from nesting,

      By Father from the common rod.

      And may today with our blood,

      Baptized in God, baptized in Christ,

      Forgive us and accept our love in heart,

      Accept our souls in the Heavens high”.

      He pulled the trigger, one who stood behind,

      And quickly bullet flashed so near,

      The Rabbi fell, only his curls’ strands few high,

      They played with wind knowing no fear.

      His eyes have flown far into the lands unknown,

      Where he has found eternity to bear,

      As if they welcome him so far in purest love,

      And God Himself appeared in front near.

      The bullets few, ripping the flesh apart,

      The bodies rose, then fell into the ground,

      Filling the pit we made right from the start,

      I closed my eyes in fear with each clicking sound.

      So many years have passed since then, but still

      I can’t forget the woes of war survived,

      And those who died there against their will,

      And Rabbi still enchants my aching mind.

      I take him as my own God-father since that time,

      Because with word of faith, he gave me light,

      With fateful act he did, he made me feel alive,

      Waking me up for reason that has source deep inside.

      I ran away to Monastery here back then,

      Throughout entire war I stayed there,

      I worked hard as if minister, and when,

      They