THE HUMAN BODY

A small cloud passes overhead /Surorile Osoianu - Trece-un nouras pe sus / *)

 

 

[Refren: Surorile Osoianu]
Foaie verde de-un harbuz
Și-ai-la-la
Foaie verde de-un harbuz
Trece-un nouraș pe sus
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Strofa 1: Surorile Osoianu]
Nu știu-i ploaie ori ninsoare
Și-ai-la-la
Nu știu-i ploaie ori ninsoare
Ori lacrimi de fată mare
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Strofa 2: Surorile Osoianu]
Foicică dalbă floare
Și-ai-la-la
Mi-a trimis neica scrisoare
Să-i dau voie să se însoare
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Punte: Surorile Osoianu]
Să-ți fie, bade, păcat
Și-ai-la-la
Să-ți fie, bade, păcat
M-ai iubit și m-ai lăsat
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la
M-ai iubit ca pe-o copilă
Și-ai-la-la
M-ai iubit ca pe-o copilă
M-ai lăsat ca pe-o străină
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la
M-ai iubit ca pe-un pui blând
Și-ai-la-la
M-ai iubit ca pe-un pui blând
M-ai lăsat pe drum plângând
La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

https://genius.com/Surorile-osoianu-trece-un-nouras-pe-sus-lyrics

[Chorus: Osoianu Sisters]

Green leaf of a watermelon

And-a-la-la

Green leaf of a watermelon

A cloud passes overhead

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Verse 1: Osoianu Sisters]

I don't know if it's rain or snow

And-a-la-la

I don't know if it's rain or snow

Or tears of a big girl

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Verse 2: Osoianu Sisters]

Little yellow flower

And-a-la-la

My boy friend sent me a letter

let me let him get married

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

[Bridge: Osoianu Sisters]

May you be, bade, a sin

And-a-la-la

May you be, bade, sin

You loved me and left me

La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

You loved me like a child

And-you-la-la

You loved me like a child

You left me like a stranger

La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

You loved me like a gentle chicken

And-you-la-la

You loved me like a gentle chicken

You left me on the road crying

La-la-la-la-la-la-lai-la

(  The very interesting YouTube comments below are from the Fabric1 account (https://youtu.be/u5FymESz_gs ) , which has been cancelled. )

Andrei Luca3 years ago

The song evokes a time when love was pure, noble, and beautiful—not animalistic and steeped in raw eroticism, devoid of any tenderness. If you look at the visuals accompanying the song, the women are elegantly dressed, and intimacy is portrayed as something sacred—veiled, untouchable, and undefiled; to take advantage of this holy intimacy—loving a woman only to abandon her—was akin to a profanation. Hence the sense of tragedy and the seemingly incurable wound in the soul of the one left behind. Yet, the young man sends a letter asking his beloved for permission to marry another; he feels a measure of guilt for leaving her, though this does not absolve him of the curse of his sin: having loved, only to abandon what he once cherished.

No matter how one views this song, it possesses a rare beauty that cannot leave a rational person indifferent. I had never heard it before today. I heard it broadcast on Radio Cultural and sought it out to listen to it again and again; I found it extraordinarily moving and beautiful, even in its melancholy. We are a people with melancholy in our blood—unless, that is, we have already killed off everything beautiful within us through secularism... Respect to all..

nehliudov1 year ago
It is all too rare that I come across a comment like this. Thank you for helping me articulate and better understand my emotions..

ciupenhauer2 years ago (edited)
Do you realize that this whole song is actually a painting? Her standing in the road, weeping, while the clouds drift overhead—perhaps for days on end—yet for her, the moment exists outside of time. Sorrow knows no time; it remains suspended, with the cloud as the only point of reference. And the cloud drifts on, eternally... So few words in the lyrics, yet such a powerful image...


Dusan Kojic7 years ago
Great song. Regards from SERBIA!!!

Reggie Kray6 years ago
There´s something miraculous about Romanian culture, the way of the storytelling captivating in a fragile yet dignified spirit is something all human beings need to sense in their consciousness.

antimonyful5 years ago
It is one of the frustrations of humanity that you don't know what you have until it's gone. Romania and Romanians are slowly losing their culture, heritage, customs, and traditions in exchange for more "modern" things that have no lasting value. Yes, life is tough for a lot of people and they might want to leave for a better place or "evolve" into a more Western mindset. But don't think for one second Romania is all that bad and backwards compared to any other nation. Learn to cherish your rich culture and traditions and keep them from dying. I love this song and the many more like it, they touch the heart and speak to the soul. 


Mihai Maita3 years ago
when men loved women and women respected men

Ida Marie Gedbjerg Sørensen2 years ago
I would like to know who owns the right of this track. I would like to use it in a film. Who to contact?

Blaikias1 year ago
Thank you for your interest in the Romanian culture! Regarding the copyrights, you should contact Surorile Osoianu ('The Osoianu Sisters'). You can message them on their Facebook page where you will also find their manager's phone number in the description. https://www.facebook.com/pg/SurorileOsoianu/about/?ref=page_internal Also, may I know the name of the film you are working on? I think I'd be interested in watching it :) Good luck! Looking forward to hearing from you soon!Read more

marino deželak2 years ago (edited)
I have to say... I hear this song for the first time, but it is very reminiscent of the Hungarian "Gloomy Sunday". So reminiscent actually, I could easily believe it could have been an inspiration.

Endeavour Deandre2 years ago (edited)
From what i know, this is a traditional song (it doesn't even have a known author) and it's from Basarabia area (a little far from Hungary, it's not in the Transilvanya region) Also, the subject of this song it's completely different from the Gloomy Sunday (which i understand it's about suicide) But, I'm not a specialist in these things, so it could be either way ...Show less 

oq po1 year ago
marino deželak Of course a hungarian has to come and claim everything ... please just mind your traditions and leave us alone.

Baycosinus1 year ago (edited)
So i'm a Turk and my grandparents were born in Constanta, migrated back to Turkey in 1930's. My grandma was always singing this to me when i was a little kid. I asked her the meaning of the song and she told me she can't remember since she had Alzheimer's Syndrome. She died in 2013 and several years later, i met a Romanian girl and one day she sent me this song. I cried out loud several hours when i realize this is that song. And each time i miss her, i came here and listen to this, close my eyes and imagine she's singing this to me. Thank you. 

Edit: Thanks to the people who shared my emotions. I went to Sibiu, Romania for an Erasmus internship last summer (2019 summer) and it was the best time of my life. I experienced many "firsts" of my life, travelling abroad alone first time, being in a foreign country first time. eating miçi first time :) It was like a dream and I collected tons of memories there. And once i graduade, first thing i'll do will be to move there. Also, I had the opportunity to listen to Subcarpati live, and they performed their song "Limba Romana" in that concert first time. When I hear Surorile Osoianu, my tears started to drop! It was a beautiful night for me. Focus in the Park, Sibiu, 2020. Thank you so much, wonderful people!

Nagy Jeno10 months ago
romanian magics! i'm half romanian and half hungarian born in Romania, never percepted like a real romanian. I left Romania 30 years ago to live in many foreign countrys and finally discover trough culture, that i feel and i'm romanian in my deep soul! very nice country, rich history and universal culture. You: turk; me : hungarian; we have romanians feellings just by listening that song...and even if they say that we are not romanians... we feel like!!!
Andreea Pozderie9 months ago
This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read on youtube comments. Please let us know how your internship will go in Constanta. I can imagine this trip is already charged with so many emotions. Wish you all the best.

oneoctavelow1 year ago (edited)

I get goose bumps whenever I listen to this song. It is so hauntingly pure, so spellbinding ...so innocent... Surely it must come from a Romanian child's heart

Ștefania Ghișa1 year ago (edited)
The emotions stirred are inexpressible. Verses so simple, yet carrying a profound and timeless message....


A. W 1 year ago
magnifique !!! j'en ai la chair de poule

David Kroepfli8 months ago
oui c'est trop beau!

Mama omida11 months ago
We have such beautiful folklore, yet we listen to *manele* like idiots.:)

Gül She10 months ago
I can't take myself listening to this song.. I don't understand the lyrics but it aches my heart . so mystical

Notes

*) This haunting Romanian song is about the deepest human feelings and states—childhood, innocence, and love—recalling the warning of Professor Judith Reisman :  

Understand, destroying children is the end game !

https://sergiusimion.blogspot.com/2025/05/judith-reisman-understand-destroying.html

Jean Lauxerois – A Plea for Romanian Orthodox Spirituality *)

Romania is still, in a profound sense, a people. This is because it possesses a common language and a common religion that exist as a shared soul—that is, a shared spirituality. My contact with Romanians also allows me to appreciate that this spirituality differs from that of the Russians or the Greeks—at least insofar as I am familiar with them. Romanians often display a certain sensitivity, a moderation, and a gentleness—qualities I would liken to what the ancient Greeks called *aidos*. It is a spiritual gentleness, the kind one sees on the faces of the devout, and which is said to have characterized Father Paisie Olarul and Father Stăniloae. They also possess a cheerfulness that endures even in times of hardship—a sense of joy, dance, and celebration that radiates brightly, especially in the countryside. All of this is well known and struck me just as it did others before me. Yet, we must not limit ourselves to merely praising the anthropological aspects of rural life and the village, however beautiful they may be. The village is, above all, an embodiment of spiritual community—as I witnessed firsthand in Maramureș, Moldavia, and Lupșa. It is a community that is not archaic; rather, it is thoroughly contemporary in its way of life, while its living unity is sustained in and through faith. It is a case that is perhaps unique in Christian Europe. In Breb (Maramureș), for instance, I was surprised to see—after the Sunday Liturgy—the greater part of the village gathered in the churchyard to discuss various community matters. Everyone was voicing their opinion, taking part in crafting a solution. Before me lay a truly remarkable *agora*—that of the village community gathered in the shadow of the church bell tower. And one glimpses that the true community is the one uniting the village home and the church: there is a permeability, a living exchange, an astonishing osmosis between the two that nourishes them both.

Jean Lauxerois   

„Many Romanians have made me feel and admire a lived Orthodoxy.”

Interview with Jean Lauxerois, France

Jean Lauxerois is a French philosopher specializing in Greek and German thought. He taught for a considerable time in Germany and Italy, served as a program director at the International College of Philosophy, and was a professor in Paris. He has translated works by Martin Heidegger, Theodor Adorno, Walter Otto, Sophocles, Plato, and Aristotle into French (from German and Ancient Greek). His work focuses on the nature of time and ethics, as well as the meaning of art and culture. He has published numerous books and articles and written prefaces for contemporary artists. Jean Lauxerois was a student of Jean Beaufret, one of the most significant political thinkers of the 20th century. He also shares a close friendship with Kostas Axelos, who, as early as the 1970s, predicted the impending decline of French—and European—consciousness. Recently, Lauxerois has published several articles drawing attention to the situation in contemporary France. „Franţa, ţară bolnavă, stare de urgenţă” este unul dintre ele, scris chiar în limba română, which he has learned over the past few years thanks to the special ties he has with Romania through the roots of his wife, the pianist Catherine Imbert. He is Catholic, yet he has also drawn close to Orthodox spirituality..

        — As a Catholic, how did you discover Orthodoxy? Which representatives of Orthodoxy have you met or discovered? And why is Orthodoxy important in your eyes today?

       It was a matter of chance—or perhaps a blessing—that this discovery did not come to me all at once, like a sudden revelation; rather, it unfolded in stages, in layers. Looking back now—in a somewhat Proustian manner—I can say that each layer held its own significance, paving the way for the next along a journey that seemed to unfold almost of its own accord. My starting point and framework were the Ancient Greek I knew and my background in philosophy. What followed was, above all, my encounter with Romania and the richness of what it continues to reveal to me.

    Learning Ancient Greek proved to be a blessing—something I realized only later. To the best of my knowledge, this extraordinary language is a vehicle for thought unlike any other. I was able to gauge its true measure during my philosophical training, when a great professor, while introducing us to Heidegger, drew our attention to the genuinely phenomenological dimension of the Greek language. The "inaugural rupture," therefore, arose from these two corollary openings: that of Heidegger’s thought—with the myriad questions it posed to me (such as the concept of ontotheology, the problem of God and Being, or the dimension of the negative)—and that of Greek thought, which is not strictly confined to philosophy, having first found expression in poetry and tragedy. Upon this initial foundation—which remains part of my work’s landscape to this day—I was able, quite early on and without any preconceived notions, to discover the philosophical and theological challenges inherent in the Latinization of the Greek language, and thus the importance of translation within the tradition. I was also able to begin reading Dionysius, Origen, Plotinus, and several Greek Fathers. I quite quickly glimpsed the distinctive radiance of these Fathers' Christianity—a quality that could not be encompassed by what had been handed down to me through the Augustinian tradition, even though I was already leaning more towards Saint John of the Cross and Meister Eckhart. Although my reading remained incomplete and undoubtedly lacked deep insight, reading the Greek Fathers was a singular pursuit at the time, as it was not a widespread practice in France; in any case, this reading accompanied my initial questions regarding Christianity and the separation of Byzantium from Rome, just as it helped pave the way for my later discoveries.

         My encounter with Romania came later, yet it was the event that allowed everything that had come before to ripen and find its fulfillment. A second blessing, undoubtedly, was my marriage sixteen years ago to the pianist Catherine Imbert, which opened the doors to a new world for me. Not immediately, of course; here, too, the process unfolded in successive layers. Through her maternal family (the Poenaru-Bordea line), my wife had a Romanian grandmother living in exile who had raised her from childhood to love her native land and the poetry of Eminescu; she had instilled in her a passion for Romania and its history—traces of which she continues to gather by collecting Romanian books for a library that likely has no equal today. My wife, who is also Catholic, was the first to tell me about *The Happiness Diary* by Father Nicolae Steinhardt—a book that had deeply affected her and which she recommended to me.
         Our marriage provided the occasion for a first trip to Bucharest and, for me, a first encounter with Romania. A few years later, my wife’s genealogical research led her to return "to the field" and discover that her ancestors had "founded" three churches (in Bucharest, in Călăraşi, and near Slobozia—where the beautiful wooden church once located at Poiana was re-erected a few years ago). At that point—about seven years ago—things began to accelerate as places and people came together in a wonderful way. As for the people, I owe a great deal to Pia Paleologu, a relative of my wife. A woman of deep faith, a wonderful watercolorist, and a person of exquisite artistic sensibility and generous humanity, Pia Paleologu—knowing of my love for painting—helped me meet Romanians in 2009 unlike anyone I had ever known, not just in the West but anywhere in the world: artists who were, at the same time, embodiments of faith (so it *was* possible!), people with whom I felt an immediate, close bond—such as Silvia Radu, a magnificent sculptor and founder of a church and a monastery, who introduced me to the exceptional work of her husband, the sculptor Gorduz (whom I unfortunately never met), and who constantly nourishes me with her profound experience of the Orthodox faith; I also met Sorin Dumitrescu, with whom I was able to engage in a substantive dialogue about art, poetry, and theology. Against this backdrop, and in the company of our cousins—the Poenaru-Bordeas from Bucharest—my wife and I traveled to the monasteries of Moldavia in 2010. Needless to say, discovering the monasteries of Probota, Suceviţa, Moldoviţa, Voroneţ, and the others was one of the most profound experiences of my life. I had never imagined such a reality—architectural, pictorial, and theological. It was these monasteries (along with the poetry of Eminescu) that inspired me to learn your beautiful Romanian language—a language I have been practicing for five years now.
          From that moment on, my understanding of Orthodoxy grew rapidly. I would highlight a few key milestones. After visiting Moldavia and Bukovina, I went on an Easter pilgrimage to Lupşa Monastery in the Apuseni Mountains in 2012—a trip organized from France by the Romanian Orthodox Metropolis in Paris. That Easter at Lupşa gave me the chance to grasp the immense importance of monasteries within Orthodoxy and in the life of Romania—a reality with no equivalent in the West. Another deeply moving journey was the one I undertook in Maramureş in 2013, largely on foot; it revealed to me how, in the heart of the villages and their wooden churches, there lived a faith I would call "open." I encountered this impressive faith among the local Greek Catholics as well, whose welcome was always deeply touching—such as that of a peasant woman named Lenuţa, who told us, speaking of death: "If you do not believe, the path to the light does not open." On the gate of her church, as on all the others in Maramureş, was displayed the admirable image of a man whose beatification had already been announced: Monsignor Ghika (to whom our Romanian family is related).
          In this blessed region, I was able to experience the Orthodox faith firsthand when I met Father Isidor Berbecaru in Botiza—a true man of God; it was through him that I discovered the profound spirituality of his Maramureș. With him, for instance, I attended the patronal feast celebrating the Nativity of the Mother of God; on that occasion, I met an extraordinary man named Hotico—an artisan in the medieval sense of the word—who spoke beautifully about the architecture of the wooden churches he had built all over the world. The priest even took us to the small village of Vișeu de Sus, on the remote fringes of the "deep Romania," to meet the parents of Metropolitan Iosif—the Romanian Orthodox Church’s representative for Western Europe—whom I had met in Paris several years earlier.
            It is but a step from Maramureș to Paris, given that Hotico built a wooden church in the garden of the Metropolis at Limours—a place where the impressive spiritual presence of Metropolitan Iosif shines forth over all of Europe, infusing his Church with an energy that is surely divine. Among the priests of this Church, I had the joy of meeting Father Marc-Antoine de Beauregard—a joy mingled with surprise, for we had been fellow students in our early years of study; we had lost touch, only to meet again more than forty years later at a conference. The philosophy student had become Orthodox, then spent a year studying in Bucharest—where he met Father Stăniloae—before eventually being ordained a priest in the Romanian Orthodox Church! Our paths were crossing once more, thanks to Orthodoxy and to Romania. He was the one who encouraged me to read Father Stăniloae—with whom he had co-authored a book of conversations and whose work he had translated into French. Another beautiful encounter under the sign of Orthodoxy was with Felicia Dumas, a university professor from Iași, whom I met when I acquired the French-Romanian/Romanian-French dictionary of Orthodox religious terms. Our relationship of respect and friendship remains primarily epistolary, yet for me, it is illuminated by the diamond-like radiance of the faith held by this humble and great Romanian woman; She led me to read Father Placide Deseille—whose texts she translates into Romanian—and in doing so, I rediscovered the Greek Fathers, of whom he is a highly knowledgeable translator and commentator.
            I would add, however, that many more or less anonymous Romanians have enabled me to experience and admire a lived Orthodoxy: in particular, certain political prisoners whose faith helped them endure communist jails; then a peasant woman, deeply immersed in prayer near me during the long hours of Holy Saturday night at Lupşa; and—no less so—Adela, the lady from Maramureş who looks after our home in Paris: she tells me how her recent pilgrimage to Jerusalem changed her life, constantly brings me Orthodox books, and speaks to me about Arsenie Boca; in my eyes, she is an example of faith embodied in extraordinary humanity.
            At the same time, for several years now, I have naturally returned to reading the Greek Fathers—specifically Saint Basil, Saint Maximus the Confessor, and Saint Gregory Palamas. I have read about the figures of "great spiritual fathers" such as Saint Silouan the Athonite, Father Paisie Olaru, and Father Sophrony... And I have read texts by Justin Popović, Vladimir Lossky, Father Stăniloae—of course—Evdokimov, Yannaras, Romanides, and Rafail Noica ("The Culture of the Spirit").
           A question I am often asked is why I do not become Orthodox. I answer just as I do here: I do not wish to start a war on my own small scale; Orthodoxy helps me live out my Catholicism better—a relationship that has not, admittedly, always been entirely amicable... I do not want to abandon the religion of my parents and, above all, that of my grandfather—a man of great faith to whom I owe the initial impetus for the living practice and understanding of Christianity; I do not want to be unfaithful to all the wonderful priests I have met in my life—to whom I owe so much and whose suffering in contemporary Western society I am well aware of; nor do I wish to forsake the great figures of modern Catholicism who are dear to me—such as Baudelaire, Bernanos, and Simone Weil. Furthermore, I tell myself that in this way I can live out, in my own fashion, the concrete reality of the undivided Church—which, even in its Western branch, counts true marvels among its ranks: Saint Irenaeus, the great martyrs, Saint Genevieve, Saint Frances of Rome, and the great mystics of the faith, such as Saint John of the Cross or Blaise Pascal...
Here is a little something about how I discovered Orthodoxy and its importance to me. A long story, an experience spanning a lifetime—a story that remains open-ended, I hope with all my heart.

Are you familiar with Romanian Orthodox spirituality?

- I wouldn't presume to call it "knowledge," but certainly a discovery—one made with joy and admiration. I was able to make this discovery through the various journeys and encounters I have experienced. 

A preliminary remark regarding this question: the existence of a Romanian Orthodoxy—distinct from Russian, Greek, or Serbian Orthodoxy—is a fact generally unknown in the West and among Catholics, save for a few specialists. To Western eyes, the notion that the absence of the papacy could lead to a national distinctiveness among Orthodox Churches is clearly an oddity. Yet, this reality must not be misinterpreted—a point I came to understand from within Orthodoxy itself. Following the example of Father Placide Deseille, Felicia Dumas—as she explained to me—emphasizes the risk of "phyletism": it is essential that Churches, even when national in character, remain mindful of their belonging to the One and Universal Church, the source of Orthodox Church unity. The pitfalls of particularism and sectarianism must be avoided. This is abundantly clear.

        However, the distinct character of Orthodox churches lends them an extraordinary charm, beauty, and presence—qualities that, in my view, particularly define the Orthodox Church in Romania. Here, we touch upon the pressing issue of what Simone Weil calls "uprootedness"—a phenomenon that has reached a critical intensity over the past few decades, becoming a central question regarding the future of humanity (the "migrant" issue, which looms so large in European media, certainly addresses this dimension). Uprootedness is a painful reality—one that is also enigmatic in many of its philosophical aspects—yet rootedness cannot be imposed; indeed, it can easily devolve into a suspect demand, opening the door to errors, misunderstandings, manipulations, and often excesses—including nationalism in ever-changing guises.
        The opportunity, gift, virtue, and energy of Romanian Orthodoxy lie in the fact that it remains deeply "rooted" without having been tainted by excessive folklorization. The West—and France in particular—is caught in the dichotomy between universalism and regionalism. Proponents of "regionalism" have all too often lapsed into a sorry form of folklorization, leading their opponents to view them as representing nothing more than an archaic regression. Fundamentally, Romania does not find itself in this unfortunate impasse. It is not merely a regional entity; in a profound sense, Romania remains a people. This is because it possesses a shared language and a shared religion that exist as a collective soul—in other words, a shared spirituality. Moreover, my contact with Romanians leads me to believe that this spirituality differs from that of the Russians or the Greeks—at least insofar as I am familiar with them.
         Romanians often possess a certain sensitivity, a sense of moderation, and a gentleness—qualities I would liken to what the ancient Greeks called *aidos*33). This is a spiritual gentleness, the kind one sees on the faces of the faithful and which is said to have characterized Father Paisie Olarul and Father Stăniloae. They also possess a cheerfulness that endures even in times of hardship—a sense of joy, dance, and celebration that radiates brightly, especially in the countryside. All these traits are well known and struck me just as they did others before me. Yet, we must not limit ourselves to merely praising the anthropological aspects of rural life and the village, however beautiful they may be. The village is, above all, an embodiment of spiritual community—as I witnessed firsthand in Maramureș, Moldavia, and Lupșa. It is a community that is not archaic, for it is simultaneously very contemporary in its way of life, and its living unity is sustained in and through faith. It is perhaps a unique case in Christian Europe. In Breb (Maramureş), for instance, I was surprised to see—after the Sunday Liturgy—most of the village gathered in the churchyard to discuss various communal issues. Everyone voiced their opinion, taking part in devising a solution. Before me lay a truly remarkable *agora*: that of the village community in the shadow of the church bell tower. And one glimpses that the true community is the one uniting the village home and the church; there is a permeability, a living exchange, an astonishing osmosis between the two, mutually nourishing one another.
         Also in connection with this spiritual community, we must mention the magnificent presence of monasteries throughout Romania, which impress with their powerful appeal. Orthodox monasteries—differing significantly from those of the Western tradition—are open to the surrounding villages; they possess a radiance that fosters a closeness between the monks and nuns and the people. It is immediately apparent that the monastery, with the church at its heart, is rooted in the very essence of this country—and I understand that monasticism has flourished in Romania since 1990.
         In this context, I venture to quote a longer passage from a text I published in the magazine *Apostolia* (issue 34, June 2012) recounting my pilgrimage to Lupşa. After describing the uncanny moment when I sensed an invisible collective presence, I wrote:

God is truly here, whereas we are not always present. Being there at that moment—when my presence, shared with others, transformed into an event through the deeply essential experience of belonging to a community—marked the highlight of my stay in Lupşa and, at the same time, revealed to me the true meaning of a pilgrimage.

          Belonging is, therefore, an event. A manifold belonging: that of the individual to a group whose members sometimes know one another so little; the belonging of this group to the entire body of believers in a village and to the monastic community that welcomed us—even going so far as to share the Easter meal with us; likewise, the belonging to the community formed by this monastery and its neighbors—whose monks and nuns, having greeted us in the preceding days, surprised us with their youth; the belonging to the even wider multitudes of the region and the country; and the yet higher belonging that unites us with the whole of the ecclesial community. This was the original meaning of the Greek term *ecclesia*—the assembly that elevates each person to their highest reality—a meaning Christianity adopted to name and embody the Body of Christ’s Church.
          A few days after Easter, while in Bucharest, I was discussing this experience with my friend Sorin Dumitrescu; I told him that the only thing I had perhaps missed out on was Communion—something I could not claim, given that I was not, strictly speaking, of the Orthodox faith. His reply at that moment brought my experience to its fulfillment: "Oh, but you *did* receive that Communion. What you experienced as unique is precisely your belonging to the Eucharistic community." Yes—and I had to come to Romania for that.
          Even in Paris, I note the importance that the Romanian Orthodox Church attaches to the homeland. I learned, for instance, that the parish in Romainville has established a school where, alongside catechism, weekly classes are held in the Romanian language, literature, and history. It is simply a matter of getting to know and deepening one's understanding of the history of the Romanian people, as well as their ancestral language and faith. Forty children are enrolled. Need more be said?
          From now on, all efforts must be aligned to keep alive such a spiritual community—one capable of enduring in today’s world without forsaking its ancestral roots or what Baudelaire so aptly termed our "native harmony." You must pray, above all, for two things—opposing yet complementary: that Romanians learn not to disfigure—through a lack of moderation and through ill-conceived concrete construction—the delicate, balanced architecture of their villages and churches; and, on the other hand, that this spiritual rootedness not be tainted by the Western ideology of "heritage." Under the guise of preserving or even reconstructing local color (often for the sake of tourism), this pernicious ideology irrevocably accelerates the loss of meaning and contributes to stifling the very thing it claims to save. The Orthodox Church must stand at the forefront of this effort to safeguard the future of this "Romanian spirituality."
         To the trap of heritage, I will add, in conclusion, two dangers that should not be overlooked either: that of a Church becoming too insular—too self-contained—within a Romania that might confuse the *national* with *nationalism* (a distinction I borrow from the German poet Hölderlin). On the one hand, such insularity is dangerous for the Church itself—especially when the country faces economic difficulties (in every sense of the word) and a political class of upstarts incapable of shaking off corruption, yet capable of destroying the very best part of the nation’s soul: its spirituality. Spirituality must know how to employ every weapon available. Prayer, of course. But education is also essential, as the example of the church in Romainville aptly demonstrates. Furthermore, an ethic of discernment is required; while it is said that one should not judge, this does not mean abandoning all discernment. Spirituality also entails a sense of responsibility toward the image of God within us—a truth Christ understood well when confronting the money-changers in the Temple. As for nationalism, it poses a well-known risk, as it invariably paves the way for ideologies that history has condemned and that are inherently self-destructive; the *national*, by contrast, is spiritual and poetic. Romanian spirituality holds promise for the future, provided it avoids the three aforementioned traps and remains a living, rich spirituality—one deeply attuned to the sense of beauty. In short, it must recognize itself as the foundation of the iconic, charismatic, and Christ-centered dimension in which Romania is rooted. In the long run, it is a source of hope. For us, too.

Notes

33) A Greek term derived from *Aidos*, the goddess of modesty and respectful shame.

34) *Apostolia* is a journal of Orthodox spirituality published by the Romanian Orthodox Metropolis.

Inteview conducted by Tudor Petcu

Translated from French by Natalia Corlean

From the volume *Rediscovering the Orthodox Heritage of the West* (interviews, testimonies, revelations), 

Edited by Tudor Petcu

Translated from French, English, and Italian by Natalia Corlean, Tudor Vișan-Miu, and Tudor Petcu

Agaton Collection

Făgăraș, 2017

FINAL NOTE

*) Europe's problems stem from the absence of a trial for communism analogous to the Nuremberg Trials and from the abandonment of the Christian roots of European civilization—roots that have nothing to do with the "Russian Christianity" of Patriarch Kirill (KGB), who blesses tanks.

Vladimir Bukovski on the EU, Russia, KGB, USSR

 

 

The famous anti-Soviet dissident Vladimir Bukovsky is the one who documented the criminal nature of the communist system and Russian imperialism, but he has another exceptional achievement. He is the one who, having access to the KGB archives, signaled the farce of the collapse of Soviet communism.

The "monster" was never destroyed, it was simply integrated into the modern world. The system was reborn under a different guise both in Russia and globally through supranational structures in the West.

Putin publicly declared that NATO, the EU and the West are the enemies of Russia, and all the actions of this country culminating in the 5 years of infernal war against Ukraine have fully confirmed the warning and prediction of Vladimir Bukovsky. .

                                                          

***

AI's assessment of Vladimir Bukovsky's assessment and interpretation of the totalitarian system in Russia is probably much less partisan and more neutral than one made from one ideological position or another, and confirms Vladimir Bukovsky's vision and foresight in its essential points. .
 

Vladimir Bukovsky argued that the collapse of the USSR was not a definitive defeat of communism, but a "controlled collapse" orchestrated by the Soviet nomenklatura and the KGB. The goal of this strategy was to save assets, maintain real power in the shadows, and revive the system in other forms, both in the new Russia (through force structures) and globally (through supranational structures).. [1, 2, 3, 4]

This central thesis is detailed at length in his seminal book (Judgment in Moscow), published after the dissident secretly copied thousands of documents from the secret archives of the Central Committee of the CPSU. . [1, 2]

The pillars of Bukowski's theory of "controlled collapse" .

The failure of Perestroika as an initial plan: .Bukovsky explains that Mikhail Gorbachev did not want democratization, but rather the streamlining of socialism in order to obtain credits and technology from the West. When the system got out of economic control, the nomenklatura switched to "Plan B": the formal liquidation of the company called "USSR". [1]
Privatization of the state by the KGB : Before the USSR officially dissolved, massive funds of the Communist Party and the KGB were illegally transferred to Western banks and shell companies. *) The power structure metamorphosed overnight from a "socialist bureaucracy" to a "capitalist oligarchy", retaining the levers of control. [1, 2]
The Lack of a "Nuremberg Trial" for Communism: Bukowski warned that not officially and legally condemning the crimes of Communism would allow the monster to reinvent itself. Because Soviet leaders and KGB officers were not indicted or prosecuted, they quickly returned to rule Russia, culminating in the regime led by Vladimir Putin.[1, 2, 3]
The parallel EURSS (European Union as a new form) : In a highly controversial analysis, Bukowski argued that collectivist ideology and Soviet centralized structures had been reborn in the West in the form of the European Union. He called the EU the "European Soviet Union" (EURSSR), arguing that both shared an obsession with excessive regulation, the destruction of nation-states, democratic deficits, and the elimination of opposition through political correctness. [1, 2, 3]

Bukovsky's conclusion

The Soviet system did not die in 1991, it merely changed its skin. The nomenklatura abandoned a bankrupt ideology (Marxism-Leninism) to preserve its absolute control over resources, giving rise to Russian crony capitalism and extending its ideological influence into Western institutions. [1, 2]

Notes

*) This is also the recipe for the emergence of "cardboard billionaires" in Romania (probably in other post-communist countries as well) in which the nomenclature, the Securitate and their heirs took over the massive funds of these political and social megastructures (PCR, Securitate, UTC, Trade Unions, etc.) sanctifying the kidnapping through the Romanian Constitution because it omits the existence and regime of illicitly acquired wealth :

Art. 44(8)  Property acquired lawfully cannot be confiscated. The lawful nature of the acquisition is presumed (s.n.).