Minsk and a Funeral

Last week Boris' grandmother has passed away unexpectedly. The next day we found ourselves on a plane to Minsk, Belarus. This is also where Boris was born and grew up 7 years of his life before his parents (just like mine) left everything behind and immigrated to Israel. It's been 20 years since they've been there last.

I was telling Boris a few times that we should pay there a visit, to the place where he comes from, to see the city. He always dropped the idea claiming that it would be another depressing post-Soviet Union country, with unfriendly people and a stark atmosphere.
Now that we had a "reason to visit", we were happy to be wrong.

Orthodox church in the old district. It was beautiful inside.

Despite the circumstances we still had a chance to visit the center of the city. I was surprised by how spacious and huge everything is: the streets are enormous, the buildings tall and broad; everything is very grand and big, and Minsk is filled with many green parks. 

There weren't many people on the streets but the ones we saw were very friendly and "simple" in a soothing kind of way.

The Belorussian language was fun to listen to and, unlike many other Slavic languages - easy to understand. Boris and I felt at ease hearing Russian on the streets too, we've never been to a country where our mother language can be heard everywhere. 

And even more surprisingly - we didn't feel completely out of place there.

"The feat of the people is immortal"

 The heaviest part of the trip was of course the funeral. The day before that we had to go to the morgue with Boris' mother and her sister. And so we saw a dead body for the first time. Clothed but without makeup yet, lying so grimly on a metal table.
I cannot compare the feeling to anything else I've felt before, but to see Boris' mother grieving next to her dead mother has upset me greatly.
I couldn't help but remember all the horror movies and the gothic rock songs about death and dying and to think how mocking those are. You just feel sad, and empty, and you don't even realize the person who's dead used to belong to you. They just lay there, not asleep, but strange and far away. Like a doll. Lifeless.

It was a Christian Orthodox funeral, with a pope and another person who was singing. It was a good ceremony, we felt like we were saying goodbye to Boris' grandmother with respect. I loved the singing, it was very spiritual. I have nothing against the religious ceremony, it was very deep and right.
I have only witnessed a Jewish burial ceremony before and there they lay the body covered in cloth in the ground (ashes to ashes, dust to dust). Here things took a lot more time and we could actually be around the body, to look at it and to personally say goodbye.
I touched her arm, and it was stiff and cold. I could never imagine my mother burying her own mother, not to mention myself being in the same situation. I would die from sadness.

I recalled reading Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (which I most recommend!) and compared things with the book. But honestly nothing could prepare you to the real thing. Being physically there, being close to the dead person is so important. Being close with your family in this time is too.

Railway Station Square in its Stalinist glory

We've decided we would love to come back to Minsk some day. We simply liked it there, something in the atmosphere wasn't completely foreign. And though we came to the city with a different purpose, we would love to check the alternative scene there next time.

I filmed a short video during our rides through the city and the final edit turned out quite psychedelic. I missed my experimental videos!

Music is a song called Fellini by 2 rock legends - Splin and B-2, the latter is a Belorussian band, both are amazing.

Maria