A New Thing Everyday

Good afternoon! Laba diena!

Since we don't have a groundhog over here doing its prognostications -

this photo opportunity out our kitchen skylight today gave me an idea. If the bird on the north arm of the cross flies off to the north, it means that spring is coming, but if the other bird flies off to the south, it means, heading south, more winter is on the way! I'm not sure what the top bird was supposed to mean, except king of the mountain. And actually - the bird on the right (north) flew away first, so that means the Lithuanian bird agrees with the American groundhog - spring is coming soon!

In the meantime, more snow overnight, and very slippery sidewalks today. (What does a bird know?)

Our church had its annual meeting today - basically fifteen people gathered around some tables, having a discussion after brunch. The congregation seems quite hopeful, partly because all the steps have been taken to make the church an officially-registered congregation at last, and especially hopeful in light of some greater continuity coming soon - our successors will be here for six months instead of three, and then the next pastor and spouse will be here for a year, and, the church hopes, a lot longer. Financially, the church is stable, but there isn't much left over for outreach and publicity, things the church needs to do. And, of course, any sort of salary or travel allowance for the pastor is not going to be possible anytime soon.

Our successors arrive in three weeks - time has flown.

Some days ago we decided we needed to be sure to see at least one new thing every day. And we've been trying to live up to that goal.

On Friday we at last visited Vilnius University, just down a couple winding streets from our flat, here in the old city.

Vilnius University began as a Jesuit college in 1570, and in 1773 it became a secular university, although the centerpiece of the old campus is -

St. John's Catholic Church.

The campus is linked by a number of courtyards: the Grand Courtyard (3 photos below)

the Astronomical Observatory Courtyard -

with zodiac signs -

and the library courtyard, among others.

And lots of beautiful features -

this wrought iron screen (from the back) -

the vaulted ceilings of the bookstore -

with this fresco portrait of the famous Lithuanian/Polish poet, Adam Mickiewicz, who also has a monument inside St. John's Church (below).

The university was host to years of dissent and protest against tsarist Russia, in the late 1700s and early 1800s (Lithuania was incorporated into Russia in 1795), and, after the 1831 November Uprising, the university was closed until 1919. The school was closed down again briefly by the Nazis in 1943. During the Soviet years it operated as part of the Soviet system. But in 1990 it made a fresh start.

The university library is supposed to be worth a visit all by itself, so we'll try to do that on another of our "do one new thing" days.

A couple days before the university visit we walked to the Green House museum for another "new thing." The official name is the Holocaust Exposition, part of the Vilna Gaon Jewish State Museum, and it's very different from the Museum of Genocide Victims we told you about before. That museum is largely devoted to Lithuanian suffering under Soviet rule, with only a brief reference to the Jews and their fate under the Nazis.

But the Green House

is devoted entirely to documenting in detail the systematic destruction of the Jews of Lithuania. In only about two years the large Jewish population of Vilnius was gathered into two ghettos (our church and apartment are right in the middle of the former ghetto area) and then removed and killed, many thousands taken to Paneriai forest and shot. In total, about 95% of the Jewish population of almost 250,000, throughout Lithuania, were killed. And this horror was only made possible by the active participation of their Lithuanian neighbors.

My indignation about such things is tempered, of course, by knowledge of the legacy of cruelty and betrayal that humankind tragically shares. The holocaust that slave traders, slave owners, and everyone who participated in a slavery-based economy and legal system brought upon the peoples of Africa is, unfortunately, only one of so many ways human beings of almost every nationality have contrived to play Cain to their brother, Abel.

In front of the Green House stands a monument

to the pre-war Japanese vice-consul to Lithuania, Chiune Sugihara, who issued thousands of visas to Jews, visas that were not authorized by his superiors, but which saved many, many lives.

In the Green House there are examples, as well, of Lithuanians who gave aid to Jewish neighbors, at grave risk to themselves.