‘I Started Going to Church Because I Started to Learn Polish’

lekcja_polskiego_aw.jpg, default, Polish matriculation examination at a school in Poznań, photo: Tomasz Kamiński / AW

For many people, it’s sometimes difficult to understand the relationship between Poland and religion. While learning a new language doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll adopt a new religious faith, it’s worth looking at the story of Anatoliy Zymnin – who himself experienced a political transition that impacted his life and brought him to Poland.

Thumbnail — Anatoliy Zymin, photo: courtesy of the subject

Anatoliy Zymnin is a former Polish Radio journalist, originally from Ukraine. He studied history in Ukraine and worked as a teacher there until he received a scholarship to do a master’s in Contemporary History in Poland. It was after he finished his studies that he found a job with Polish Radio. After many years working in public media, he has continued improving relations between Poland and Ukraine by working as a media specialist for the Institute for Eastern Studies.

The beginning of his career in the media started in school, where his friends and teacher published the first Polish newspaper in Berdychiv after the fall of communism. His teacher, Larisa, is still an active journalist and head of the society of Polish journalists in Ukraine. Thanks to her, it seems Anatoliy learned Polish better than his Polish friends in school. As a kid, he repeatedly attended the Polish Language Olympics in Ukraine and was a finalist three times. The turning point that began this journey was the wave of revolutions that began to spread in 1989, when Anatoliy was 9 years old.

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Miners' strike from the Donetsk Coal Basin, 1989, Ukraine Wojtek Laski / East News

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The fall of the Iron Curtain was around the corner. Many of Anatoliy’s neighbours were leaving for Israel. ‘I remember Mrs Joanna’, he says. ‘She had a dog named Beta. She used to say that in Israel they were all going to start from scratch, and that was the reason they were moving out’.

The birth of the Soviet Union came with strong antisemitism, since the main goal was to establish an atheist state. This involved persecution and stigma for believers from different religions. It became very difficult for Ukranian Jews to practise their faith, something that prompted many to flee the country. The attempt to emigrate from Ukraine was often thwarted; their visas were denied and their careers destroyed.

They had to wait until the end of the 1980s and Perestroika to be able to do so. That was the time to leave. They sold their furniture and packed up all their belongings.

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Jewish cemetery in Berdychiv, Ukraine, photo: Sergei Supinsky / AFP / East News

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Russian being the official language during the Soviet Union, the Ukrainian language was neglected. Born a Ukrainian, Anatoliy started to learn it as a second language at an early age. Only his grandmother spoke the language, while the rest of the family spoke Russian. The language of his classes at school was also Russian.

Those who left for Israel were an older generation than Anatoliy’s. By the end of Perestroika (1991), he was still a pupil at a primary school in Berdychiv, a city located around 150 km west of Lviv. Berdychiv (‘Berdyczów’ in Polish) used to be part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth – until the second partition of Poland in 1793, when it became part of the Russian Empire. This multicultural city was home to Jews, Ukrainians, Russians and Poles, all co-existing together.The town actually became immortal in Polish culture thanks to the words: ‘Write to me in Berdychiv’. The line comes from the poem Beniowski by the Romantic poet Juliusz Słowacki:

Text

[…] wtenczas po włosku: addio!
Po polsku: pisuj do mnie na Berdyczów.
Okropne słowa! jeśli nie zabiją,
To serce schłoszczą tysiącami biczów.

[…] then in Italian: addio!
In Polish: write to me in Berdychiv.
Horrible words! if they do not kill,
This heart will be lashed with thousands of whips.

Author

Trans. AA

Słowacki used it ironically, as a way of saying ‘you’ll never see me again’ – an old saying that roughly means: ‘Leave me alone’.

Berdychiv is also the place where the Polish English writer Joseph Conrad was born, and the town where the French writer Honoré de Balzac married – after many efforts – the Polish noblewoman Eveline Hańska.

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Berdychiv, Ukraine, photo: Ivan Nakonechny / iStockphoto / Getty Images

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Alexis Angulo: Were you conscious about all these religious differences?

Anatoliy Zymin: Not at all. I never thought about it before. It was the end of the Soviet Union. I started school in 1987. I remember there were fewer prohibitions during Perestroika than before, and Ukranians were starting to celebrate traditional celebrations, such as Christmas, Easter and so on. I originally came from an atheist family. My parents are atheists.

AA: Wait, but aren’t you Catholic now?

AZ: That was a very long journey. When I was at school in the 1990s, I started going to church, and my mother asked me why. She asked: ‘Do you believe in God?’ I had no idea what to say. I was scared. I said yes. It was a big shock for my mother. She was very surprised because this was uncommon after many years of communism. I had to break many inner barriers to say that I believed in God.

AA: What made you become a religious person?

AZ: I started going to church because I started to learn Polish. When the authoritarian governments of the Soviet Union started to fall, there was a ‘Polish identity' that began blossoming again. A new Polish society emerged, and there were special lessons to learn the language at my school. Any kid was able to enrol in these lessons.

AA: How did you end up in this class?

AZ: It was mere coincidence. My friends wanted me to attend the class. I told them I wasn’t Polish and that I had other languages to study, such as English.

We used to spend time together after school. We went to get apples, chat or just have fun together, until they started to attend Polish lessons twice a week. I was all alone and had no alternative. If I wanted to continue this tradition and stay together, I had to go with them.

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The building of Polish Radio at 77/85 Niepodległości Alley in Warsaw, photo: Adrian Grycuk / Wikimedia.org

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The teacher was Polish. When I showed up, he asked who I was. I told him I wanted to stay, but I wasn’t really interested in learning the language. When he asked if I had ever heard Polish before, I told him I only knew it had the ‘shh’, ‘shii’ and all those noises that interpose one another. He suddenly started to recite Polish tongue twisters: ‘Nie pieprz, Pietrze, pieprzem wieprza, wtedy szynka będzie lepsza’ (‘Don't pepper the hog with pepper, Pietra – then the ham will be better’).

He made me laugh so much that I decided to stay in the class. I told myself, ‘What a beautiful language. I have to learn it’. I was so in love with the language; it was funny, something different.

AA: Do you remember your first time in Poland?

AZ: I was 10 years old and attended a summer camp in Piotrków Trybunalski. That was in 1991, and I could speak a bit of Polish already.

AA: Your story is so interesting. If it’s OK with you, let’s talk about how you switched to Catholicism.

AZ: It was all because of my friends. They told us at school that we could go to church if we wanted to, but I had no idea what it was. For me, everything was new. I heard ‘Our Father’ and other prayers for the first time. I don’t quite remember what happened later, but I continued attending Polish classes, and in 1992 two new members joined: Żenia and Julia, two Poles that used to go to church.

We became very close and formed an inseparable trio. Something like the golden trio of Harry Potter, Hermione and Ron! They took me to church for the very first time. For the Poles, it meant a Polish renaissance. For me, it was something new; a clear example that not only Ukrainians and Russians were living in Ukraine, but also Poles. I had no idea my town was so related to Poland. It was a great adventure. I attended church because I was curious.

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Janów Lubelski, Poland, photo: Zofia Bazak / East News

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One year later, in 1993, I attended church fully conscious about what I was doing for the first time. That year I went to Poland for another summer camp. This time in Janów Lubelski. One of our teachers there was Larisa Wermińska.

She also worked in Berdychiv, and I had no idea who she was before we met. She was very musical; she played the piano and taught us religious songs, something I loved. For me, that was a breath of fresh air, something interesting. It was a real pity that she didn’t work in our school in Berdychiv.

When we came back to school in September, she was there. The director of our school had invited her to teach Polish and Russian. We had a lot of fun in her class. She managed to bring everybody together. After classes, we walked back home together because we lived very close to each other. We sang Polish Christmas carols, Czarna Madonna (Black Madonna), Nalejcie Piwa (Pour the Beer) and other songs on the street, and we talked.

Basically, there are people who, when they appear in your life, they manage to change everything.

Interview originally conducted by Alexis Angulo in Polish in April 2018, translated by the interviewer

Language English

ukrainian language

polish language

catholicism in poland

jewish history

Language

Spirituality