I am not saying it was me…

footsteps of the Furies
2 min readNov 1, 2023

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November 1st, 2023

… but it was me. I think.

Today is All Saints’ Day and that is the major event in Poland. Countless families visit cemeteries and graves of their loved ones, bringing flowers and lighting candles in remembrance of those who have already passed away and unconsciously searching for assurance that they will be remembered as well after their own passing. For me and my family, visiting the graves of our loved ones is not only reserved for this day, but we do it often during the year when we want. We also abide by a ritual of remembrance on All Saints’ Day as it was today — and it was a lovely day. I was expecting crowds and traffic everywhere, but in reality, everything went smoothly and was well organized. The weather was brilliant and I simply had a nice time driving and walking around with my mom and aunt while talking about the past generations or our ancestors.

Some of them are interred in the main parish cemetery in Bialystok, which is a part of several necropolises located next to each other — Catholic, Orthodox, Interdenomial (which are active), and the Jewish (which has been closed and picturesquely abandoned since the Second World War). The Catholic cemetery is separated from the Jewish cemetery by a low wall. I remember — when I was a child and was there with my parents — asking for a candle to light and put along that wall. I think I just thought it would be a nice gesture for those interred there whose relatives no longer live there, and most likely perished in the Holocaust. It was the only candle there then. We, as a family, have kept doing it since then. And year by year, there were more candles there along the wall. Other people noticed that and were doing it as well. The tradition continues in full force. Today there were hundreds of candles there when I visited. I’d like to think that me and my family are responsible for this tradition of remembering not only those who were close to us but also those who once were our neighbors. It is a very warm thought to have.

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footsteps of the Furies
footsteps of the Furies

Written by footsteps of the Furies

“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.

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