View from the Russian Front

By happenstance, we found ourselves in St Petersburg,  Russia shortly before Thursday, May 9, 2013, in the celebration for Russians for the end of the Great Patriotic War and what we call the “Siege” of Leningrad" and the Russians called “the blockade”, carried out by the Nazis during World War II.  Over a million people died, in the town designated then as Leningrad.  Hitler, determined to starve the Russians, did not succeed, and the city survived and marched on. And, with the l989 revolution, retrieved its original name. 

It was a time of ceremony, marches by the various military branches, including the veterans of World War II, and a time of the gathering of thousands on the streets.

We were there too, a day before, trying to find an entrance to the Hermitage among yellow barricades, set up to allow the military to practice in the magnificent square where a statue of Peter the Great towers from above. Young and old , military personnel in uniform stood in groups, waiting to march to designated positions.

And on the day of the parade on May 9th, we joined the ceremony and at first were a little apprehensive, many “what if’s” going through our heads, but then seeing families, children hoisted on shoulders to see over the crowds, couples, and an unobtrusive police presence, we relaxed in the event. Everyone likes a parade.  Lots of music, lots of noise, and lots of good will.  We too saluted those who fought, and were aware from a reprinted article in the St. Petersburg Times, that over 500,000 Jews served in the Russian Army during World War II.  Who would have known that?  We felt privileged to be able to honor all of those who served.

And when it was over, we walked with a huge crowd through a very narrow fence entrance into the park to leave, and again we felt hemmed in  and thought “what if, so close to all these people,” but we all shuffled forward through the narrow opening, and out, and everyone as the Brits would say, behaved splendidly.

Fireworks at night over the river, at l0 pm, barely getting dark as white nights approached, crowned the evening.  Men in their twenties feeling no pain, drank their way through the evening cheering each set of fireworks, with a loud hurrah, and made it even more fun for us.  We were two of very few Americans in a crowd of thousands. 

The fireworks over, we headed back to the Petro Palace, our hotel  on Nevsky Prospect, enjoying the night air, and the feeling that we were a part of an important memory about the evils of the past, the loss of soldiers and those who died in the blockade, and the recognition of the survivors  and the possibilities of goodness and good will in the present and future.