Amish America

Photos from the Martins in Poland

 

It's the 'long weekend' in Poland (a combination of the traditional May 1st communist worker's holiday and Poland's May 3 constitution day), and I've just paid another visit to my friends Jacob and Anita Martin, whom I've written about a few times on the blog.

The Martins, who've lived in Poland since 1993, struggled a bit at first, but have been able to build themselves a very basic but cozy home in a birch forest outside of Warsaw. 
 

Anita says that at first the home was not much more than a kitchen, with she and Jacob sleeping on one end and the kids on the other.  The Martins have gradually added on and now have quite a bit of square footage.

It was not until about five years ago that they got an indoor bathroom, but now enjoy a few small luxuries, including a nice-sized fridge and a washing machine.  Anita showed me her new stove, which she uses to bake bread.

The Martins live simply but happily.  They say they get along well with most of the neighbors, who are a mixture of Warsaw 'city people' and long-time locals.  Jacob has a reputation as a dependable worker with 'farm-smarts'.  He gets called out to deliver calves from time to time.
 
Little Krzysiek (Chris) spent most of our walk yesterday trying to feed my brother and I what he called 'chocolate'--dried-up chunks of mud found by the side of the lane.  This got the other kids worked up into a near riot.  'We want you to try it first,' we told the four-year-old, who adamantly refused.

The Martins originally came to Poland with the intention of starting a Beachy Amish congregation, but soon realized that it would be more difficult than they had hoped. 

Two of the original three families soon returned to the US.  Left alone, the Martins now attend a Pentecostal church in Warsaw.

Photos here are from late April and early March.

Click for more on the Beachy Amish from the Global Anabaptist Mennonite Encyclopedia Online.

A weekend with the Martins

They live about as far back in as you can get, two miles down a mud road, deep in the heart of a serene pine-and-birch forest. 

The neighbors are mostly friendly, and Jacob has worked out a deal with one of them--a big-city transplant and a bit 'unhandy' when it comes to farming-- to manage and use a cow and some of his equipment.  It's not a bad deal at all--extra milk and tractor power for the family.

The Martin family maintains a little island of America in the Varsovian hinterlands.  When I walked in the front door on Saturday to greet Anita, as she leaned over the kitchen table processing the remains of a duck, I could feel it right off.   

As soon as Anita began speaking, I realized I knew the accent from somewhere.  I couldn't put a finger on it at the time, but later it was obvious.  It turns out Anita comes from a Knepp clan in southern Indiana.  Anita is warmer and less cautious when you first meet her, but Jacob soon warms as well.  He is quite talkative and a pleasure to listen to as he expounds on various topics.

So to get one of the most superficial matters out of the way, how 'Amish' are they?  Anita's family is based in an Indiana Beachy Amish congregation.  While Jacob was born in Pennsylvania, he soon moved away and spent his childhood and younger years in settlements in Tennessee and Kentucky.  And he has the drawl to show for it. 

Jacob calls his home congregation 'Amish Mennonite', but sees them as being basically aligned with Anita's Beachy group--or at least they were at the time.

Jacob's Polish is excellent.  Much better than mine.  Jacob has a talent for languages and is currently translating a Mennonite-authored book of inspirational stories into Polish.   He's about a third of the way through.  Over his nearly fifteen years in Poland, he's read many of the Polish classics--Sienkiewicz, Mickiewicz, who wrote the great epics, and others. 

Jacob's family left Pennsylvania German behind a couple generations before, he explained, as I sat and listened in one of his imported Amish-style hickory-rockers.  Anita used it growing up, says she understands it perfectly, but might have a tough time speaking it.  She says she used PA Dutch with the oldest kids for a spell, but abandoned it after a while since Jacob doesn't speak it himself. 

The kids are comfortable using both Polish and English, but the younger ones especially tend to gravitate towards English.  (By the way, re-reading my last post I realized I might have gotten a bit ahead of the game and added a kid to the Martins' total, which currently stands at seven, not eight.) 

Those little guys are a joy to be around, especially one and a half-year-old Stefan, and little four-year-old Krzysiek.  They are what the Poles might call rozrabiaczki--fun-loving little troublemakers. 

Jacob and Anita's first kids got classic American names--Ruben and Joshua--while later ones received Polish monikers--Ilona, Zofia, Waldek.  Jacob says they now follow the formula of a Polish first name and an English middle one--'Stefan James'--in case they ever return to the States.

There doesn't seem to be much likelihood of doing that now.  Things don't sit too well back home with the families.  The last visit was about three years ago--Anita's parents.  They are civil but fail to see eye-to-eye on various matters.

In any case, this is where home is now.  Jacob realizes that with all the media curiosity among Poles, he has a potentially very positive role to play here--one he didn't ask for, he chuckles, but one he will continue to take on. 

Dropping in on the 'Polish Amish'

Tomorrow I hit the road to pay a visit to Jacob and Anita Martin, an American couple that has been portrayed as Amish in the national media here in Poland.  The Martins have graciously allowed me and a group from Krakow's Jagiellonian University to stay a couple days at their home in a village about an hour-and-a-half outside of Warsaw. 

photo:  global.net  
Since I'm joining the group late and will miss the pre-arranged transport, I'll have a nearly 10-kilometer walk to get to the Martins' village from the train station tomorrow morning.  Looks like that all that marathon training is going to come in handy.  Or if I'm lucky, I'll hitch a ride on a horse cart headed in their direction.
 

From what I've read, the Martins live interesting lives.  Inhabitants of the village where they live mistook them for Orthodox Jews when they first arrived with two other American families some 15 years ago.  The Martins' dress and appearance do resemble that of various Old Order groups. 

photo:  rozstaje
At the same time, they drive a car, use a computer, attend a Pentecostal church, and have a last name that is more Mennonite than Amish.   The Martins caused a stir when they appeared on a nationally-syndicated talk show last fall, and have been featured in a documentary and in numerous articles in the national media.

In any case, it should be a nice trip.  I've heard they have a large home, and hopefully so, as there will be about a dozen of us, plus the Martins' eight children. 

I'm planning on bringing some Ohio Amish apple butter and some hot sauce that I've smuggled in from the States.  Might end up being a welcome change from powidlo sliwkowe (plum jelly) and chrzan (horseradish), the local specialties here in Poland. 

The Amish in Poland, again

Just got a call from my friend here in Krakow.  It looks like Anita and Jakub, the 'Amish in Poland', are back in the news again.

The Pennsylvania/Indiana-transplant couple, who settled in a village not far from Warsaw 14 years ago, appeared on the national talk show 'Rozmowy w Toku' (roughly, 'Conversations in Progress') tonight.  Kind of an odd place to find an Amish family, but again, we're not sure exactly what their particular brand of Amish is.  I listened to a clip of the show, where the Polish host was asking why they chose to marry one another.  The couple, who drive and are sometimes mistaken for Orthodox Jews, responded in heavily-accented Polish:

'She was, how can I say it, the most available.'

'I was already 26 years old, and didn't have anything against him.'

Those make for curious sound bites.  The Polish public's fascination for the Amish turns out to be, unsurprisingly, not unlike that of the American public.

Anita and Jakub have become semi-celebrities of sorts, having recently been the subjects of a 26-minute documentary.  Here's a link to an article about them, for anyone out there with at least sixth-grade level Polish.

Excepting the occasional tourist trip, the Amish have not had a significant presence in Europe since 1937, when the final Amish congregation in Ixheim, France merged with the Ernstweiler Mennonite congregation, uniting as the Zweibrucken Mennonite Church (Steven Nolt, 'A History of the Amish'). 

An Illinois shunning story: did these Amish go too far?

Shunning. One of the sorest points of contention when Jakob Amman tore away from his Mennonite kin back in 1693. Still controversial today.

Meidung is the word the Amish use for it. Shunning is one of those things that have continued to define the Amish against their Mennonite cousins, and against the world at large.  If asked, the man on the street will be able to tell you what shunning is all about, at least in some vague way.  It shows up in pop interpretations of the Amish all the time, after all (i.e., see last week's Cold Case.  Or, better yet, don't.)

But did you know that different Amish apply shunning to differing degrees?

One form of shunning--let’s call it the ‘lighter’ version--allows an erring member to have the Bann removed if he or she becomes a member in good standing in a related Anabaptist church.

This exempts the leaver from making a confession in order to have the ban lifted. This type of shunning is more common in Midwestern communities, such as large portions of Holmes/Wayne County, Ohio, and among the ‘non-Swiss’ Amish of northern Indiana.

Streng Meidung (strong shunning) refers to a more strict form of shunning, where the errant person is under the Bann for life, unless he or she makes a full confession before the church and fixes what caused the trouble in the first place.

Lancaster County, the Swartzentrubers, the Nebraska Amish, and according to Steven Nolt and Thomas Meyers in An Amish Patchwork, the Andy Weaver Church of Holmes County are among those that stick to Streng Meidung.

And that's not all--there are a host of smaller settlements scattered throughout the country that adhere to Streng Meidung--such as the one that I had a chance to visit in 2004, in an isolated corner of Illinois.

The dark side

This particular settlement, which I’ll leave unnamed, in many ways is not so unlike the myriad other smaller, conservative-leaning settlements formed by members leaving larger communities in search of stricter living.

Off the beaten path. Noticeably poorer. Homes somewhat ramshackle--peeling paint, missing siding, some families living in shop buildings.  The local furniture outfits--dusty, dreary, and a little dead--certainly not cranking like the spanky shops of the Amish around Arthur, the state’s centerpiece settlement.   People, on the whole, just seem a bit more wary of outsiders.

I did manage to talk to quite a few of them though. Though I was a bit puzzled when one fellow urged me not to talk to another family up the road--whom I thought was of his church.  When I pressed him as to why, he refused to elaborate.

On meeting aforementioned family, I learned that they had been excommunicated. And I started to get a picture of how shunning works in this particular settlement.

Later, as I spoke with two other families who had jumped ship along with the first, I was a shocked to hear them complain of harassment, even vandalism, perpetrated under cover of night by their former church kin. It seemed a bit un-Christian.  It seemed a bit, umm, juvenile.

I had never come across that sort of extreme treatment of former members before. Pretty primitive. Combine that with practices such as the use of outdoor privies, common in this particular settlement, and you can see why some Amish get labeled ‘backward’.

As I met other members of the community while selling books that day, it became more and more clear that this bunch was a different drink of water than the more mainstream Arthur folks. The leavers, however, were extremely open and frank about their situation. I remember thinking that it just seemed a healthier way to be.  Here were three families of the same stock as the rest, but now able to basically be themselves.  Unleashed, in a way.  They seemed happy.

But when speaking with either side, you could almost feel the unseen wall that prevented any seeing eye-to-eye. 

One of the families had actually responded to the harrassment, in a way--by painting a short Bible verse on the tree in their front yard, visible from the road.  To be honest, I can't recall the exact verse, but I remember the message of it being poignant for the situation they were in.  It was something which seemed to be directed towards their former church brothers and sisters, if I'm not mistaken, something along the lines of being blind to the error of one's ways.  In any case, that seemed to be the extent of communication between the two sides at that point. 

Vandalism and Bible verses painted on trees.

Meidung done us in

In a true 'our-way-or-the-highway' situation, three families chose the highway out in backwoods Illinois. I find myself wondering if any others out there have left since then.

The logic of a Streng Meidung is easy to see. Cutting off the stray sheep isolates and protects the remaining members. It inflicts emotional pain on the shunned, hopefully forcing them to rethink and rejoin. Tough love on a community-wide scale.

At the same time, for the thinking and feeling ones among those that remain, such extreme treatment could backfire.

The shunning mechanism has been called (by the Amish themselves) a key factor in the church's phenomenal growth. Others note that the practice has resulted in great schisms over the years. I won’t knock shunning--I think it can have a place in counter-cultural Christian communities like that of the Amish.

It’s just that when you get around the edges, things can get a little dodgy.

Just like anywhere else in society, I suppose.

The Sugarcreek Budget

The Budget is a vital print lifeline stretching across the diverse Anabaptist settlements of North and South America.

Founded in 1890, this weekly paper out of Sugarcreek, Ohio, serves as an information exchange for families sometimes separated by great distances and formidable technological barriers.

Budget 'scribes' regularly report on local happenings.  Their writings are listed under the home settlement's geographical header. 

Many of the placenames indicate traditional Amish/Mennonite locales in Pennsylvania, Indiana, or Ohio.  A number, however, come from further afield, distant lands such as Belize, Haiti, or Romania, likely originating from more adventurous Mennonite or Beachy Amish settlers.

Besides the local news, you can also find all sorts of neat things for sale in the Budget--wind-up watches, cloth diapers, and something called a 'no-crack' freezer container, to name a few. 

Ads in the Budget tell you where to get your 'superior cow cream' or even Himalayan Goji Juice, two items no doubt favored by Plain folk concerned for both their own and their animals' health.

Service providers advertise as well--again, many of them health-related.  Perusing a recent issue you'd come across info on hernia relief, Tijuana dentistry, and even the frightening-sounding colon hydrotherapy.

How's the weather in those parts?

Poems, children's sketches, and petitions for contributions for needy members enduring misfortune also feature prominently in the 40+ page gazette.

But on to the meat of it:  in the Budget, readers learn of all sorts of happy occurrences:  marriages and births and successful moves and good crop yields, to mention a few of the most popular topics.

The Budget conveys tragedy as well.  Readers of a recent issue learned of an Indiana organic-farm poultry barn burning down, resulting in the loss of 17,000 young fryers, and much worse--a young Amish father of six who died suddenly of a burst appendix in the same community.


And finally, the Budget brings readers the seemingly mundane:  A big chunk of letters begin something like 'spring is here and the weather is fine....', 'church was held at the Miller place...', 'the flowers are in bloom...' and don't really seem to say too much else. 

My old man happened to pick up an issue, and joked about how 'nothing' really seems to happen in most of the letters.  He wondered, just when do they find the time to write about the corn growing? 

I supposed that it might be what they do when they're not on the internet or in front of the tube.

And maybe that's just us taking a short view of it...with the weather playing such a prominent role in the agrarian-minded Amish-Mennonite world, it might come to mean the difference between prosperity and destitution.  At least it has in the past.

In any case, the Budget is a vital publication, anticipated and enjoyed by many in the far-flung Amish-Mennonite community.

It's a modern-day relic in a modern world of internet, cell phones and email, a throwback 'messaging system' for a 'peculiar people', of whom many still choose to rely on the printed word for basic news and communication.

Settlements that failed: Stuck in the Big Easy--with the original 'urban Amish'?

A small haphazard settlement of Amish apparently once existed in New Orleans.

David Luthy explains that migrant Amish in the 1800's often entered America from Europe by way of the Mississippi River port.

Sometimes it happened that an Amish family lacked the funds to continue upstream and onward to established settlements, often in Illinois.  Previous to 1850, stranded families formed a small and short-lived community in the city.

Information on the community is scant, but apparently bishops from midwestern settlements cared enough to make the long trip and minister to the congregation there.  Bishop Peter Naffziger even walked there on two occasions to care for the settlement's spiritual needs--apparently from his home in Ohio.

1849 New Orleans map from Louisiana State Museum
New Orleans, at the time, was nothing like it is today, of course.  However, it was a city in the true sense of the word, with an 1840's population around 100,000.  Most of the inhabitants were French-speaking, so Luthy speculates that the Amish, from Alsace and Lorraine in France, likely felt more at home here than they would have in other ports.

It seems that the few Amish that lived here, if they did not move onward after raising the necessary funds, eventually may have adopted urban ways, lost traditions and assimilated.

(Source:  David Luthy's The Amish in America: Settlements That Failed, 1840-1960.)

The Martyr's Mirror: How Amish forefathers chose to die

When selling books in Amish communities, I'm often asked if I carry the Martyr's Mirror.  This book is very popular in Amish homes today.  It is an account of the numerous Anabaptists, spiritual predecessors of the Amish, who perished on account of their faith. 

It is also a hefty tome--at over 1100 pages there are more than a handful of accounts in here.  One of the most remarkable is that of Dirk Willems.

Willems was originally captured in 1569 by 'papists' for the crime of following and promoting the idea of rebaptism, a precursor to today's Amish and Mennonite practice of adult baptism.

Willems ended up imprisoned in a tower near his home in the Netherlands. He later escaped by tying cloth together and shimmying down the walls. 

As he fled, a guard saw him and took off in hot pursuit.  Coming to a pond covered with thin ice, Willems chanced it and crossed, making it safely to the other side.  His pursuer was not so fortunate.  The 'thiefcatcher' cracked through the ice to plunge into the freezing water below.

Amazingly, instead of making an easy getaway, Willems turned back and rescued the guard from a likely death.  He was subsequently recaptured and later burned at the stake.

Apparently for Dirk Willems, to heed the cries of someone in need--even someone who wished him harm--was more important than his own life.

Stories from Anabaptist history like this one color the Amish way of thinking to the present.  Could it be that Willems' example lives on in today's Amish, as they face present-day mistreatment and misfortunes? 

The Martyr's Mirror is available to read online here.

(sources:   Mennonite Church USA Archives;  Martyr's Mirror, Thieleman J. Van Braght)

The Amish on vacation

Amish people often ask a lot of questions when you tell them you have visited places overseas.

I've spent a good bit of time explaining to inquisitive Amish how people live in Poland, or what it's like to climb Mt. Sinai.

The Amish choose to live in a small world, and many are naturally curious of life outside as a result.

At the same time, out-of-state vacations have become more and more popular  over the years.  Some Amish visit Florida, rent RVs (with driver) for long-range excursions, or go hunting out West.

Some even travel overseas, as in this article describing an Amish trip to trace roots in Switzerland.  In this case, the Amish group was made up of both New and Old Orders.  They agreed to go by ship, as the Old Order generally doesn't allow air travel. 

That meant paying $6,000 a head for the Atlantic passage.

Probably the most popular excursion is the trip to visit family in another settlement, perhaps for a wedding or reunion. 

To me, the oddest sights are seeing Amish folks in the Greyhound station.  Especially since these stations are usually found in the most heavily urbanized chunks of the city.  Talk about being a fish-out-of-water.