Epiphany – all over Greece watched by the crowds, groups of eager near-naked men and boys will be diving into the freezing waters of sea, river, or lake, each hoping he will be the one to retrieve the crucifix hurled in by the priest. Before leaving the water the winner, holding it aloft, might allow some of the others a brief kiss of the cross for luck before they step out back on to dry land. As a matter of fact not so dry because there is freezing water everywhere, it being a very cold day and raining chair legs, that being the Greek expression for raining cats and dogs which, anyway, is a rather silly expression when you come to think of it. It’s intriguing I suppose as to how these traditions, so many traditions, have come about. It’s intriguing as to why some of them continue but, as Tevye sings in “Fiddler on the Roof”, tradition helps us keep a balance and to know who we are. Ah, there’s the rub. Methinks perhaps there is the beginning of the problem, the assurance of knowing who we are. A recent image from the news that sticks in the mind, a handsome (pretty even) young Israeli soldier on the eve of going into battle his steel helmet replaced with yarmulke, book in hand, bobbing away as he says his prayers. What is he praying for? Is he praying for the souls of those he might be forced to kill? Is he praying for his own in case he is killed? Is he praying for a quick victory and no more fighting? God with us we cannot lose. The soldier doesn’t stop to think his enemy is saying exactly the same thing. His god is their god as well so who is he going to favour this trip? The young Israeli soldier knows exactly who he is but then so does the young Hamas fighter. They are both descendent from a long line of traditionalists. I wonder if god has a conscience or simply washes his hands (metaphorically speaking) over the slaying of the innocents or whether he merely distances himself from the whole disgraceful episode? ‘Nothing to do with me, lad. It was all down to that poncy Herod.’ “God bless you,” spoken so glibly, especially by American presidents, as men go into battle or as the lucky ones retrieves a sunken crucifix from freezing waters and the rest are losers, is traditional but really a totally meaningless phrase.
The epiphony of the Bankers next time.