History of the Russian Mennonites

By March 1944, some 35,000 Mennonites in Ukraine had been evacuated by Nazi Germany and resettled mostly in German-annexed Poland. Here they came under the spiritual oversight of the Mennonite churches in the German Reich, and granted its same racial and religious privileges. This vignette gives a glimpse of the pro-Nazi orientation and commitments of Mennonites in Germany ( note 1 ).   Praise for Germany’s territorial expansion and the unity of German people—with the triumphant entry of the Führer Adolf Hitler into Austria—topped even the Easter message in the April 1938 issue of the denominational paper, Mennonitische Blätter ( note 2 ). “To the throne of the Most High we raise our hearts and hands for our Führer and for our whole people (Volk) with the petition: ‘May the Lord our God be with us as he was with our ancestors; may he never leave us nor forsake us. May he turn our hearts to him, to walk in obedience to him and keep the commands, decrees and laws he gave our ancestor

Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan is prefaced by a discussion eternal life and the question, "Who is my neighbour?" (cf. Luke 10:25–29). In the 1920s and 30s, the Mennonite denominational papers in Germany always, always highlighted the plight and need of their Russian Mennonite co-religionists languishing under Stalin. These were “their” neighbours, “their” refugees or “their” hungry and imprisoned. And that is good. But our life stories are always complex—aspects later generations will praise, aspects they will reject, and some things they will abhor deeply. So it is with this story—of the Mennonites in Germany who embraced Russian Mennonites. In 1934 Dirk Cattepoel (b. 1912; note 1 ) was a young German Mennonite doctoral student and soon-to-be pastor of the Krefeld Mennonite Church in Germany. He answered that biblical question in the Mennonitische Blätter with a longer article that denominational leaders would point to and cite favourably over the next years

In 2008 the Canadian Parliament passed an act declaring the fourth Saturday in November as “Ukrainian Famine and Genocide (‘Holodomor’) Memorial Day” ( note 1 ). Southern Ukraine was arguably the worst affected region of the famine of 1932–33, where 30,000 to 40,000 Mennonites lived ( note 2 ). The number of famine-related deaths in Ukraine during this period are conservatively estimated at 3.5 million ( note 3 ). In the early 1930s Stalin feared growing “Ukrainian nationalism” and the possibility of “losing Ukraine” ( note 4 ). He was also suspicious of ethnic Poles and Germans—like Mennonites—in Ukraine, convinced of the “existence of an organized counter-revolutionary insurgent underground” in support of Ukrainian national independence ( note 5 ). Ukraine was targeted with a “lengthy schooling” designed to ruthlessly break the threat of Ukrainian nationalism and resistance, and this included Ukraine’s Mennonites (viewed simply as “Germans”). Various causes combined to bring on w

What did a typical day look like for a Mennonite woman on a collective farm in Ukraine ( note 1 )? She had to get up while it was still dark to milk the one cow the family was allotted—something Stalin specifically guaranteed kolkhoz “women” in 1933 ( note 2) —together with one pig and a pair of chickens. Then she would wake the children and quickly get them ready for school, prepare breakfast, bring the youngest children to kindergarten, and finally leave for the field. Kindergarten was mandated as a form of childcare to mobilize more women for the workforce. Women would arrive together with hoes over their shoulders, usually barefoot—though some had wooden shoes—each in a dress covered in patches. A collective farm might have five working groups of women, with about 20 to 25 women per group. Many root crops were planted, and day after day, week after week, these women would hoe and weed the planted fields. Each woman was given a certain number of rows; whoever finished firs

Stable political arrangements are rarely permanent and can unravel rapidly—and they did for tens of thousands of Mennonites a century ago in the Russian Empire. Not a few asked: “Why is this happening to us?” Russia was a multicultural colonial empire with sense of a manifest destiny, a long history of serfdom and displacement of non-settler populations, and a yawning disparity of wealth. A few hundred Mennonite owners of sprawling estates with extensive landholdings suffered most severely in the first period of lawlessness, chaos and revolution in Ukraine. During a period of civil war in 1919 when the villages in the Mennonite Molotschna colony were largely under White Army protection, Kornelius Bergmann, a teacher and Mennonite Brethren minister, addressed the question everyone was asking, “Why is this happening to us?” Bergmann wrote using the pseudonym "C. Orosander"—in order to speak freely ( note 1 ). He began by admonishing his fellow clergy for general failu

In the Mennonite tradition, there is no communion without first making peace with your brother or sister. The diary of Jacob P. Janzen of Rudnerweide, Molotschna—a single adult, brother to a lay minister—gives regular examples: “Easter Sunday, April 10, 1911: We were also admonished to take part in communion; not many had attended [it] on Good Friday. With some it is because of small quarrels within the family or with neighbours, but others have felt deep hate for a long time and have stayed away for more than 20 years!” ( Note 1 ) Frequently Janzen also wrote down brief evaluations of the worship service, like on Good Friday 1911: “Today we had communion in the morning and also church services in the afternoon. Rev. [S.] preached the sermon. He had written everything down and looked now and then at his papers, but in between he often got stuck and then he would keep coughing until he found his place in his papers. It was very disturbing and I became quite annoyed.” These Good