Amerikai Magyar Hírlap, 2002 (14. évfolyam, 4-45. szám)
2002-02-15 / 7. szám
AMERICAN Hungarian Journal MEDITATIONS by Dr. Bela Bonis Pastor (562) 430-0876 First Hungarian Reformed Church, Hawthorne x uc story or tne man born blind (John 9:1-41) is a one act play in six scenes with a huge cast of characters as biblical stories go: disciples, neighbors, Pharisees, parents, Jesus and the man himself. These last two people are the only socalled sinners in the story - Jesus because he broke the sabbath and the young man because he was born blind. They are also the two who make everything else happen, while the others stand around asking questions: How were your eyes opened? Where is the man who did it? How could he do that? What do you say about him? Not one living soul says, "Alleluia" or "Thank God!" No one asks him what it is- like to see for the first time or whether the light hurts his eyes. All they want to know is how, who, where and what. When Jesus is again with him, the questions still go on and even his own parents back quietly into the wings, while the young man grows both in eloquence and in courage, finally answering the Pharisees so sharply that they throw him out of the congregation. At the beginning of the story he called Jesus a man, then a prophet, now a man come from God. It is almost as if his vision has kept on improving, so that he sees more and more clearly who has given him his sight. The light of God in Jesus Christ can be given to us in any condition that we find ourselves. For the disciples, the blind man’s neighbors and the Pharisees, this meant a new understanding of sin, the purpose of human life and the meaning of God’s actions in history. How do we discern God’s light in Jesus in the context of religious pluralism, cultural diversity, personal autonomy and with the insights of those who voices and experiences have not been a part of the traditional discussions about God. Some who have so have been rejected, like the man who was blind, by their historical or chosen communities of faith. Christ will find them and invite them into his fellowship. Apropos, one reason the young man’s inquisitors are so repellent to us, I think, because they remind us of ourselves. However much we prefer the role of the blind man, we are not naturals for that part. We are not outcasts, most of us. We are consummate insiders - fully initiated, law-abidir, pledgepaying, creed saying members of the congregation of the faithful or in shorthand, Pharisees, so sure of their own laws, so ready to cast out other. In Memory of Georges Cziffra As time passes by and generations fade away, the glory of one individual shines still brightly from the last century as a supernova. There were legendary talents in the world of classical music, like Liszt or Paganini, but nothing survived of their magic except for great tales. Here we have tapes and- compact disks now to remember the brilliance of a Horovicz, Argerich, Katsaris, Heifetz, or Menuhin, but one above all, a lesser-known piano virtuoso, the late Georges Cziffra. A humble man, fighting indifference in his entire life, he accomplished worldwide recognition in Paris in the late fifties as his unbelievable craft suddenly shocked the stiff world of classical music. He became accepted with disbelief as he outperformed tenfold, with fantastic pace, every existing artist just by relentlessly playing his music, and of course Liszt, Schumann, Brahms, Chopin and others, a giant repertoire of endless depth. Maybe as some hint of prejudice, Deutsche Gramophone failed to record him, but he did not fall short of other samples of staggering performances. Because the son of a famous gypsy violinist, he was restricted by the communist regime of Hungary in the fifties to play in a popular bar in Budapest. We went to the Café "Kedves" entering from the freezing winter nights for a hot espresso, or sipping good liquors trying to find a place where we could also see his powerful hands. He enjoyed his audience, much as his father with his violin; the incredible sounds of his piano often brought everyone to tears. It was no less then a miracle to hear all this for just the price of a cup of coffee. There was no cover charge and from late evening to about four in the morning, time went by like a flash. Electrified from the event, we could not think of sleeping and often gathered for anchors in one of our homes with a Steinway piano. Cziffra came with us and never faded for a moment; he played mind-boggling variations on a simple melody, or transcribed music we heard earlier in concert, perhaps in the Opera house. When he played, it seemed like past and future skills of all keyboard phenomena have merged on a modem instrument with sounds never heard before. We enjoyed his playing for the last time in the Pasadena Ambassador’s Auditorium. He still electrified everyone in the fully packed concert hall with his.immaculate brilliance, but later in the dressing room he broke out in a desperate cry: “It wasn't me, I just could not play well, not the way I used to build mood and grand design!” He did not give any anchors on stage, just collapsed in the greenroom, probably gravely ill. Yet, he got up when he saw us, and gave a long warm hug bringing back instantly memories of an old friendship. For a glorious moment, we were in Budapest of the early fifties again, where he had brought the roof down night after night in endless triumph. ELIA RAVASZ CHICAGO, ILL. - Illinois First Lady Lura Lynn Ryan presents the Governor’s letter of congratulation to the officers of the Hungarian Magyar Club of Chicago for the club’s 80th anniversary. Pictured from left to right: Amalia Varga, Paul Varga, Mrs. Ryan, Sándor Kremer, Maria Baksay and Zoltán Baksay. ALADDIN - seen across the (akejrom BELLAGIO „crrr of líghtt B Y SUSAN JANCSO (CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK) 6. There was still enough light to follow the Strip all the way to Downtown, but in an hour it would be completely dark. I decided to do some walking before I got too involved in my favorite pastime. In a few days, the year would be over, and there was already a festive excitement in the air. I walked through the quiet casino and out into the street teeming with people. Since the weather had turned warm and sunny again, everybody was out watching the fountains, checking out new places, taking pictures, or simply getting some fresh air. I walked across the street and in to Bellagio. The fountains were dancing to an old Sinatra tune as I pushed through the wide revolving door into the lobby, where the colorful glass flowers, the “Fiori di Como" were still in full bloom overhead. They have not yet taken down the giant Christmas tree at the Conservatory, and the flowerbeds were full of bright red poinsettias. A number of Japanese tourists were busy taking pictures, trying to catch the split second when no clueless stranger would saunter into their photograph. I helped out a family so they could all be in the picture. My own camera, the digital one that I use for the newspaper, was sitting safely on my desk in the office. I did not want to risk damaging it on the bus, it was hard enough to push my shoulder bag up and through the double railing with only my clothes in it. In any case, I did not want to do anything that even remotely resembled work. Besides, it was not more possessions that I needed. I remembered the passage by Vörösmarty my mother often quoted when I was a child: “Don’t peer into the depths of your desires, The whole world is not ours to posses: Only what the heart can hold and encompass Can we call truly ours, part of ourselves... ” No need to take pictures. All I have to do is let my eyes and my heart take in the splendor of this night, to have and to hold forever. * + * While I was there, I tried to look up an old friend, a Casino Manager at the Bellagio. Richard had family in L.A. and brought them to dine at our restaurant, the Csardas, every once in a while. Last time we saw him - when Kema, our children’s godmother was visiting from Hungary - Richard had treated the two of us to a fantastic dinner at the buffet, with the giant crab legs hanging down from the plates on all sides. It was the stuff legends are made of... Now, however, he was not to be found, and it was just as well, because I could not have accepted any favors from him, had he offered them. For the first two days of my stay, I ate nothing at all, not even the cheese and the salami and the Ritz crackers I had brought along for the road. What blessed state - if only it could last! But as soon as I get home, I know the spell will be broken, and I will gobble up everything in sight. Now, I felt, it was time to get reacquainted with some other friends of mine: the slot machines. I never considered the Bellagio the ideal place to play the slots. Steve Wynn had made it clear that he thought people should come to look at Picasso’s paintings first, and gamble after - if at all. Yet, I saw a nickel machine I absolutely had to try, because it was called “Frequent Flyer”. How can a former flight attendant ignore the call of the blood? I inserted a tendollar bill, and made a modest fortune: within minutes, I doubled it. Stopping by at the machine was just a gesture on my part, because I knew the serious gambling would be done on my home turf, at the Aladdin. Ethnic News from Across the U.S. Winning is cssy 3t the Alsddin Cnsino BE CONTINUED) 2002. február 15.
