hans breuer

Yavash!

This word was like a message, that represented “I have some kind of link to you!” - Hans Breuer

As I walk from the bus stop, along a narrow street in Vienna’s tenth district towards his current home, I cannot help but consider the significance of visiting a shepherd on the eve of Christmas. Hans Breuer has led an intriguing life thus far, colored by various phenomena including his communist upbringing, his musical sensitivity and his passion for nature. Most recently he has featured in a beautiful movie by Israeli director Ronit Kertsner called Refugee Lullaby, which is described as “a movie about an unusual way of living,  moving encounters and devoted solidarity” (www.austrianfilms.com). All of these ideas fascinate me, particularly the one about devoted solidarity. I hurriedly pick up the pace as I see his doorway in sight. I literally can not wait to meet this humanitarian shepherd.

He ushers me inside and produces a pot of tea. Soon, I curb my enthusiastic blather and it is time to listen. His story should begin at the beginning, I point out. He cradles the mug in his weatherbeaten hands, closes his eyes as if to see back into his past, and the tale unfolds. He grew up not far from where we sit, in the same district of Vienna, Favoriten. “When I was a child, there were still fields around. It was like an outpost of the city,” Hans says. “Nearby there was  half-destroyed factory and the ruins were good for us to play on. My parents took us every weekend to the Wienerwald (Vienna Woods) . In winter, we walked with skis. We had skis where you could climb and walk, and change the bindings so you could go down fast. Every weekend, we were out in nature.”

“I was walking on  a mountain with my parents from a very young age. My father’s mother had a place, one hundred kilometers from Vienna and we often went there. I was also joining the nearby farmer, milking cows, caring for calves, pigs, horses, goats, chickens, ducks….” His voice trails off for a moment to let me keep up with my note-taking. “All these animals were all kept in one barn. Except the pigs.” He throws me some side-eye and notices that I’ve caught up. “I saw the mother pig being driven through the little village by the peasant, to get her covered…….As a boy I learned how to drive cattle, also. I was introduced to Alpine culture as a child, and started to love it.

Now, Hans takes the conversation along a different path, and reminiscence gives way to a little natural history. His connection to the land, his sense of place, is palpable as he provides me with his assessment of our environs.

“In this country, the original settlements started on the mountains because above the forest line there are free places without trees. These places were there from the beginning, and the animals found their way there in the summer. The animals started these migrations, and the people followed them. Actually, the animals made the original paths. When you go with sheep in the summer, they prefer the grass where the snow has just gone, where the grass is lime green in color and just 5-10 centimeters in height. Even cattle prefer this, and also the wild deer. In the Ice Age, most of Europe was covered by ice. It took a long time for the ice to move away from the sea. Animals found the grass not far from the winter pastures at the border of the glaciers. Melting some meters more, year by year, the glaciers ‘pulled’ the animals up towards the mountain heights. Year by year, it was moving a little, and finally it moved above the forest line. Fifty years ago, the big deer in Europe still made this migration. But since the aristocrats and the states have been trapping and feeding them, the practice has been modified. I know for sure that, for deer, it was like this and so it is logical for sheep and goats to follow a similar pattern. People followed them first as hunters and then as herdsmen. They simply learned this practice from the animals themselves.”

For forty years Hans Breuer has worked among migrating herds. He has described himself as Austria’s last wandering shepherd, although he has currently taken a break from this work. He remains open minded as to whether this break will be permanent, or temporary. He came to popular attention during the influx of refugees into Austria in 2015, when he employed his possibly unmatched knowledge of the geographical layout along the Austro/Hungarian border to guide large numbers of displaced people from countries such as Syria during their journey of desperation towards a new life in Europe. This was done at great personal risk, owing to the political situation in Hungary and Austria at the time. Often singing to the diverse passengers, hidden in the back of his vehicle, to relax, distract or reassure them, Hans became a poster boy for solidarity among those empathetic with the persecuted travelers. But we are not yet ready to touch on that aspect of his life. For the moment, he prefers to take me on a journey of discovery in the practice of transhumance, the action of moving livestock from one grazing ground to another in a seasonal cycle.

“Fifty years ago, there were flocks privately owned by small farmers and big flocks owned by aristocrats which crossed hundreds of kilometers in pursuit of pasture. The practice of transhumance had existed for hundreds of years. For example, in Spain, some shepherds accompanied their flocks to the western coast of Portugal in autumn, while many more went to the eastern coast of Spain. The Crown, by law, made a network of roads measuring 30 meters across just for the she/herds to use! Germany is the only country of Western Europe where the tradition survived, although now it is fading. There are about 960 nomadic shepherds left in Germany, while the profession is dying out in Spain and in France. For migrating shepherds, it makes sense to live life with others whose lives are constantly changing. Before the arrival of synthetic fabric, when wool was a prized commodity, the aristocrats sent the shepherd over the farmer’s land; the shepherds had the right to pass over the fields. This free pasture season began on the Christian feast of Saint Martin (November 11) every year. These laws were abolished by Empress Maria Theresa  three hundred years ago. And, so it was that nomadic shepherding officially ended in Austria. But in Germany, the nomadic shepherd can still allow sheep to graze eight meters on either side of the road. In Spain, a movement in underway to protect this rare practice.”

There is a theme of connectedness in our conversation, whether it be focused on the connection between a human and the beings in its care, between the human and the land, between one season and the next, or between the collective human experience. I know from prior reading that Hans has previously drawn comparisons between the plight of Jewish friends and family members prior to the Second World War, and the people affected by the current crisis. We come back around to the topic of refugees. When he finally returns to the topic, he focuses on the practical training he received during the course of a life’s work.

“What is true is that I developed a lot of skills that were very useful in helping people to cross borders, to cross regions where they are strangers, to organize transportation. I was used to organizing what you need for such a journey. I used to manage a flock of 1,500 including 760 mother sheep. To organize with this huge flock, we always had to research and prepare a route in advance, to find out a good path. We used cyclists’ paths, hikers’ paths, we went through forests, using all types of shelter. We under-passed railways or highways, in water tunnels. Always singing.

In my family, when I was a small child, my parents were active communists and we gathered together to sing with extended family one or two times per week. My father played piano. He and my sister also sang. There were worker songs.

And, Schumann.

My mother was always singing, when doing the housework. She would begin with the song Die Gedanken Sind Frei, which was very well known in Austria and was sung in the revolution of 1848. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew about 300 songs including folk songs, songs from the Spanish Civil war, and also simple mountain songs and some yodeling. Because of my parents’ connections, I also knew songs from Hungary, Bulgaria and Russia. At 14 or 15, I joined a commune. There we were singing practically every evening, with people from different countries. I learned many songs in French, German and English. After seven years, when I had left this group, I heard my first Yiddish song and quickly became addicted. It was mainly these songs that I sang to my sheep, during my work.”

I briefly visualize a scene from Refugee Lullaby, during which an audience of small children sits in rapt attention while Hans sings to them. Perhaps he has remembered these faces, too. He leads us to what will be our final path of conversation today. 

“Do you know that Austrians don’t like sheep-meat, traditionally? The last twenty years has brought a new generation that tolerates it, but when I worked with sheep, my clients were mostly families from Turkey, some Kurdish families, and some Bosnians, with Afghan and Syrian families becoming clients after 2015…… I refused to see people as only clients and so I became friends with them. They know better than us how to use the meat from the sheep. I know some words from their languages. One thing I often said to the refugees…I said Yavash! This means Go slowly in English. With this one word they often felt accepted by me. This word was like a message that represented I have some kind of link to you.”

Connection is everything, isn’t it?

You can learn much more about Hans Breuer by visiting www.oyfnveyg.com, www.wanderingmuse.net and by finding his music via his email hansheinrichbreuer8 at gmail dot com . He can be seen online at https://www.youtube.com/user/hansheinrichbreuer and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPUE5Sq4ocg . Hans presents workshops to children of all ages in the Schools around Vienna, Austria, where he currently lives. My sincere thanks to him for sharing his time with me and allowing me to listen to his story.