Above all, Traian Trifan shines through his high moral standing
Just as saints rarely speak of themselves, but are revealed through the words of their disciples, so too do we — those who once shared the hearth of Aiud — bear witness to Bădia Traian Trifan. Above all, he shone through his high moral stature, his courage, his modesty, and his profoundly Christian life, lived with unwavering intensity.
“How beautiful is the union between brothers!” — thus began Aiud.
Around Bădia gathered an elite circle: Marian Traian, Valeriu Ștefănescu, Anghel Papacioc, Ion Schiau, Căliman Ian Agapie, and many others, young men perhaps lesser known but no less worthy. Within the crucible of Aiud, patience and suffering decayed and ripened into spiritual fruit; from the mire of torment bloomed the sublime, like a water lily rising from the mud.
One day, in 1944, we were taken to the corridors of Zarca. There, Major Munteanu introduced us to Bădia Trifan:
“Look at him. He is the only legionnaire I recognise.”
To keep him from influencing us, they sent him away — first to Târgu Ocna, then to Suceava. When the front approached and the prison was being evacuated, many prisoners escaped as they could. When General Petrovicescu was told that Antonescu had ordered his release, he refused:
“I was condemned by judgment, and I will not accept to be released by stealth.”
Faithful to his principles, Bădia Trifan turned himself in at Aiud, surrendering to his captors rather than compromise his conscience. Some accused him falsely — of hiding, of fleeing to Germany — but his moral rectitude was unshakable. Even the drunken Major who mocked him had to acknowledge his moral superiority.
In 1946, we were sent to work in Galda and other colonies. At Galda, I shared a bed with Bădia Trifan and Bădia Marian — and I could tell you endlessly of how these men lived.
Before sleeping, they traced a cross upon their pillows, and then a great cross across the bed — so discreetly that, if you weren’t attentive, you might think they were simply straightening the sheets.
I cannot say if, in those days, they practised the Prayer of the Heart. Those who truly have it do not speak of it. Nea Costică Dumitrescu (later known as Monk Marcu Dumitru) practised it, yet would never claim it outright. That is why I believe both Bădia Trifan and Bădia Marian lived with Christ descending into their hearts.
The light on their faces, their gentleness, patience, and the way they endured cold, hunger, and beatings — all these sufferings became, for them, moments of quiet joy.
Once, in a moment of deep confusion, I asked him what I should do. He answered simply:
“Do something different from what the crowd is doing. You may still be wrong — but less wrong. The crowd is the first to fall victim to false hysteria.”
A man’s worth is revealed by those who gather around him. And what a circle Bădia Trifan formed! When you say Virgil Maxim, you recall Marin Naidim; when you say Ion Ianolide, you remember Valeriu Gafencu; around him stood Ion Schiau, Căliman, Marian Traian, Anghel Papacioc, Ion Agapie, Victor Mihăilescu, Nicu Mazăre, Iulian Bălan, Nicolae Trifoiu, Brânzei, Petru Fotin, Sebastian Avram, Gicu Dragon, Alecu Georgescu, Dr. Uță, Costică Dumitrescu, and hundreds more — the “second circle” of his influence.
I beg forgiveness of those whose names memory has lost — half a century has passed.
Look at his photograph in Ion Gavrilă’s book: arms folded, a steady gaze, poised in defiance of the evil that lies beyond.
That was — and remains — Bădia Traian Trifan.
(Recorded by Sandu (Atanasie) Ștefănescu, “Robul 1338,” in I confess… Robul 1036, edited by Virgil Maxim, Editura Scara, 1998, pp. 82–86.)