It’s the Masara Season

Vahe H. Apelian

Once again, it’s the masara season for the Kessabtsis as it was on October 20, 1906.

In a letter dated Oct. 20, 1906, Kessab missionary Miss Effie Chambers alluded to masara to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM) on whose behalf she was doing mission work among the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. The letter pertained to the schools in Kessab.

Miss Chambers said that there were six schools in Kessab. The Kessabtsis supported four schools. The Kessabtsis and the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Mission (ABCFM) jointly supported another to prepare students to further their education in Aintab Central College. Many students became beneficiaries of this joint venture and charted their courses in life. Among them, Dr. Avedis Injejikian, as his son Gabriel attests. Dr. Soghomon Apelian and his brother Rev. Bedros were also beneficiaries of this college-level preparatory school.

The other school was for girls. It was entirely supported by the ABCFM. The school's existence is telling as to how open Kessabtsis were in matters of gender and education and that over a century ago they let a foreign mission run a school to educate their daughters. Not every community in the Ottoman Empire, whether Armenian or not, would have been so open as to trust their daughters to be educated by foreigners.

Miss Chambers also noted in her letter that Kessabtsis have been supportive to her. However, she also voiced a complaint that getting the students to attend school in the fall was difficult. She wrote: “The first part of the term is greatly interrupted by gathering in the vineyard products and the making of molasses, which is a sort of general good time for everybody, makes it difficult.”

Not being a Kessabtsi, Miss Chambers did not know that Kessabtsis call “making of (grape) molasses” masara. Then and to this day it's “sort of general good time for everybody”.

What is a masara?

It seems impossible to find a Kessabtsi who does not know what masara is, although the origin of the word seems to have been lost in obscurity. And yet many among the new generation born to expatriated Kessabtsi parents may not have heard the word, let alone attended its preparation. Masara remains one of the major social events that binds Kessabtsis together.

Masara is “making (grape) molasses”, but it is not a chore, however tedious the preparation is. It is a time for merrymaking. The process obviously starts with the harvesting of the grapes. I would not be surprised if parents looked for the help of their agile children who would climb and reach the grapes on vines wrapped on tree branches high above. There were no vineyards in Kessab the way we envision vineyards these days. It would not surprise me that the kids, in turn, surely made ample use of their parents’ masara disposition and skipped school. I would have been tempted to do the same.

The grapes are then piled and sprinkled with a clay-like material, covered and left standing for a few days until the grapes are ripened for the juicing process to start. Juicing consists of stepping over them bare-footed. Young men wash their feet and get into the troughs and start tramping on the grapes until the grapes are juiced. The juice flowing from the trough is collected while the remaining pulp would become a source of nutrition for the animals.

Masara in Kessab on October 19, 2018, Courtesy Stepan J. Apelian 

The grape juice that contains the clay-like dirt is placed in a deep container and the dirt is allowed to settle down taking with it all the insoluble components in the grape juice and leaving a clear supernatant solution above. The latter is collected and placed in a large shallow pot and heated on ovens specially constructed for the process. The supernatant is heated until it attains a syrupy consistency. The process, which takes hours, provides the people with time to sit by the fire, relax, converse while periodically replenishing the wood to keep the fire going and making sure that the juice is heated no longer than needed.

Once it is determined that the molasses, which Kessabtsis call eroup, is formed it is transferred to a holding container. That transfer is the climax of the process and all would be waiting to savor its exquisite tasting foam, prpor. The person who transfers the warm syrup to start its foaming breaks the stillness of the evening or the night by shouting loudly "prpor, prpor", inviting everyone to savor the exquisite foam. To maximize the foaming of the warm syrup it is scooped with ladle made of gourd and poured from a distance through a perforated metal plate attached to a wooden handle back into the container thus creating a yellowish thick foam over the warm syrup.

The best way to taste the prpoor – the foam -- is by scooping it with laurel (gasli) tree leaves. Some would simply snatch a leaf from a gasli branch and fold it to taste the prpor. Others, especially the kids, would be more inventive and shape different kinds of wooden spoons with the gasli leaves.

Oct. 20, 1906, the day Miss Chambers dated her letter, turns out to be a Saturday, much like this year, in the fall in Kessab--a time when masara would have already commenced or would be commencing soon, depending on the ripening of the grapes. The world has changed much since, especially for the Armenians who would experience the Genocide nine years later. Two-thirds of the Kessabtsis would vanish in the Genocide. Amidst all these changes, masara has remained the way it was.

To this very day, in spite of the March 21, 2014 sacking of Kessab by extremists who assaulted the villages from Syria, the Kessabtsis held masara after their return in early autumn.

Nowadays Kessabtsis hold masara not so much as to prepare a rich source of nutrition for the long winter ahead (as it was done once), nor for commercial reasons, as it was also done once with the surplus. Masara nowadays is done to keep the tradition and the social bonds alive among the Kessabtsis in and outside Kessab.

Bedros Apelian: Gassia Armenian’s Postcard

Vahe H. Apelian

 

A few days ago Gassia Armenian sent me the postcard depicted here. The postcard is captioned “Bedros Apelian of Kessab, Syria - Iowa State Normal School.” The stamped postcard bears a 1 cent stamp and is dated February 16, 1908, Iowa and is sent to Mrs. Wes Latch in Indianola, Iowa. It turns out that Indianola is a town 18 miles south of Des Moines, Iowa whose population in 2010 census was 14, 782 person.

How is it that a young Kessabtsi's picture appeared on a postcard in Iowa over 100 years ago?

Well, there is an interesting and serendipitous turn of events that ended up in this postcard.

Truthfully speaking, I had seen pictures of these postcards and had learned how and why they came about. I say these postcards because I know that there is at least another one. But little did I imagine that an actual postcard would survive the following 110 years, find itself in an auction, come to the attention of Gassia Armenian who is a Curatorial and Research Associate in Fowler Museum at UCLA and that she would seize the moment and purchase the postcard, surely appreciating its historical significance. Since Gassia knows that all things about Kessab and Kessabtsis interest me, she was thoughtful and considerate enough to gift the postcard to me. I, in turn, will donate the postcard to Project Save, whose founder, Ruth Thomasian, I first met during late 1970’s or early 1980’s in the Home For the Armenian Aged in Emerson, NJ where she had come looking for photographs to salvage from obscurity. I know that the postcard will be safe there and this article may put the postcard in its historical context.

As to the other postcard, presented here as well, depicts the dashingly handsome Bedros Apelian in his native dress in a seated position. Interestingly, years ago when the American and Syrian relations were not hostile, the Syrian Embassy in Washington, D.C. had posted a picture of that postcard as a testament to the amicable Syrian American relations dating from the turn of the 20^th century although, when the picture was taken, Syria was a geographical entity in the Ottoman Empire and not a country yet. The picture of the postcard was later removed. After all the Syrian-American relations were souring.

I need to take a step back and attempt giving a historical context to the postcard.

A few years after the founding of the Evangelical denomination in Constantinople in 1846, the newly established faith found adherents in Kessab and in 1852 established a school there that continues to this day. The newly established Evangelical community had close ties with American missionaries who carried their mission on behalf of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (A.B.C.F.M.), the first and the most influential and far-reaching American missionary organization. Consequently, American missionaries came to Kessab as well and some documented their accounts about Kessab. The last among these missionaries was a young woman by the name Miss. Effie M. Chambers, who left her native state Iowa and embarked on her mission among the Armenians and after spending over a decade among them in Ourfa and Aintab, she came to Kessab in 1906 and stayed among Kessabtsis until 1912 leaving a legacy that reverberates to this day.

It is accepted that the Evangelical movement brought a period of spiritual and cultural revival in Kessab opening avenues for driven young and ambitious Kessabtsis to further their education in colleges in Turkey founded by the A.B.C.F.M. among them the Aintab Central College stands out that later became the famed Aleppo college, my mother Zvart and maternal uncle Antranig Chalabian, attended.

Among these young ambitious Kessabtsis were two brothers, Soghomon and Bedros Apelian. They were the sons of Kevork Apelian and were two of Kevork’s five sons. Both of them studied in Aintab Central College. Soghomon Apelian ended up studying medicine at the American University of Beirut and is one of the earliest Armenians to graduate from the medical school there and surely the first Kessabtsi to do so. Upon the recommendation of Miss Effie M. Chambers, Bedros Apelian was accepted to her Alma Mater and came to Iowa State Normal School, the current University of Northern Iowa, to prepare himself for ministry. The local Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) and Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) produced these postcards and sold them to defray Bedros’ tuition with the proceeds of the sale.

How did Bedros fare far from his native Kessab and what happened to him?

I have come across two documents from the University of Northern Iowa on-line library. One is two pages long and is the, I quote, ‘” account of the life of Bedros Kevork Apelian.  Mr. Apelian wrote this account for the Old Gold, 1908, the yearbook of the Iowa State Normal School, Cedar Falls, Iowa.”

The other document is an essay about “the early history of international students at the University of Northern Iowa, from about 1896 through about 1967.” Bedros Apelian is featured in that assay. ( https://scua.library.uni.edu/university-archives/historical-information-and-essays/international-students-uni-1896-1967). I have quoted segments from the assay

“The student was Bedros Kevork Apelian, who had been born in Syria on October 10, 1885.  He was a graduate of Central Turkey College, a Christian missionary institution, and had taught two years of high school in his home country.  He knew French, Armenian, Turkish, and English.  Former Normal School student Effie Chambers, a Congregational Church missionary in Syria, had recommended the school to him.  Others have written about Miss Chambers’ noteworthy missionary life elsewhere (a reference is made to the article I wrote about Ms. Effie M. Chambers).

In February 1908, the Young Men's Christian Association and Young Women's Christian Association produced a series of postcards on which Mr. Apelian appeared in his native dress.  Profits from the sale of these postcards went to Mr. Apelian.  

Rev. Bedros Apelian officiating the marriage of Henry Apelian and Virginia Matossian

In 1914, Pastor Apelian became a naturalized citizen of the United States. On June 30, 1915, he married Muriel Rocheter, in New York City.....In late 1917, Pastor Apelian's congregation released him for a month to perform relief work on behalf Syrians and Armenians, who were continuing to suffer in his homeland. That relief assignment eventually led him to resign his pastorate, effective January 10, 1918, in order to devote his full time to the work....By 1922, he had returned to the pastorate and was serving full time....He died in New Jersey in July 1969."

The story of Bedros Apelian is another shining example of the Armenian American relations that date from late first half of the 19th century and culminated in America’s post Genocide life-giving assistance to the survivors through Near East Relief.

Rev. Bedros appeared to have used the letter K as his middle name initial,  most likely after his father Kevork. In an article in NY Times, on August 6, 1918, reference is made to Rev. Bedros K. Apelian appealing on behalf of the Armenians. Lastly and on a personal note, my maternal grandmother Karoun (Apelian) Chelebian and Bedros Apelian were first cousins. Her father Hovhannes; Bedros’ and Soghomon’s father Kevork were brothers and they were two of Bedir Apelian’s five sons.

When Aleppo was Yerazayen (Dreamy) Haleb

When Aleppo was Yerazayen (Dreamy) Haleb

A translated and abridged segment from Antranig Zarougian’s book titled Yerazayen Haleb (Dreamy Aleppo).

 Vahe H. Apelian

Yerazayen Haleb (Dreamy Aleppo)

“I have had numerous occasions to write and speak about Haleb Armenians in large halls, in front of hundreds of people. Let me say my real thoughts from the heart. However the number of Haleb Armenians dwindles, the root remains. I remain with deep conviction that the Haleb Armenian is the rose of the Diaspora. If we liken the Armenian Diaspora to a tasty fruit, its seed has come from Haleb.”Antranig Zarougian.

“Haleb is undoubtedly a milestone in the evolution of our Armenian Diasporan identity of the post-Genocide period.  I believe that it is there that the future community of Beirut was forged, and from then on to the different realities of our existence in the West.  In the great migration of our people, Haleb was the first place of a Great Gathering after the initial murderous big bang of the Great Dispersion. The above applies to all aspects of community life, whether they be historical, cultural, political, artistic, literary and so on.  This is not to minimize the roles of other places.  Far from it, but, if there are temporal and geographic points of reference around which our existence coalesced after 1915, Haleb was surely the first.” Viken Attarian

“The overwhelming majority of the Armenians in Haleb were Cilician Armenians; the Sassountsi Armenians were the second largest. Among them, the Aintabsi Armenians occupied a prominent and dominant position. Their numerical superiority was such that they had two schools, Zavarian (Tashnag) and Grtasseerats (the other kind). For some time they had their own church, next to the Cathedral of the Holy Forty Martyrs (Սրբոց Քառասնից Մանկանց Մայր Եկեղեցի). It was known as the “Aintabsis” church. When Catholicos Coadjutor Papken passed away, they did not let him be buried in Antelias. They brought the coffin to Haleb and with a large showing had him buried in “their” church.

Before the Genocide Aintab was considered the Athens among Cilician cities because of its schools, and American College. In spite of the fact that Aintabsi Armenians were Turkish speaking, love of learning and education were much stressed among them. The trustees of the schools naturally were all Aintabsi Armenian craftsmen who took care of the schools much like they took care of their households. However, they regarded that they had the same say in matters relating to education as they had in their own households.

I taught Armenian language and history for six or seven years at the Zavarian School. The middle school students were not as young then as they are now. The average age of the students in the 6th grade was 15 years then, while it is 10 to 12 years these days. It was a good school with a good teaching staff. One year three additional teachers in their twenties were invited. They were hard working and industrious teachers. The atmosphere of the school changed. Even though they were not experienced they animated the school. They became the favorites of the students who congregated around them during recess. The situation did not sit well with the former teachers, some of whom did not look favorably at the situation. Since some of the former teachers had family relations with the trustees of the school, they managed to work out so that these three young teachers were not to be invited the following year.

It was a scandal. These young men had carried their tasks without any blemish. There were no reasons to let them go. Our principal, a good and a humble man, could not defend them and hence unwillingly went along with the decision of the trustees. I objected. Aram, the father of Archbishop Datev Sarkissian joined me. Together we staked the reputation we thought we had and put our names on the balance. Either these three teachers will be invited next year, or the two of us will resign as well.

The trustees remained adamant in their decision. We also remained adamant on our end and thus were forced to leave the school. After all, we were not Aintabsis and they could easily do away with our services. Aram returned to his hometown Kessab where he taught. The Education Council gave me a position of “Education Inspector” to put the Assyrian school in the neighborhood into order. There was not anything to place in order in that school. All it was a kindergarten with one teacher. As to my “Education Inspector” title, it was the Prelate Zareh’s intention to give me a position and a salary.

The year became a fortuitous year for me. I wrote “Letter to Yerevan” (Tought Ar Yerevan) and decided to do away with teaching as a career and embarked on publishing Nairi instead.

Tought Ar Yerevan (Letter to Yerevan)

What happened to three young teachers and who were they?  They did not remain luckless either. On the contrary, due to their innate talents, they blossomed and shaped a lasting identity of their own. The readers will not be surprised when I name them. The first was Zareh Melkonian, a well-known name among the Diaspora Armenian writers. The second was Souren Basmajian who also published under the assumed pen name Aram Armand and repatriated to Armenia. The third, Alfonse Attarian, became a known writer in the modern Armenian literature and wrote under the pen name Armen Tarian.”
 

Our Tourig

By Simon Vratsian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

Mehran Tourikian, who wrote under the penname Tourig, was born in the Khoups village of Keghi in 1884. After graduating from the local school, he taught there for two years. After the declaration of the Ottoman Constitution he moved to the United States of America in 1911. During the war he volunteered and fought on the Caucasian front.  He came to Aleppo in 1920-21, where he stayed for the following five years. He played a decisive role in the recruitment of the Armenian genocide orphans held captive. He represented the Keghi Compatriotic Association of the United States. He moved to Lebanon in 1925 where he actively participated in the Armenian communal life. He was a member of the A.R.F. He regularly penned satirical articles in the Aztag Daily that were often accompanied by caricatures drawn by cartoonist Diran Ajemian He passed away on October 19, 1959. He and his wife Shoushan were godparents at my parents’ wedding in Keurkune, Kessab.

LtoR: Mehran Tourikian, Zvart and Hovhannes Apelian

October 29. Hot, it can be said it’s a suffocating hot Sunday. One looks for a shadow.

Friends came, that let us go; it’s Tourig’s first memorial service.

Strange, I had not realized that a year had already passed.

Saint Nshan church probably is full to capacity now. It would be impossible to breathe there in this suffocating hot weather. However, it is Tourig’s memorial, can I not attend? 

Although there are other memorials, the church is mostly empty. Regular Sunday churchgoers, who have nowhere else to go, for that reason they attend church services and few others who truly respect Touring. “Intimates”, those who partook of his daily table are absent.

I felt very uneasy. The choir was singing “Jerusalem of the above”, the choir’s “do not despair small flock” was reaching my ear; however, hammers were doing the talking in my mind.

-Tourig, Touring, Touring, where is your small flock?

Was it this or the smell of the incense? I could not take it anymore so I left the church.

**********

I do not remember the exact date. I had come to Tbilisi from Yerevan. In the Yerevanian Square, volunteers who had come from America surrounded me. They had one thousand and one complaints and demands.

The volunteers were being organized into troops and were being integrated with the regular forces but the volunteers were refusing to be under such command. Especially the Armenian-American volunteers who had come with high hopes and enthusiasm, but instead were disappointed and were complaining that they were deceived in being brought to the Caucasus.

First and foremost, there was no deception. Of course, we had alerted volunteers not to come from America. Personally, I had written letters explaining the situation in the Caucasus and the change in the policies of the Tsarist government. I had urged the Armenian-Americans not to move from their places and take advantage of the favorable employment conditions to save money for the future. However, the impatience had been great with the Armenian-Americans. They were afraid that Armenia would be liberated without their participation. Many had also wanted to take advantage of the opportunity and return to their ancestral homes or to avenge their martyred family members. The party thus had been obliged to give in and send volunteers to the Caucasus from America as well.

The Armenian-Americans arrived in the Caucasus under most unfavorable conditions and they did not receive the welcome they had expected. From here were their first disappointment and a series of other difficulties that were inherent of the volunteering movement.

Karekin Tourikian stood in front of me in the Yerevanian Square.  He is from Khoups village of Keghi. He was dressed in a leather jacket and next to him stood a young man who also was dressed in a leather jacket and was also wearing a Russian Cossack fur hat from which his curly hair protruded.

-“My nephew”, said Karekin, “Mehran Tourikian, he is also a volunteer from America.”

I did not remember Mehran from America. I think he was from Detroit and I had never been to Detroit.

He was a likable young man. In appearance, he was dark. His expression was such that you thought he would be laughing at any moment.  He treated his uncle with reverence.

- “From which troops are you?” I asked.

- “From our troops”, joked Mehran.

- “With few others, we are getting ready to go to Keghi”, explained Karekin, “therefore, we decided not to join any other group”.

I secured for them the necessary permits and gave them recommendations to present to Keghi regional command to explore the region. I think they were 8 to 10 persons. 

They went to Garin and for a long time, there was no news from them. To the extent I remember, Rostom had met them in Garin and had given them advice as to what to do when they get to Keghi.

Later on, I met them in Etchmiadzin. Karekin, Mehran and the others had come to kiss the right hand of the Catholicos and brief the Catholicos what they had seen in Keghi. The Catholicos had heard them in grief, had shed tears with them, had given them his blessings and had bid them farewell. 

Karekin looked hopeless. Not the party, not the Catholicos, no one was in a position to mitigate his pain.

We should take our revenge with our own hands,

That was the conclusion of their troop.

They told what they had seen in Keghi.

There were no Armenians left in Keghi.

To this day Mehran’s expression voiced in an affirmative tone rings in my ear.

-“There are no Armenians, but Armenian will live.”

What did he mean to say? Was it his bitterness for the Armenians who had vanished? It was his faith of course that Keghi will remain Armenian. It’s worth to note here, “your faith will sustain you”.

Karekin had gathered notes about the evacuation and massacres of Keghi. He thought of publishing them. In France, he approached me several times to find a publisher. It was not possible. He evaded trusting his notes to others to read, which he claimed amounted to a few volumes. What happened to these notes? Where they used to prepare a memorial album about Keghi? 

I do not know where the troop of Keghetsis went from Etchmiadzin.

I accidentally met Mehran a few times in the Caucasus. He was a solemn, reserved man who looked at life philosophically. He was the exact opposite to Karekin, who held everyone responsible for the ills that had happened.

Much like our accidental meetings, Mehran disappeared from my Caucasian horizon. I thought that he had returned to America. There was nothing left for him to do in the Caucasus. Keghi was no more. And much like Vanetsi without Van, Keghetsi without his mountains cannot breathe freely.

If it were to end this way, I would have regarded it as an incidental meeting with a likable young man and I probably would have nothing to write. Don’t we all meet likable people in our lives?

**********

Years passed. Armenians dispersed all over the globe. The Armenian Diaspora came into existence branched in my countries. And in every place, a prominent Armenian flavored the local Armenian life.

There are names that define the country or the city they live in. For a while, it was not possible to imagine Paris without Chobanian. Chobanian died, so did Paris for many.

Beirut for a time was synonymous with Touring for me, the Touring of Hotel Lux. Humorous articles in newspapers, Touring; presence in our national bodies, Tourig; in the life of the party, Touring. Who was this individual? For a brief moment, I could not believe that he is the Mehran I had met in the Caucasus. That dark-featured young man, with expressive eyes, curly hair, the solemn young man and now a married man with children.

America had not enticed him. Avenging the ills that had befallen on his people had catapulted him from the Caucasus to Cilicia. He had participated in the national upheavals and struggles there.  In the end he had met a like-minded miss from Garin and gotten married and had settled in Beirut as the owner and director of the famed Hotel Lux and as the enthusiastic national and party activist.

In December 1951, when I moved from America to Beirut. Touring and his wife Shoushan visited me for the welcome at Goms’ house where I was staying. Almost 35 years had passed since I had met him last in the Caucasus. His former impressive curly hair had disappeared. However, his expressive eyes and face had remained the same but he seemed to have grown even darker. There was a new man in front of me both in the body and in mind, someone who had grown wise by the experiences of life into the beloved Touring of the community.

The life of every Armenian is a novel. For some it’s tragedy, for others its adventure, and for a third it’s comedy. Touring was fated to experience these three literary genres in his life to leave this earth content and in joy.

That’s what he told me during our last visit, “I leave this earth content and in joy.” He said.

Was that true though? His eyes were telling otherwise. Who, I beg you let me know, leaves this planet called earth content and in joy?

“Do not despair small flock”, but where is the flock?

The words of the song are being justified: “you die and they bury you as if you never lived on earth”…………..

 

“Housaper” Daily

December, 15 1960

The Meeting That Did Not Take Place: Remembering Murad Meneshian.

By Vahe H. Apelian

A few years ago, I was enjoying the Gulf of Mexico breeze on the third floor of my cousin’s three stories spacious town house on the Padre Island, when he handed me a book to read. My maternal cousin Jack Chelebian M.D. is a practicing psychiatrist in Corpus Christi but resides on Padre Island. He is an avid reader and would make a superb writer as well—should he engage in writing. Handing the book he let me know that it was a must read. The book was authored by Murad and was entitled Raffi, The Prophet from Payajuk.

After I returned home, I began reading the book. I remained fascinated and captivated by the author’s knowledge and his superb narration of the eminent novelist and of his times that in many ways were no less a product of Raffi’s pen, as the literary and the political soul of the 19th century Armenian renaissance.

Throughout my reading, I thought of Murad and said to myself, “this is a man I should befriend.” After reading the book, I wrote to him, noting the serendipitous turn of events that led me come across his book and my impressions. I also asked him to donate—on my behalf—a signed copy of his book to the Armenian Museum of America. I wanted a personalized copy of his book to grace the shelves of the library there.

Henceforth, we communicated on and off. At times, he would comment having read an article I wrote. It is through such correspondence that I came to find that he was born in Iraq. His parents were from Govdoon village of Sepastia.

This past October, I accompanied my wife attending a yearly weeklong nursing conference in Chicago. I contacted Murad beforehand and set a tentative date for a quiet evening with our families to confirm upon my arrival. I sent him an email the evening we checked in, alerting him of our presence and readiness to have dinner together during the week. I did not hear from him that evening.

The next day I received an email from his wife Knarik letting me know that yesterday Murad was taken to the hospital because of  sudden medical complications. Two days later, she let me know that Murad had passed away and that his viewing would take place at the Armenian Apostolic Church. Instead of a dinner, my wife and I drove to offer our condolences to Murad’s family.

There I saw Murad for the first time. His body lay in an open casket with a copy of his book placed next time. Having offered our condolences to Knarik, I felt the futility of staying any longer. Unexpectedly, life had run its course on Murad and the evening with him I had envisioned all along was not to take place. As we exited the sanctuary, we came across a young man in the hallway greeting those present. We figured he is related to Murad. We approached him and introduced ourselves. His immediate response was whether we are related to Daniel Apelian. My wife let him know that Taniel is our elder son. We could tell that we had caught the young man in utter surprise for it turned out that our son and Sevan have been good friends since their days at Camp Haiastan. There was no doubt that was the case for Sevan knew not only about Taniel and his wife Nicole, but also knew our names and about us as well in ways that only trusting good friends would share each other, that Taniel's mother Marie had served the U.S. Army as a reservist for a quarter of century and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. The moment became a bitter and a sweet reminder for me. Surely Murad would have been pleasantly surprised as well learning that well before our exchanges, our teenage sons, one from suburban Chicago and the other from suburban Cincinnati had met each other in Franklin, Mass. long, long before we did and had forged a lasting friendship. What was not meant to be ours will become our sons’ lifelong friendship.

It is not farfetched to imagine that Murad’s Sepastatsi parents named their son after the legendary freedom fighter Sepastatsi Murad. Little did his parents know that one day their son would also become a legend in his own right, for Murad’s book about the eminent novelist Raffi is a definitive work for all times.

Putting aside the countless hours Murad had spent reading and rereading Raffi’s novels over the past many decades, he spent seven years for the preparation of the book, a year of which he spent in Armenia. Murad was a chemist in pharmaceutical industry, Not only its scientists are expected to dot every “i” and cross every “t,” but are expected to verify whatever they commit on paper even if they were from a trustful source. Murad’s book about Raffi is the sum total of the sentimental and the scientific Murad meshed into one.

Seeing Murad’s body in the coffin reminded me of the epilogue of his book where he wrote about Raffi in his coffin, who “seemed to be asleep. He appeared as if his thoughts glowed on his finely furrowed wide forehead.”

There are few Armenian first names where we make a mental connection with the most prominent person bearing that name. Among the latter prominently stands out the name Raffi, a name coined by Raffi himself. Another name is Murad, immortalized by the legendary freedom fighter and a compatriot of the Meneshian family from Govdoon, Sepastatsi Murad.

May Raffi and Murad rest in peace.

 Note: The article is reproduced from Armenian Weekly, May 1, 2017.

In loving memory of Effie M Chambers (Oct 3, 1863- Oct 3, 1947)

Vahe H. Apelian

Effie M. Chambers

I first heard Miss Chambers' name in my early teens. My recollection puts me in the company of family and friends in Keurkune, Kessab, seated cross-legged on the floor under the dim light of the kerosene lantern chatting of the bygones. Other than the endearing memories she had left behind, nothing else seems to have been known about her, not even her first name. She was simply the beloved Miss Chambers of the Kessabtsis who uttered her name in one breath and in local accent making Miss part of her name but not the title. 

My curiosity about her rekindled when I read Haigaz Terterian’s article about the founding of the Kessab Educational Association in 1910. Haigaz, quoting Dr. Albert Apelian, makes reference to Miss Chambers’ positive influence in fostering education and learning in Kessab at the turn of the 20th century. Coupling her name with Kessab I embarked on a search trusting that the powerful Internet search engines Google and Bing will shed some light about her. Not only I found more than I was expecting, but I also serendipitously came across her grand niece’s email, a lady by the name of Danette Hein-Snider who has been doing research on her grand aunt’s life and has managed to gather quite a bit of material in way of photos, reports written from the field, newspaper articles, and personal letters. 

Mrs. Danette wrote: “She (Effie Chambers) first planned to enter the missionary field with her soon to be husband. But unfortunately he did not pass the physical, and so she had to make a choice to stay home and marry or go to the missionary field. She chose the missions and left her fiancé’ and never married. Her home was burned at least twice and her friends insisted that she come home, but she told them God sent her to the Armenians and He would tell her when she was supposed to leave, and until then she would live with them and care for them to the best of her ability.”

Her obituary stated that “Miss Effie Chambers, fourth child of Mary and Harlow Chambers, was born 3 October 1863, at the family home north of Anderson (Iowa). She was one of eleven children, six daughters and five sons, seven preceding her in death. Her education was begun in a rural school close to this home and then moved to Sidney to enter the public school, where she prepared herself for teaching. At this time, she united with the Presbyterian Church in Sidney under the pastorate of Rev. H. B. Dye. She taught in the Fremont County Schools, and then entered Iowa State Teachers College at Cedar Falls. Then she was given an appointment as a teacher in the Creek Indian School in the Indian Territory, where she decided on Foreign Missions as her life’s work. To prepare herself for this work she entered Tabor College, receiving her diploma in June 1893, and was accepted by the Congregational Board of Foreign Missions, and in the fall of 1893 sailed for Turkey, in Asia. There she remained 19 years in the service of Christ.”

Miss Chambers did not go to Kessab when she first moved to Turkey. A report by the Woman’s Board of Missions in 1898 places Miss Effie Chambers in Ourfa. Ephraim K. Jernazian in his book Judgment Unto Truth: Witnessing the Armenian Genocidetranslated into English by Alice Haig, places Miss Effie Chambers in Urfa in 1896. The 1905 Mission Studies: Woman's Work in Foreign Lands, Volumes 23-24 report that Miss Chambers has gone to teach in the Aintab Seminary. Both Urfa (Ourfa) and Aintab, depopulated of their Armenian inhabitants now, had sizable Armenian populations then. 

The 1904 Annual Report of the American Commissioners of Foreign Mission, to the credit of the Kessabtsis reported the following: “Miss Chambers’ first year in Kessab has been a good one in spite of many trying circumstances. The people welcomed her coming with cordiality and have aided her in many ways. The people here are not close-bound by customs and are ready to learn and put into practice new things. The Sunday school has about a thousand pupils. Miss Chambers makes an earnest request for another lady to join her in this promising work at Kessab”. It is not known if another lady joined Miss Chamber. She stood alone in the memories of her contemporaries in Kessab. Her grandniece, Mrs. Danette reported that she found these verses in her writings: *Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ”. Galatians 6:2 “The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few.” Matthew 9:37

Thus, we can safely conclude that Miss Effie Chambers arrived in Kessab in 1904 and remained there until her return to the United States in 1912 and thus endured the atrocities along with the rest of the Kessabtsis during the 1909 massacres, although she was in Adana when the actual attack on Kessab took place. 

The New York Times on Monday, April 26, 1909, reported the following: “Constantinople, April 25 - Dispatches reaching here from points in Asiatic Turkey bring tidings of Armenian and Turkish conflicts all over the country. Dr.JM Balph, who is in charge of the missions at Latakia, Syria, telegraphs that the refugees are arriving there from outlying parts of the district who report massacres and the burning of towns. He also reports that there are the gravest apprehensions concerning the conditions at Kessab where Miss Chambers is one of the missionaries”. Edward Latimer Beach in his autobiography titled ‪From Annapolis to Scapa Flow states that Miss Chamber’s presence in Kessab became a justifiable cause for foreign powers to interfere in Kessab and prevent further atrocities in protecting an American citizen. Dr. Albert Apelian in his book in Armenian entitled Kessab and its Villages states that 152 persons, mostly old and young were killed during the pogroms, 516 houses, 62 businesses, and 4 churches were destroyed causing widespread despair.

After the atrocities, Miss Chambers stayed with the Kessabtsis and worked to ameliorate their situation. The June 1911 Missionary Herald reported the following: “ With us, in America, the memory of the Armenian massacres of 1909 in the region of Adana may be becoming dim; on the ground, the misery they entailed is very real and present. At Kessab they have yet no church building to replace the one that was destroyed, and Miss Effie Chambers is almost heartbroken at finding no place where can be gathered the remnant of the church, further discouraged and burdened by the sufferings of a terrific winter. What is most needed is uplift of spiritual life, and this is hard to promote with no meeting place for worship and fellowship. If the money could be found for rebuilding, it would not only provide a sanctuary but as well as timely work for the people, to help them get their bread. Though the missionary herself with the rest is in need of clothes and a comfortable bed, the cry is not for these things, but for help that will prevent the passing of another winter without the blessing of a church home. It seems to this lone woman, tugging at her task, as though help for her distressed flock must come from those who are more abundantly provided with the aids and comforts of religion.”

The dire circumstances took a toll on Miss Chamber’s health as well. Her obituary stated that her health was so affected that she returned to the United States in the spring of 1912, where she spent several years lecturing for the cause of Foreign Missions. On Wednesday, May 8, 1912, College Eye, a publication by the students of Iowa State Teachers College, reported that “Miss Effie Chambers who graduated from the Teachers College some thirty years ago is spending a few days in the city. Miss Chambers has been engaged in missionary work in Armenia for several years. It will be remembered that she is responsible for sending Bedros Apelian to the college to complete his education. Miss Chambers addressed the students on her work in Armenia at the regular prayer meeting hour last Sunday night”. After Iowa Rev Bedros Apelian continued his education at the Columbia University and served his calling on the east coast and among others officiated the wedding of Henry and Virginia Apelian on April 4, 1959. Miss Effie Chambers spent the remaining years of her life with her brother Will in the old family home where she died on October 3, 1947, at the age of 84 and was buried in Chambers cemetery, which was given to the community by her grandfather, Ezekiel Chambers, in the year 1857.

Thus ended the life of Miss Effie Chambers, who left an indelible and enduring impression on her contemporaries in Kessab some of whom as pupils in her Sunday school or as young men and women carried her memory into their old age and passed it to the next generation. The legacy of her contribution to the Kessabtsis endured, however much like other unwritten stories, over time she faded into oblivion to have a rightful place in the memories of the younger generations of Kessabtsis.

Effie M. Chambers Tomb, in Iowa, U.S.