Hayrabed Effendi’s Prophecy

 Vahe H. Apelian

 I quote from Arpiar Arpiarian's novel “Red Offering” ( Garmir Jamouts - Կարմիր ժամուց). It is Hayrabed Effendi, the protagonist, who is alerting all those around him. He says: “Our elders used to say – “May God not spare the Armenians from the Turkish club. But may God also not spare the Turks from the Moscow’s club”. - From here on, the Turk’s club will swing more forcefully upon our heads, because the Moscow’s club does not appear to be swinging over the Turk’s head.” (You may read the actual quote below)

It is claimed that Arpiar Arpiarian wrote the book in 1901-1902, time frame.  The book was translated to French last year. It has withstood the test of time.

I quote from my blog: (http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2021/12/machiavellis-prince-and-arpiars-red.html)

“The crux of the Arpiar’s novel is the clash between a wealthy Armenian by the name Hayrabed Effendi and a young priest from the interior by the name Hayr Houssig. Hayrabed Effendi was very influential in a suburb of Constantinople called Ortakiugh. The Effendi was a devout Christian and never missed attending mass. He gave generously but was very cautious in anything he thought remotely might raise the ire of the local pasha. 

Der Houssig, on the other hand, was a daring and an enlightened priest who improved the lot of his village. Der Houssing attributed his enlightenment to his understanding of the Armenian bible in vernacular left in the village by an Armenian evangelical pastor, whom the villagers mistreated and let him flee for his life. In fact, when he met the pastor years later, he presented himself as his disciple, to the surprise of the badvelli (pastor) who had a vague recollection of the mistreatment he had received in Der Houssig’s village as well.

 Time passed and the Armenians experienced what must have been the Hamidian massacres. During which time Hayrabed Effendi was imprisoned, humiliated in spite of his good rapport with the pasha. When push came to shove, he had become a nobody. Der Houssing also was imprisoned. When calm returned, both Hayrabed Effendi and Der Houssig happened to meet again and when Hayrabed Effendi found out that Der Houssig’s village had fared well because of the preparations they had vested over the years to be self-reliant in assuring their safety, security  and well-being. 

Hearing that Der Houssig’s village had fared well, it dawned on the Efendi that he had misunderstood Der Houssig instead of appreciating the wisdom of the village priest from the interior of the country, he had chastised him. To make amends for having mistreated the priest, he offered Der Houssig a gold coin. When Der Houssig objected, Hayrabed Effendi insisted, and he said that its his “red offering”. That is to say, towards the purchase of guns.

In nutshell that is what the book is about. It was a mandatory reading in the Armenian schools to laud the virtue of self-reliance through arms. In fact, the cover of the book reflected the theme that our teachers wanted to convey to us." But in reality, that is not all Arpiar Arpiarian wanted to convey.  Those who are interested may read: http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2021/12/arpiar-arpiarians-red-offering.html

I do not know why Hayrabed Effendi said that our ancestors had wished the Turkish club did not spare them. Was it because, on our own, they thought we would not do any better? But their wish that at the same time the Russian club did spare the Turks is understandable.  Over one hundred twenty years ago, Hyrabed Efendi’s prophecy rings true this very day: “From here on, the Turk’s club will  swing more forcefully upon our heads, because the Moscow’s club does not appear to be swinging over the Turk's’head.” 

I quoted Hayrabed Effendi because I think that the Turks and Azeris are mercilessly toying with their political entente, if not their tacit partner, the Russians, if such an adjective can be used in realpolitik. The statements Erdogan makes, the indifference Azeris display, the silence Russians keep, while seemingly Mother Russia  is at the end of its tether in its southernmost portal, the Caucasus, lead me to think that we are in this for the long haul.

In the end, it seems, more than anyone else, all hinges on the legendary resilience of the descendants of the legendary  meliks on the mountainous Karabagh.

Note: The quote in Armenian: «Մեր հիներուն խօսքն էր, թէ «Աստուած տաճկին թոփուզը հայուն գլխէն պակաս չընէ, բայց՝ Մոսկովին թոփուզ ն ալ տաճկին գլխէն պակաս չընէ»։ Ասկէ ետքը տաճկին թոփուզը առաջուընէ աւելի ուժով գլխնուս պիտի զարնուի, վասնզի Մոսկովին թոփուզը տաճկին գլխուն վրայ չի տեսնուիր կոր։» 

The Finest House - Ամենից Լաւ Տունը

 By Hovhanness Toumanian

Masterfully Translated by Ara Mekhsian

(Edited on 7/7/2023)

The Finest House 

 

Where the winds frolic and toy,

And the waters roar and froth,

Lived a very restless boy

With his mother, kind and fond,

In a drab hovel,

In an old hovel,

By the river,

Under the trees.

 

One day, said the restless boy:

“My kind, loving mother, dear,

This place affords me no joy,

I must go away from here -

This drab hovel,

This old hovel,

By the river,

Under the trees.

 

Let me traverse many a road,

In search of the best abode,

When I’ve found it, I will come

And take you far away from

This drab hovel,

This old hovel,

By the river,

Under the trees.

 

In his travels far and wide,

He saw houses fair and bright,

But alas! something was amiss,

He returned, as per his promise,

To the drab hovel,

To the old hovel,

By the river,

Under the trees.

 

“Did you find it?” asked the mother,

Beholding her son with ardor.

“I saw myriad gracious houses,

But the finest house yet remains

This drab hovel,

This old hovel,

By the river,

Under the 

 

Ամենից Լաւ Տունը

Յովհաննէս Թումանեան

 

Էնտեղ, ուր հովը խաղում է ազատ

Ու ջուրն աղմըկում, անվերջ փըրփըրում,

Էնտեղ իր բարի, իր սիրող մօր հետ

Մի շատ անհանգիստ տղայ էր ապրում,

Մի գորշ խըրճիթում,

Մի հին խըրճիթում,

Գետի եզերքին,

Ծառերի ակին։

 

Մի օր էլ եկաւ անհանգիստ տըղան,

Կանգնեց իր բարի, իր սիրող մօր դէմ.

«Մայրիկ, էստեղից պէտք է հեռանամ.

Միակ ձանձրալի տեղը, որ գիտեմ,

Էս գորշ խըրճիթն է,

Էս հին խըրճիթն է,

Գետի եզերքին,

Ծառերի տակին։

Թո՛ղ գընամ շըրջեմ աշխարհից աշխարհ,

Ճամբորդեմ լաւ-լաւ տըներ տեսնելու,

Ամենից լաւը ընտրեմ մեզ համար,՚

Գամ քեզ էլ առնեմ ու փախչենք հեռու

Էս գորշ խըրճիթից,

Էս հին խըրճիթից,

Գետի եզերքին,

Ծառերի տակին»։

 

Ու գնաց, երկար թափառեց տըղան,

Մեծ ու հոյակապ շատ տըներ տեսաւ,

Բայց միշտ, ամէն տեղ պակաս Էր մի բան...

Ու հառաչելով ետ վերադարձաւ

Էն գորշ խըրճիթը

Էն հին խըրճիթը,

Գետի եզերքին,

Ծառերի տակին։

«Գըտա՞ր, զաւա՛կըս», հարցըրեց մայրը,

Ուրախ, նայելով իր տըղի վըրայ։

«Ման եկայ, մայրի՛կ, աշխարհից աշխարհ,

Ամենից սիրուն, լաւ տունը, որ կայ,

Էս գորշ խըրճիթն է,

Էս հին խըրճիթն Է,

Գետի եզերքին,

Ծառերի տակին»։

Keurkune's Historic Church: as a Community Center -5

Vahe H. Apelian

 

Keurkune’s church remains center stage in the lives of Keurkunetsis. Although most are away but all carry the church in their hearts.

I do not think there has been any social event of significance to the villagers of Keurkune that was not held in the church. When there were issues to resolve such as equitable allocation of the water from the village’s spring for the orchards below or for regulating the practice of late-night hunting etc. Any issue that pertains to the village as a whole was resolved there. My mother used to tell me that in her younger days, people held vigil in the church praying for better weather for their livelihood.

Also, celebration, get togethers were held in the church courtyard. Consequently, there are. Many pictures depicting social events held at the church. Attached a few.

More pictures can be seen in Facebook’s “Keurkune and Keurkunetisis to know and to preserve” site initiated and ably managed by Garo Konyalian. 

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Arguably the first picture of a social event held at the church is depicted in the picture below. From the wooden balcony of the pastoral complex, and the dirt covered roof of the church, indicate that it is indeed a very early picture of a social event held at the church.

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Assumed to have been in 1940's on the church courtyard.

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Rev. and Mrs. Garabed Tilkian, ( 1 & 8), Albert Apelian (1), Mrs. Dr. Soghomon Apelian (4),  Mrs. Karoun (Apelian) Chelebian (6), my maternal grandmother.

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1.Baboug Stepan Apelian

2. 

3. Hovhannes Melkonian

4. George Kebabian

5. Aram Kakousian

6. Joseph ‘Pasha’ Apelian

7. Hovhannes Chelebian

8. James Apelian-Bedirian

9. Hovhannes Apelian  ‘Sheikh’

10. Bedros Kakousian

11. Albert Apelian

12. Hratch Apelian

13. Jirair Apelian

14. Joseph Apelian-Bedirian

15. 

16.

17. Joseph Kerbabian

18. Guiragos Kakousian

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Rev. Hagop Sarkissian.

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"Thirteen months later, on Sunday July 12, 2015, the renovated and refurbished Armenian Evangelical Church of Keurkune  was formally reopened and Sunday service was held there. Rev. Selimian welcomed Rev. Jirair Ghazarian, the newly-appointed pastor for the Armenian Evangelical Churches in Kessab. After the service a reception was held in the church’s courtyard."

 

 

 

Keurkune's Historic Church: as a Stage -4

Vahe H. Apelian

 

In Armenian Characters, reading Turkish, "My house shall be called a house of prayer” Math: 21:13; Keurkune’’; Armenian Evangelical Church; January 8.98 foundation; July 21.99 completion.”  Courtesy George Azad Apelian

Keurkune’s church has served also as a stage where plays were acted. These plays were not acted for entertainment only but were for fund raising to renovate and repair the church. During its almost 125 years of existence the church has had major repairs, the last of which was in the aftermath of the March 21, 2014 sack of Kessab and torching of most of the churches including the sanctuary and the pastoral residence of the Keurkune’s church.

The first play for such an fund raising event seems to have been spearheaded by Ardashes kerbabian, who not long after, would be ordained as a minister and brought a lifelong service to the Armenian Evangelical community having  served the Armenian Evangelical church in Keurkune, Kessab, in Beirut, in Worcester, MA and in Cambridge, Canada where he passed away. The picture of the group that acted the play under Rev. Ardashes Kerbabian reached us courtesy of his cousin Raffi Kerbabian. The name of the play was “Genevieve”. We do not have pictures of the play on the stage but we have the picture of the actors and supporting staff pictured on the famous rock at Keurkune’s spring. The picture is attached below.

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The second picture of the play staged in Keurkune’s church reached us courtesy Dr. Hagop Tcholakian, the eminent scholar. He had unearthed the picture in Armenia and credited Antranig Kalpedian (Անդր. Գայբըտեան). The play was acted in 1947 and was a reenactment of the biblical Prodigal Son. My mother and my maternal uncle are among the players pictured on the doorsteps of the Keurkune’s church.

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The third and last play was staged under the direction of the late Kevork George Apelian. The title of the play was “The Valley of Tears” by Avedis Aharonian. It was staged in the church on September 10, 1965 commemorating the 50^th anniversary of the Armenian genocide and for fund raising.  

 More pictures can be seen in Facebook’s “Keurkune and Keurkunetisis to know and to preserve” site initiated and ably managed by Garo Konyalian. The posting of the pictures in the blog may help us identify all those who took part in these plays. 

A scene from the play "The Valley of Tears"

 

 

  

Keurkune's Historic Church: as an School -3

Vahe H. Apelian

Keurkune’s church has served also as a school, using both the sanctuary and the pastoral residence as classroom with more than one class segregated in the sanctuary. My mother recalled having attended class in the sanctuary and she particularly remembered an incident with Joseph Kerbabian who when reprimanded for punishment climbed up the column reaching the ceiling of the church and refusing to come down. They seem to have been good friends for she recalled fondly that when she gave her parting words as Sunday school teacher for moving to Beirut after having getting married, Joseph Kerbabian presented her a gift. 

Generations were schooled in Keurkune’s church and we have pictures of the students gathered on the church’s front steps. Regretfully we do not have records of the names. The young boys and girls who studied in Keurkune’s church became accomplished individuals. Some carved an international reputation, such as Dr. Antranig Chalabian became a reputable historian, Kourken (Apelian) Bedirian PhD became a pioneer in embryonic transfer about whom Time magazine wrote. Henry Apelian became the director of Schering-Plough pharmaceutical company’s international division.   

Attached are a few pictures of the students photographed on the church’s front steps. More pictures can be seen in Facebook’s “Keurkune and Keurkunetisis to know and to preserve” site initiated and ably managed by Garo Konyalian, may be its fair to note as Garo Apelian Konyalian in recognition of her mother, a bosom friend of my mother to the very end. 

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Angel Megerditchian noted that “on second row sitting third little girl is me ,Angel Apelian !! The top standing right is Ardashes Kerbabian . On the left standing rev. Tovmassian & his wife,  don't remember the year !”

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LtoR, standing: Taniel Apelian, Garabed Kilian, Robert Apelian, Vartkes Apelian, Stepan Kerbabian, Yenovk Bedirian. Sitting: Soghomon Apelian, Hovhannes Chelebian, James Bedirian, Bedros Kakousian, Henry Apelian, (Christie Curran' grandfather.). 

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Teachers LtoR: Araxie Apelian, Kohar Apelian, Sona Bedirian. The picture is taken right after 1947 repatriation when a good number of the families moved to Armenia. After the repatriation to Armenia, the school lost the great majority of its students.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keurkune’s Historic Church

Vahe H. Apelian

 

My cousin Ara Apelian M.D. shared the painting above, his niece Christee Curran had painted, noting that “Christee is also a gifted author of children’s books, one already published, (“Sugar and spice and everything mouse”) soon others to follow. Christee is also an incredibly devoted mom to two daughters, Lauren and Ivy and she has a deep faith in our Lord and Savior Her amazing husband Russell serves in the military.”

Christee’s mother Arminee Curran is the daughter of Henry and Virginia Matosian Apelian. Virginia is also a gifted writer and painter. She is a psychologist and is the author and the illustrator of a children’s book and the author of “Musa Dagh Girl”. You may have guessed that Virginia is of Musa Dagh extraction, while her husband Henry hails from Kessab. Henry and Virginia were best man and maid of honor at our wedding and are the baptismal godparents to our son Daniel.

Along the painting what fascinated me was the realization that Keurkune’s 125 years old historic Armenian Evangelical Church’s legacy endures. The church played a pivotal life in the life of the villagers of Keurkune not only as a sanctuary for worship, but also as town hall of sorts where the villagers gathered to resolve issues pertaining to the village. It also served as a social hall, as a school, as a stage, and as a community center.

I have attached my blogs reflecting on the history of the church and its use as a school, as a stage, and as a community center..

 Keurkune's Historic Church: The Sanctuary - 1

 http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-historic-churchs-historic-bell.html

 Keurkune's Historic Church: The Church Tower & The Bell  - 2

 http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-historic-churchs-historic-bell_9.html

Keurkune's Historic Church: as a School - 3

http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2023/07/keurkunes-historic-church-as-school-3.html

Keurkune's Historic Church: as a Stage - 4

http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2023/07/keurkunes-historic-church-as-stage-4.html

Keurkune's Historic Church - as a Community Center - 5/5

http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2023/07/keurkunes-historic-church-as-community.html

July 2, 1972, it wasn’t the most westerly

A memoir

Vahe H Apelian

One thousand nine hundred and seventy-two – 1972 - was a momentous year for me. I was a graduate student in the Bacteriology-Virology Department of the American University of Beirut, School of Medicine. A year before I had graduated from the school of pharmacy. It was a tumultuous year and hence the traditional commencement ceremony was not held in the athletic field, where it is customarily held. 

My years as pre-pharmacy and then as a pharmacy student in AUB were memorable as well, mostly thanks to the scholarship Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation granted me. The scholarship not only covered the tuition, but every semester left enough money to buy the textbooks, a shirt, a pair of pants and a pair of shoes from the upscale "Red Shoe" store. Unburdened from financial worries, and knowing that my schooling did not financially burden my parental family, I became involved both in student organizations and extracurricular activities. I was elected as the class representative to the school of pharmacy student board. I was also elected to chair arguably the oldest Armenian student association in the Diaspora, the A.R.F. Zavarian Student Association.

It was Dr. Garabed Garabedian, the chairman of the Bacteriology-Virology Department who had accepted me into the graduate program. Edward Barsoumian, was a former graduate student and had become an adjunct member of the faculty, told that me that Dr. Garabedian, during the faculty meeting, had made it known in no uncertain terms that I was to be the student who would be accepted into the graduate program that offered not only free education towards a masters in science degree, but also a stipend as a laboratory instructor. 

Dr. Garabed Garabedian with the graduate students, January, 1973

Dr. Garabed Garabedian was orphaned survivor of the Armenian genocide. He had started working in the department as a technician but also had pursued his education and getting up in the ranks and  after receiving his PhD degree from a university in the U.S., he had returned to assume the chair of the department he was a laboratory technician. He commanded much respect in the AUB medical community both as an academician and as a scientist. Engrossed in his work, he remained marginal at best in the Armenian community, if not totally uninvolved. But he took a particular liking of me and it was him that upon my completion of my masters in science degree, had me accepted for fellowship in Clinical Pathology program, a highly competitive program especially in the sectarian makeup of Lebanon. To this day I have kept the recommendation he gave when we departed ways and I was on my way to the U.S. as another immigrant. I quote, “I take distinct pleasure in giving him this letter of recommendation.  G. A. Garabedian, Ph.D., Professor and Chairman, Department of Bacteriology and Virology.”

And now, a year into my graduate study, he was giving me permission to take off with pay, to go to Portugal at the invitation of the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation to attend a summer long study at its science institute. Along with me were Arpi Darakjian, the sister of Nazareth Darakjian, M.D, the president of AMAA, Ara Hovanessian who earned a Ph.D. and charted an internationally reputable career as a research director in the Institute of Pasteur. I do not remember the names of the other two, other than the first name of one of them, Sirvart.

We were immersed in our tasks in the Institute for the five days of the week and had the weekends off to do sightseeing. During one of these weekends, I visited the westernmost point of Europe, a place called Capo Da Roca that overlooked the turbulent and seemingly endless Atlantic Ocean below. The place is said to symbolize the sea faring spirit of the Portuguese. At that moment I became reflective. In my small world I thought, I had come far, shouldered by my parents, many teachers in the Sourp Nshan school and then at the Armenian Evangelical College-High School,  Dr. Garabed Garabedian, and of course the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation. Dr. Garabedian was also a graduate of A.E.C. but one of the earliest graduates of the A.E.C. which is celebrating its centennial this year. 

With students at the Gulbenkian science institute

Students and Staff

 I purchased a certificate attesting my visit there. I still keep it as a cherished remembrance. It reads that on July 2, 1972, I was at Cabo da Roca-Portugal, the westernmost point in Europe "where the land ends and the sea begins" and where the spirit of faith and adventure reigns, which took the caravels of Portugal in search of new worlds for the world.” (note: a caravel is a small, fast Spanish or Portuguese sailing ship of the 15th–17th centuries)

Little did I envision that in a few years the world I knew would turn upside down. Not July 2, 1972 but on July 9, 1976, I would make my most westerly travel  when I ended up crossing the Atlantic Ocean on my way further west to the U.S. Civil war broke in Lebanon in 1975. The hotel my father ran was sacked and for a long time stood on the battle line between East and West Beirut. The work plans I had for setting up the most advanced medical diagnostic lab in Lebanon became an impossible dream in the city divided in itself along its sectarian make up. But, the education the Calouste Foundation had enabled me to receive qualified me for a preferential immigration visa. On July 9, 1976, I landed at the JFK Airport. The Egyptian Armenian Noubar Manougian family had sponsored me and was to receive me at the airport. But they were not there. Noubar had stayed in Hotel Lux on his way to the U.S. with his mother, and met his wife there, also from Egypt and also on her way to the U.S. They had forged a family friendship. But they were not there. My phone calls from the pay phone remained unanswered falsely letting me assume that they were on their way.  But the wait was getting long, too long.

Hours went by. I got hungry. I ordered a club sandwich. It was the first time that I ate a sandwich where the layered cold cuts were thicker than the bread that sandwiched it. A single slice of mortadella, with a slice of pickle in a half baguette bread, is what I was used to. It was also very, very expensive. But it was the wait that was getting agonizing and concerning. It turned out hey had left the country for a visit to Egypt and thus had not received my Western Union telegrams from Cyprus and then Athens. Communication from East Lebanon where we lived was impossible. It was a different era and communication was a challenge, especially from war torn Lebanon.  

Fortunately, my former pharmacy school classmate Movses Hovsepian had also sent me his phone number to contact him after getting to the U.S.  We were close friends. A year before, the day before his departure,  I had attended the family get together wishing him well. He was utterly surprised to hear me calling him instead from the airport. Fortunately, he and his wife had a last-minute change for the weekend. Instead of visiting relatives for overnight weekend stay, as they usually did, they were at home on that Friday evening. New in the country and with no GPS, it took him a few hours to get to the airport, having missed an exit or two on his way from New Jersey. With no cell phones to be in touch, it was another long agonizing wait and an excruciating long, long day.

 An altogether new life awaited me in the new world…………..

 

Note: Movses Hovsepian: http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2019/10/eulogy-movses-hovsepian.html