The Events that Changed the Course of the Armenian Diaspora

Vahe H. Apelian

If I were to point to the date and the event that fundamentally altered the course of the Armenian Diaspora, it would be April 13, 1975.  This past April Friday thirteen brought back memories of  that event that also ended up changing the course of my life. As to the event, it is the deadly encounter on that Sunday, April 13, 1975, between the armed members of the Lebanese Phalange (Katael) party and Palestinians.

 On that fateful gorgeous Sunday afternoon, I was returning from Anjar, the Armenian inhabited village of former Moussa Daghtsis. I was held in traffic as I approached Beirut. I asked an armed civilian who was directing the traffic what was the problem? He said that there was a military clash between the armed members of the Phalange (Kataeb) Party and Palestinians. The details of that deadly encounter appear to remain murky to this day. That day and that that incident is generally accepted as the beginning of the Lebanese Civil war as a result of which, a year later, on July 9, 1976, I set foot in the NY Kennedy Airport as another immigrant.

In a few weeks, the Lebanese will elect the members of their parliament. The first and the only election I participated in Lebanon was the one that took place in the latter part of April 1972. The Lebanese Parliament then was carefully crafted and comprised of 55 Christian and 44 Muslim members with each of the two religious denominations having its share based on its demographic constituency. The Armenian Orthodox community was allocated four seats, the Armenian Catholic Community one seat and the Evangelical community one seat. Traditionally the candidate for the Armenian Catholic and Evangelical seats was reserved to the Phalange Party. During that election, the dominant Armenian political party (A.R.F.) was able to secure the candidacy of the first Armenian Evangelical, Antranig Manougian, M.D.

The A.R.F. had adopted a cherished tradition of appointing only one party member and reserving the other three seats to prominent individuals who reprepresent the other segments of the greater Lebanese Armenian Community. Melkon Eblighatian. M.D. represented the A.R.F. and acted as the representative of the Armenian Parliamentarian bloc. The other three were Souren Khanamirian, the prominent philanthropist who represented the Armenian business community; Khachig Babigian, the prominent lawyer who represented the Catholicoate of Cilicia and Ara Yerevanian, the consul of Gabon, businessman, and philanthropist, represented the non-A.R.F. fraction.

 

Standing LtoR: Tsolag Tutelian, Hovsep Seferian, Antranig Manougian, MD, Souren Khanamirian, Melkon Eblighatian MD, Sako Karkodorian, Arpi (Baghdassarian) Shahinina, Garo Sassouni, Mary (Bakalian) Arevian, Khatchig Babigian.  LtoR: ? Hovsepian 9/), ?, Yetvart Eloyan, ?, Hourig Panian, Vahe H. Apelian, ?, Zvart Sarhadian.

Sometimes in the later part of 1974, Dr. Melkon Eblighatian presented to the A.R.F. Zavarian Student Association his experiences as a parliamentarian. He had succeeded Movses Der Kaloustian who was the longstanding member of Lebanese Parliament. Dr. Eblighatian gave much tribute to his predecessor noting that the greatest challenge he faced was being accepted as the one who will be filling Der Kaloustian’s vacant seat. Among the wheeling and dealing Lebanese descendants of the merchandizing Phoenicians, Movses Der Kaloustian had stood apart with his unblemished impeccable conduct through the many years he served as a parliamentarian.

The second part of Dr. Eblighatian’s lecture constituted analyzing the political situation in Lebanon. A heightened political mood prevailed in the country. He concluded his lecture saying, I quote verbatim, “hot days await us during the upcoming spring”. The ensuing turn of events, starting with the “bus incident” on April 14, 1975, proved that he was prophetic indeed.

Sometime in early 1980’s Dr Melkon Eblighatian visited New Jersey where his son Norayr lived with his family. I interviewed him and recorded it. Norayr and I then transcribed the interview. I wrote an introduction and presented it to “Hairenik” Daily where both my interview and introduction were presented on the front page.  My contention in my introductory remarks was that the Lebanese civil war had far more destructive ramifications to the Diaspora Armenians than to the rest.

March 2011 is usually regarded the time that sparked the current civil war in Syria. One year and a few months later, in November 2012, the Syrian Armenians in Aleppo convened under the auspices of Archbishop Shahan Sarkissian to prepare the community brave the ongoing civil war. See the following link: http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2018/04/aleppo-armenians-convene.html

I cite these to two examples to make a point. Often times we, as Armenians, criticize ourselves that we historically lack political foresight. I do not believe it to be necessarily so. In both of these cases, the Armenian leadership anticipated the upcoming and alerted the community and undertook measures to face the upcoming turmoil. But I doubt that if anyone could have possibly anticipated the level of ensuing destruction.

The civil wars in Lebanon and in Syria fundamentally changed the course of the Armenian Diaspora. These two communities remain the best hopes for the preservation of the Western Armenian culture in spite of the fact that are debilitatingly wounded. My late father used to say “stallions fight and the grass gets trampled”. We were patches of Armenian Diaspora's green grass in these two countries and we were prepared to weather the storm. But forces far greater than could have been possibly foreseen overwhelmed us and continuous to linger perilously altering the course of the post-genocide Armenian Diaspora.

Haleb in its Hey Days: A Diaspora Treasure Chest.

Levon Sharoyan posted this article in segments on his Facebook page during June 2014 and titled it “Ո՞ւր Կը Կայանայ Հալէպահայ Գաղութին Արժէքը” (What Constitutes the Worth of Aleppo Armenian Community?) and wrote in the present tense. I had the article translated and posted in Keghart.com titling it “Glorious Armenian Aleppo”.  I changed the title to “Haleb in its Hey Days”, because I am reproducing the article in my blog. Much changed in the Aleppo Armenian community during the past four years. I retained the verb tense but opted to use the term Armenians use for Aleppo, Haleb. Abridged and translated by Vahe H. Apelian

 

Armenia and the Diaspora for decades perceived the post-genocide Armenian Aleppo as an isolated, self-contained and traditional community. It did not have the luster and the flamboyance of the Paris, Los Angeles and Beirut Armenian communities. The latter regarded Aleppo a backward village. For consolation, Aleppo had been crowned the “Mother Diaspora Community”. We were happy with the designation.

The unprecedented turn of events in the last three years due to the Syrian Civil War and especially the deliberate destruction of Kessab and of the Aleppo Armenian neighborhood of Nor Kyugh, focused the attention of the Diaspora on the “Mother Diaspora Community”, the “Dreamy Haleb”. Armenians began lamenting the possible loss of the community. Armenian Diaspora was mobilized to save its Haleb community and to safeguard its values, but alas …" after breakage”.

What were the characteristics of this community that the Diaspora is intent on safeguarding? It is one of life’s unmistakable order
s to appreciate the value of something after its loss. But let us, for a moment, ponder about the values of the Haleb community. What were its characteristics? What did the Haleb Armenian community offer that the others do not as well? I will present a cursory listing of these characteristics and let readers do the critical and in-depth evaluation. 

1.  Community’s religious and church life.

Haleb hosts eleven Christian denominations, among them the three mainstream Armenian denominations: Apostolic, Catholic, and Evangelical. Each denomination is organized and active. The religious and church lives of the Haleb Armenian community has always been exemplary. The Holy Forty Martyrs Church of the Armenian Apostolic denomination dates more than five hundred years. Our churches have always been filled to capacity on Sundays and on holidays. Should you ever have attended the early mass during the holidays you would have remained mesmerized by our all-volunteer large choirs. I would like to emphasize the "volunteer” designation because in Europe and in the United States even the scribes (դպիրներ) are paid. Weddings and baptisms had to be booked months in advance because there were so many them. I insist that the Haleb Armenian community’s rich and traditional church life may have come second only to Istanbul’s. We had a very rich church life here. No wonder that the seminarians in Antelias liked to come to Aleppo to perform mass. No other Armenian community could possibly have matched the regal reception the community extended to the visiting catholicos during his pontifical visit.

2. The Organizational Structure of the Community.

The organizational structure of the Aleppo Armenian community has passed on from one generation to the next unchanged for almost 150 years. It is based on the fundamental tenants of the Armenian National Constitution adopted in Istanbul in 1863. Accordingly, the Armenian Apostolic Church National Prelacy is the official body that represents the Armenian community to the government and is its nerve center and trigger. The prelate, in addition to being the spiritual head of the community, acts as its temporal leader and thus shoulders dual responsibilities. This is a unique form of representation that has been inherited from the Ottoman days. It has advantages because it centralizes the administration of the community and its dealing as well as it establishes bilateral relations with the government. If you were to look carefully at the administration of the National Prelacy of Aleppo you would find that it is a veritable government within a government. It's interesting to note that at one time Sultan Abdul Hamid II suspended the Armenian National Constitution for this very same reason... that it acted much like a government within a government. 


The legislative body of the National Prelacy is the National Representative Assembly. As the name indicates, the community elects its members. This body appoints and oversees executive boards in matters of education and administration of schools under its jurisdiction, religious education, judicial, financial, social services, real estate holdings and others. The effectiveness by which the Haleb community is governed can stir the envy of not only the other Armenian communities but also local Christian and Muslim communities: Compare the functioning of the Armenian community of Aleppo with those in North America, Latin America, France, Britain and Australia... and you will find that the Aleppo Armenian community is more effectively organized and administered.

The National Prelacy is the backbone of the community. 
Our elders speak of a time when the community was even more vibrant. I remember reading an interesting article by Antranig Dzarougian in his “Nayiri” weekly where he reminisced, as a young reporter in '40s, about attending the open-door deliberations of the National Representative Assembly where opposing viewpoints would converge to a middle ground and form a consensus on how to run the community.

With the passing decades, much water has flown under the proverbial bridge. The picture nowadays may not be the same but the organizational structure of the Armenian community in Aleppo is one of its distinguishing characteristics and is worth preserving and emulating. 

 




3. Our Unmatched Schools

Can Haleb breathe, let alone survive, without its schools? Such a scenario is impossible to imagine. Haleb loses its glitter without its schools and its vivifying graduates. We would not be mistaken in stating that the Armenian schools are the Aleppo community’s very lungs.
 Without them, we would suffocate. And what glorious schools we have: the Karen Yeppe Armenian College (Քարէն Եփփէ Ազգ. Ճեմարան), the historical Haigazian (Հայկազեան) and Sahagian (Սահակեան) schools, the more recently built Gulbenkian (Կիւլպէնկեան) and Grtasirats High School (Կրթասիրաց-Չէմպէրճեան) school, the A.G.B.U. Lazar Nadjarian-Calouste Gulbenkian Armenian Central High School (Լազար Նաճարեան), the Cilician (Giligian) (Կիլիկեան) Armenian High School, the Mekhatarian (Մխիթարեան) school and others.

For Haleb Armenians, their homely and lovely community life is best illustrated through the unfolding of the academic year. We witness the buses of the Armenian schools, each bearing in large Armenian characters the name of the school, crisscross the city from one neighborhood to next, traversing the thoroughfares of the city collecting the students to bring them to school.

Throughout that season I remain overwhelmed by a burst of emotions at the scene. 
Our schools are much like beehives, where every morning bees enter and work diligently to produce honey. The Haleb honey is just that, authentic and unadulterated. We have always shared our honey generously with our blood relatives overseas. Our honey is sufficient for all. Diaspora communities, big or small, have their schools, in Istanbul, Beirut, Tehran, Cairo, Athens, Marseilles, Paris, Los Angeles, Montreal, Sydney, and Buenos Aires. I will muster the courage and state that the Armenian schools in these cities cannot possibly compete with ours in imparting to their students an Armenian education. Can you possibly name an Armenian Diaspora high school that can equal the Karen Yeppe Jemaran? Could you point to any other Armenian Diaspora high school that had the same pre-Civil War enrollment of 1,400 students we had at the A.G.B.U. Nazarian-Gulbenkain Central High School?

Speaking Armenian in schools, however, changed these days, is still predominant among our students even out of school.  
Some may claim that the Education Ministry of Syria has curtailed the number of classes in the Armenian language. 
In my modest opinion, that allegation is not devoid of lapses in judgment. The Armenian language and literature have always maintained their rightful place in the overcrowded curriculum of our schools. These subjects are properly taught with much care. We have some schools that have voluntarily abrogated the educational privileges granted to them and have curtailed the number of such classes or have completely eliminated some. It would be unproductive to dwell on this phenomenon now.

The raging destructive war in Syria is testing the Armenian schools in ways they have not been tested before. Their very existence is at stake, especially due to the economic collapse. The situation is alarming and its consequences dire. It is vital to assist the Haleb Armenian schools financially so that they, as the beehives of the community, continue to produce honey.

4. An Armenian Diaspora Treasure Chest.

Let us take a rapid trip through the Armenian neighborhoods of Aleppo and visit our social clubs. We will find the names of these clubs in a bilingual inscription at their entrances: Aram Manougian People’s Home, A.G.B.U. Tekeyan Cultural Association, Kermanig-Vasbouragan Cultural Association, Ourfa Compatriotic Cultural Association, and tens of others such associations and social clubs.

All of these associations have extended an open arm to embrace our Armenian compatriots who, having graduated from the local Armenian schools, come to socialize under their roofs to maintain their umbilical cord with their nation. The denominational affiliation and the political partisan leaning of the person do not matter, neither do the types of interest a person has for there is an Armenian association and a social club for the person.

Do you like to sing? Then come and join the Hamzakayin’s “Zvartnots” choir.

Do you have acting talents? Then A.G.B.U.’s “Atamian” theatrical group or “Zavarian” will be welcoming you.

Are you interested in dancing? There are two to three dance groups for you.

Is your interest to serve the Armenian literature? Then you may join the Syrian-Armenian Writers’ group monthly meetings.

Are you interested in or do you want to hone your skills in painting or photography? You may join “Arshile Gorky” or “Sarian” art academies.

Are you athletic? Knock H.M.E.M’s door and it will be open for you.

Are you a scout or do you like to bring your child as one? You have the options of having your children to tough it out with excursions and camps organized by H.M.M’s or H.M.E.M’s athletic clubs.

Do you want to contribute to the current youth movements? Syrian Youth Association and Dkhrouny clubs are there for you. 

Are you interested in preserving your grandparents’ heritage? Among many, you have the option to join, Marash, Kilis, Dikranagerd, Zeytoun, Daron, Ourfa compatriotic organizations.

Are you interested to render social services? The Syrian Armenian Relief Organization might be the place for you.

Haleb Armenians often have to choose from the many concurrently ongoing events. All these events take place in splendid social halls that we, as a community own, the likes of which other local organizations do not have. Our halls get filled to capacity.

In a city of 4-million residents, we as Armenians, present a unique communal picture. The non-Armenian communities with whom we co-habit have not been able to build what we have built and hence do not have the means to offer to their community what we can. That is why Haleb has become the ideal community to preserve the Armenian heritage where an Armenian is born as one and is interred as one.

No wonder the Haleb communal life stirred the imagination of the eminent writer  Dzarougian who penned his recollection in “Dreamy Haleb”. The newly appointed director of the AMAA (Armenian Missionary Association of America) Zaven Khanjian was born and raised in Haleb. He also penned his memoirs in the recent "Aleppo, First Station" about growing up in the city. Undoubtedly, the Aleppo Armenian community is the “Little Armenia” of the Diaspora, even though it has not been named so in an official capacity.

Indeed, the Armenian Diaspora has all the reasons to be alarmed by the ongoing war in Syria whose consequences may be disastrous to the once-thriving Armenian community of Aleppo and by extension to the beehive it was that provided bees and honey to the other Diaspora communities.

Aleppo Armenians Convene

The attached is an abridged translation of a report from Aleppo that appeared in "Hairenik Weekly" (Nov. 30, 2012). The two letters underneath the article are presumably the initials of the author’s first and last name of the person who reported but would like to remain anonymous. Who would have guessed the conflict they were experiencing would last this long with no end in sight yet.The report was translated and abridged by Vahe H. Apelian on  Decembe 7, 2012 and was posted on Keghart.com.

 

“What are the dangers facing Aleppo Armenians today and what can the leadership do to circumvent the calamity?”

To answer the above question, the Regional Committee of Hamazkayin Educational and Cultural Association in Syria invited Armenian community leaders to a Nov. 11 presentation and a roundtable discussion at the Aram Manougian Community Center of Aleppo.

Among the fifty participants were authors, reporters, Armenian language teachers, and members of Armenian cultural organizations. His Grace Bishop Shahan Sarkissian, prelate of the Diocese of Aleppo participated in the meeting.

Before the start of the meeting, attendees watched some 40 colored pictures of the disastrous condition of the mostly-Armenian Aleppo neighborhoods that have been subjected to rampant destruction. The images, taken by professional photographer Ardo Hampartsoumian, showed damaged buildings, looted stores, burnt cars, torched houses of worship, skies blackened with smoke and among these ruins, people in panic. As chairman of the regional Hamazkayin, Hampartousmian opened the meeting. Krikor Doungian, chairman of the Diocese of Aleppo, acted as moderator.

Before the presentation, the prelate emphasized two fundamental points: The present dire circumstances are being experienced not only by Aleppo Armenians but all Syrians; as a result of the conflict a new culture should emerge not only among Syrian Armenians but also for all Syrians--a culture of collective being, a new way of living.

Four people made presentations.

The first presenter was Raffi Avedissian, from the Committee for the Syrian Armenian Relief. The committee is comprised of representatives from the three denominations, the three political parties and two of the largest benevolent organizations (Armenian General Benevolent Union and the Armenian Relief Society of Syria). Aleppo Armenians have suffered 40 deaths, 66 wounded, seven abductions, and 2 Armenian soldiers whose whereabouts are not known. Approximately 200 houses have been damaged, a great number of workplaces have been destroyed or ransacked and many cars have been destroyed.

It would be impossible to compensate for such losses. However, the committee said Mr. Avedissian, renders aid to meet daily needs. Some 2,850 food hampers have been distributed; residences have been provided to families who live in the most dangerous places. Medical care is also rendered. Young Armenian volunteers are on a round-the-clock watch guarding Armenian-owned institutions such as churches, schools and community centers. He also reported that assistance is being flown from Armenia and fundraisers are being organized in various Diaspora communities.

Emma Azarigian read the presentation of Hraztan Tokmajian. For pressing reasons, Hraztan could not attend. The presentation dwelt on the role the Armenian cultural organizations during the conflict. Mr. Tokmajian had written that he had attempted not to sound pessimistic and quoted the Armenian saying “Bad days, much like winter, come and go”. In spite of the difficult circumstances, the A.G.B.U. Sarian Art Institute and the Armenian Studies Center of Hamazkayin had resumed their classes since the beginning of November, reported Mr. Tokmajian.  He said that he was hopeful the cultural life of the community will not be crippled and that the community would resume its vibrant cultural life.

The third presenter was columnist and translator Houry Azezian. She dwelt on the vast cultural heritage Aleppo has inherited, including churches, cemeteries, a museum, archives manuscripts and old books. Azezian noted that we have a responsibility to safeguard the heritage that has been entrusted to us.

The fourth and last presenter was Sarkis Kassarjian, a reporter in the Arabic media. He said that there is a great deal of false reporting in social media and in the mainstream press. He advised the community to stay away from siding with any of the combating sides. He advocated “positive neutrality”--the policy Lebanese Armenians adopted during the civil war there. Arman Saghatelian from “Pan-Armenia Media” also commented regarding this issue.

Following the presentations question-and-answer session followed. The ensuing discussion could have been more informative and useful to crystallize a pan-Armenian strategy to help the community emerge from the calamity with relatively little loss. but most of the attendees refrained from asking questions. Perhaps they were being cautious about airing their views publicly or they had nothing to add to the presentations. This is not to say that there was no meaningful discussion.

One of the attendees suggested that a portion of the aid received from Armenia should be distributed to non-Armenian communities. He suggested that representatives for the Syrian Relief Fund deliver a portion of the aid to local communities. Such a gesture would have a beneficial effect on intra-community relations, he said.

Another noted that despite emigration, the heart of Aleppo has not stopped beating. He cited that this year Sourp Asdvatzatzna Church had registered 85 baptisms and 77 weddings.

Some noted that Facebook accounts favoring the opposition undermine the welfare of the community. The need for a “positive neutrality” policy was agreed to be the safest political positioning for the community.

Following the four-hour presentations and discussion, Prelate-Archbishop Sarkissian noted that the Aleppo community is a conservative and slightly cautious community, which shies away from taking bold stands. The panic and the turmoil in the community are partly the community’s doing, he said. He noted that in spite of the shortcomings, the Armenian community is the best organized among the 11 Christian communities of the city.

The prelate further noted that the Syrian-Armenian community is an inherent and integral part of Syria and hence assumes its share of the burden of the calamity that has afflicted the country. He also noted that Syrian-Armenians should have empathy for the suffering of other communities as well. The prelate said the Armenian community leadership does not abdicate its responsibility toward its own and does not side with any faction and called for all Syrian-Armenians to do the same to safeguard the community.

 

 

 

Before Apple There Was Tobacco

(Dedicated to my childhood friend from Keurkune: Ara Ghazarian)

Vahe H. Apelian

Very recently Ara Ghazarian asked me if I have written anything about the cultivation of tobacco (tutun) in Keurkune. I checked my files. In fact, it turned out that I have. Here is what I wrote.

Much like Steve Job’s Apple computers that changed the world, apple revolutionized Keurkune’s way of life and living. The transition to apple was not seamless and did not come about without hardship. The fields that became the orchards were used primarily to produce two essential yearly crops to make living possible in Keurkune: wheat as a staple for food and tobacco as the only source of cash revenue. Keurkunetsis teamed, pulled their resources together, braved the years waiting the newly planted apple orchards to come of age to produce the apple.

The cultivation of silkworm in Kessab, for all practical purposes, had subsided if not ceased after the genocide. Tobacco cultivation most likely started in greater Kessab after the First World War, in early 1920’s, during the French mandate, when France became the colonial ruler of Syria and Lebanon. The trade in tobacco was the monopoly of the French in Syria. The tobacco growers could only sell their product to “regie”, which became a household word in Kessab. Incidentally, Wikipedia defines regie as a kind of government monopoly (tobacco, salt, etc.).

The monopolized trade in tobacco in Kessab went this way. Kessabtsis would plant the tobacco. As the plant started growing, at some point officials came and gave an estimate of how much tobacco the field was expected to produce and thus they set a quota. The grower was expected to meet the quota. If the quota were not met, the grower would be severely penalized forfeiting all profits.

Growing tobacco was a messy business. Tobacco was first germinated. I have no recollection of that phase. It was then transplanted to the fields until it matured. The matured leaves were harvested and were brought home and needled through their stem on long needles. Once the needle was full, the leaves were pulled to the string threaded to the long needle. A wooden hook would have been fastened at the end of the string. When the string, in turn, was full of tobacco leaves, it was detached from the needle and another hook was tied. The string laded with tobacco leaves was then hanged on wooden racks made up of parallel wooden bars placed the strings’ length apart. The rack full of tobacco leaves was left outside for drying.

Needling tobacco was a communal affair. Families came together, sat around the huge pile of tobacco leaves, and wore an overall because tobacco leaves left a sticky mass on the hands and on the dress. My grandparents teamed up with their khnamis, uncle Josephs’s brother-in-law Asadour and in-laws Norits and Lydia. I would also join them. I was the first grandchild of my grandparents and my paternal grandparents dotted on me. My maternal grandmother made sure that at the end of the summer when I returned to Beirut, I returned a few pounds heavier. That is why I was always given the easiest part of the needling; the pile of large leaves. The large leaves naturally have larger stems making needling much easier and lessening the chance of pricking the index or the middle finger as the leaves on the needle were pulled on the string mostly with the aid of these two finders. Anytime anyone of them pulled a large leaf from the pile, it would be thrown in front of me.

Needling the large pile of leaves would last long, a whole day if not more. Meanwhile, food would be cooking on the fireplace. Electricity had not reached Keurkune yet. Thus there were no radios. Even transistor radios, if available, had not reached Keurkune. But there would be no need for them. There would be a lot of light-hearted and mundane chatter going on.

After all the tobacco leaves were thus stringed and hung across the racks; they were left in the open air for drying. Moisture, God forbid rain, damaged tobacco leaves. Any time when there was the slightest likelihood that it might rain, the stringed tobacco leaves were collected from the racks and brought home and hanged inside until the weather was judged dry enough to put them out again for drying. I remember one night my grandfather suddenly woke up and asked us to bring the tobacco leaves inside. He had suspected that it might rain.

 I had always remained under the impression that tobacco was dried in open air until, in my late teens, I saw the movie “A Summer Place”, the iconic move classic by Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee. Tobacco in the movie was cultivated under cover and dried indoors with heat. Keurkunets relied on nature. They cultivated tobacco in the open air and dried its leaves in the open air.

Once the tobacco was dried, they were bundled up and weighed. Should the weight fall below the set quota, the Keurkunetsi would look to supplement by purchasing tobacco from the neighboring Turkmen villages. Decades have come and gone by since those days and to this day, whenever I recall those days with a child’s apprehension, I wonder. Why was it that the Keurkunetsis usually could not meet their quotas, while the Turkmen villages would have surplus tobacco? Were the inspectors friendlier to them? The Keurkuenetsis would make an arrangement with the Turkmen and in the cover of night they would head to their village and bring dried tobacco home. Then there came the art of bundling them together in such a way that upon inspection, the purchased tobacco would not stand up from the rest.

Smoking was not uncommon in Keurkune but it was ceremonial. Villagers kept a stock of the best leaves for their enjoyment. The leaves were first minced with sharp knives, fluffed up and kept in a tin tobacco case. The minced tobacco was placed on a thin paper held between the two fingers. The paper was then moistened with licking and rolled into a cigarette.

Kids were always tempted to smoke too. It wasn’t easy at all to get hold of the precious tobacco leaves. There was another source of smoking for kids, dried sentzgan leaves. It is a plant that grows in the wild and probably belongs to the tobacco family. Its leaves are small, the size of olive oil leaves, but sticky much like the larger tobacco leaves and dry like tobacco leaves. I can safely claim that all the kids growing up in Keurkune have tried smoking it in their youth. And when the word came to us kids, that cotton tipped cigarettes had come around we tempted to wrap cotton at the tip of paper without much success.

Apple, for all practical purpose, wiped tobacco planting in Keurkune, ushering the village into a new era.

Under the Same Roof

(Lest it will be forgotten)

Vahe H. Apelian

I spent my teenage summers in Keurkune, Kessab in our paternal grandparents’ house with them and with my Uncle Joseph and his family as one extended family. In fact, my brother Garo spent a year or two in his early childhood in Keurkune year around.

My paternal grandfather Stepan had become the natural inheritor of the family’s ancestral house, as he was the only survivor.  The house is built with double layered stones. On the outside, the walls remained uncovered and each stone block remained visible. The inner surfaces of the outer walls and as well as the inner walls partitioning the rooms were covered with a special mix the villagers made to plaster the walls. It was a mix of minced wheat stalk and clay that put a heavy white to off-white plaster coat on the walls. In hindsight, I realize that the coat acted as an excellent insulator against cold and moisture. On one of the inner walls, there was a cavity that probably was made by design by not placing a stone there. The cavity served as the treasury of the Keurkune’s church where my grandfather kept the meager Sunday offerings of nickels and dimes in a tin can. 

A typical house in Kessab then

The width of the outside walls is such that, as a kid, I used to sit on the window sill and gaze at the mountains. The windows had wooden panels for cover but no glass. The floor and the ceiling were made of wood. Wooden logs extended from wall to wall. On these wooden logs, wood panels were fastened. Some, if not most, of the ceiling logs were blackened over time. It was said that the blackening was also due to the attempted torching of the house. Turks, who had taken over the house after forcing the local Armenians out had attempted to torch the house when they vacated the region and fled as The World War I was ending with the defeat of Turkey that would lead to the dismemberment of the once powerful Ottoman Empire. Among the blackened wooden logs across the ceiling, a few silkworm cocoons had remained lodged. They were yellowed a bit but remained very visible against blackened logs. My grandparents had raised silkworms at one time.

 The roof of the house was covered with special blue dirt the villagers called "kuyrock". There were a few quarries in the vicinity of the village that yielded this bluish stone. These blue stones are light and easily crushed. They were overlaid on the roof and rolled over with a big round stone that used to be found on the roof of each house. During rain, the roof would leak at times. The next day I would see my grandfather laying more blue dirt at the spots and go over them with the roller.

The interior of a typical house in Kessab then.

The house, much like the other houses of the village, had a special place for clay water jars. My grandfather filled the earthen jars with water he fetched from the spring. It was my treat to have him seated me on the saddle of our donkey on the way to spring. He fetched the water in four tin containers. Two tin cans were placed on each side of the saddle. After he filled the tin cans with water, he capped them with small gasli - laurel – tree branches with leaves on them. On our return, I would trail the donkey with him. At home, he poured water from a tin can into the two earthen jars we had at home. As I grew older I could tilt the jars myself and fill the brass cup we kept next to the jars. We all drank from the same brass cup. Water from the jar remained refreshingly cool to drink. I later learned that it is due to evaporation as the clay jars were porous and they would ‘sweat’ and evaporation kept the water surprisingly fresh and cool to drink, in a natural cooling process, during the hottest days of the summer.

Almost every room of the house had a fireplace. My grandmother and Aunt Asdghig prepared food on the fireplace in the room we used as the kitchen and the dining room. The fireplace in the other rooms was used for warmth during the cold days of the winter. At times my grandmother would cook in these rooms as well. Smoke coming from the chimney of a house meant life. Woo (վայ) to the house that had no smoke coming from its chimney. Hence comes the common Armenian expression we use to this day: Moukh Marel, մուխը Մարել (extinquish one’s smoke).

 The house is two stories high and each floor was an almost exact replicate of the other with a center hall with a door opening into each of the four rooms on the second floor. Two rooms of the first floor did not have a door that opened to the central hall and could only be accessed through its adjoining front room, each of which had a door that opened to the central hall. For a while, we used the lower right-hand side room as the kitchen and the dining room. We sat on the floor around a round floor table. A kerosene lamp illuminated the table during dinner. Its adjoining inner room was used to store hay for the animals. We called the room hartanots.

For many years the lower left-hand side room, which also had a door that opened to the courtyard, served as the stable along with its adjoining inner room and housed our chicken, donkey, and cows. The ceiling of this front room that served as the stable i.e. the floor of the upper room had collapsed during the baptism of my father and had remained unfinished up to my early teens. Therefore I would view, by looking down the door on the second floor, the stable below on the first floor. I have seen our cow give birth to a calf there and our chicken nest and end up with colorful chicks that immerged from the eggs to my utter impatience and periodic checking with my grandmother. These naturally raised chicks were colorful and beautiful indeed, unlike the dull off-white colored chicks grown commercially nowadays. The animals and we lived under the same roof.

The courtyard was walled. The oven – toneer – was located on the right-hand side of the entrance. Further to its right was the outhouse. My grandmother baked bread in the oven.  Every week she would prepare the dough a day before and make a cross sign on the dough and cover it to ferment. The next day she would bake the bread by plastering the handful pieces of wetted dough on the inner side of the upright oven heated by burning sticks.  It was customary for us kids to visit the ovens of the village after the baking was over to fish charred bread pieces remaining on the inner wall of the oven. We called these charred and blackened pieces of bread kurmush. Charred as they were, but they tasted great! Later on, my Uncle Joseph had a bakery erected on the same spot and operated it for many years. He ran the bakery once a week and more often during Christmas and Easter. The villagers would bring their dough there to bake bread or the different pastries they made on special occasions.

Our grandfather returning from the market on a Saturday and being met by the younger grandchildren and grandmother

There was a mulberry tree in the courtyard, a remnant of those days when they raised silkworms. The tree also supported the grapevine that gave succulent red-colored grapes we called ouzoumlek. These types of grapes are not used to make grape molasses and are only for consumption as fruit for dessert.

The courtyard would become busy in the evening as our grandfather returned from the fields. The cows would be milked and then driven to the staple. The chickens would naturally head there in the evening and get their sleep above ground on logs. My grandmother would collect the eggs the hen laid. She could tell that a hen had laid an egg by the hen’s vocalization during the day. I later learned that hens lay eggs only during the day. That is why the lights remain on day and night over the commercial coops for hens to continue laying eggs day and night.

The house had a wooden balcony on the second floor. Spectacular view came into view from the balcony and the far ends of historical Antioch where Apostle Paul reached proclaiming the Good News. An invisible border separated Syria from Turkey.  Parts of the serpentine road that connected the region to the world beyond also came into view. We used to call the road zivti Jampa, which means the paved road. It was then the only road in the region that was paved and connected Kessab to the outside world. I believe the road was laid and paved by the French during their colonial rule over Syria after the First World War.

Our grandfather Stpean was born in 1897 and was driven out in 1915. He never alluded to the house as having built after he was born. In all probability, the house was built in the later part of the 19^th century. The house is well over 100 years old and bridges three centuries, 19^th to 21st. The house had remained as it was up to my early teens. Additions and renovations have changed the house. However, the main structure of the house is the same as a testament to its solid stone foundation. Rarely has a house remained with an Armenian family for over 100 years. I am not sure if our paternal grandfather was born and raised there, but three generations of his descendants were born in there: my father Hovhannes and uncle Joseph, my cousins, both of whom studied in the American Universit of Beirut. Stepan, studied agriculture  and Ara studied medicine; and Stepan’s children Tsolag, an engineer with a Ph.D. degree, Shoghag and Hovag, being the last.