Remembering Beirut on New Year Eve

Vahe H. Apelian

 

I have now celebrated more new year holidays in the United States than in Lebanon, where I was born and raised to adulthood. I say new year holidays and do not allude to Christmas, for in Lebanon it was truly a new year celebration, devoid of any religious implication. The Lebanese greeted each other as happy holidays. Especially the Francophone Christian Lebanese would use the French celebratory expression Bonne fête. Google translates it “Happy Holiday”.

The end of the year was a festive occasion in Lebanon for all, of whatever religious persuasion. Yes, I greet my friends “happy holidays”. Of course, I greet family members, relatives and friends I know who are Christians differently and wish them Merry Christmas. But not all my friends and colleagues adhere to the Christian religion.

The societal make up of Lebanon is sectarian. Maronite community, the leading Christen community is considered a Catholic community, consequently the Maronites observed Christmas on December 24/25. The overwhelming number of Armenians in Lebanon are Apostolic who, along with the Armenian Evangelicals observe Christmas on January 6/7. In fact, I believe I do justice by not using the word celebrate and  instead  use the verb observe Christmas as a joyful occasion, way after the commercialization of the new year was over. I am not sure now if we had Christmas eve celebration, unlike the New Year eve celebration that lasted until the wee hours of the following day. 

Much like in the United States, the weeks approaching the new year were busy weeks in Lebanon. The markets would be bustling with shoppers. Almost all the shops displayed the symbolic holiday tree. After all Lebanon is the land of the cedars. Almost all Christians, especially at home, had a nativity display under the tree, while the Muslims did not have,

The eve of December 31 is when the families got together. The gifts remained wrapped under the tree. It was usually my parents who hosted the evening in Hotel Lux, the inn that my father ran. The high point of the evening was the countdown, much like the end of the year countdown in New York. When the year ended on that 60^th second of the December 31 midnight, tradition dictated that we put the lights off and then put it on again to signal the end of the year and the beginning of the new year. It is then the family members greeted each other, shnorhavor dor dari- happy new year, and gifts were unwrapped.

There was one feature that probably is unique of Lebanon. The western border of Lebanon is coastal, as Lebanon is spread out along the Mediterranean coast. Its maritime border is 140 miles (225 Km) long and is peppered with sea ports, most of them being fishing ports, such as the beautiful port of Jbeil. The town is also known as Byblos. The major commercial ports are that of Beirut and Tripoli. At the mid night of December 31, all ships put on their sirens, heralding the new year, making the new year eve a truly festive occasion. The inn my father ran, in down town Beirut, was a few blocks from the Beirut Sea port. The impact of the full blast of the sirens coming from the ships would not only be heard, but also felt.

Regretfully my last New Year Eve in Lebanon, on December 31, 1975, was altogether different.  Lebanon was engulfed in a civil war. It is generally accepted that the civil war started, quoting Wikipedia: “ The beginning of the civil war is typically dated to April 13, 1975, when the Phalangists attacked a bus taking Palestinians to a refugee camp at Tall al-Zaʿtar,” It was a Sunday afternoon and I happened to be returning from Anjar where my parents had purchased one of the few remaining one room with an outhouse dwelling with a small orchard, the French had built to house the Mussa Danghtsis. The road passed close to the site of the incident. The Phalange militia were manning the traffic. There was congestion as traffic seemed to have come at a standstill. I asked a Phalange militiaman what happened? I never forgot his answer. He said the Kataeb – the phalange party - and the Palestinians had an “engagement”.  The rest is history that is still unfolding as I blog this blog.

By December 31, 1975, the course of our family had changed. The inn my father ran in the down town had become in the midst of a war zone.  All business in the down town Beirut were plundered. The carpet collection my father had accumulated over the years and would have them spread as winter set in, making the inn homely, were all looted along with everything else. Even the pipes were removed from the walls. Its huge safe was hurled from the sixth floor onto the street below. My brother having just finished his yearlong military service, had found refuge in the security of Kessab with my uncle’s family and grandfather. My maternal uncle and his family were left in West Beirut as an invisible boarder divided the city into Christian East Beirut and a Muslim West Beirut. In a matter of months, the society had fragmented and has not recovered.

I do not remember if the boats had their sirens on that New Year Eve. My parents and I were in Antelias in the apartment my parents had purchased, a walking distance from the Catholicosate. But that midnight, the sky over Lebanon was riddled with tracer bullets.  Guns thundered and overwhelmed everything else. The illuminating or the shining paths that tracer bullets left, riddled the sky. It went on and on, and on. It was a show of defiance. Christian East Beirut was asserting itself.  Six months later, on a fateful  late June afternoon, I left Beirut on a private yacht turned into a commercial boat. I saw my mother remaining on the shore waving a white handkerchief as the boat moved away and the beautiful Mount Lebanon came into full view. Then on July 9, 1976, I landed at the JFK Airport in NY as another immigrant.

Let me take the liberty and be reflective, as this year ends. It appears that, the best of societies that have come about over many generations, crumble in no time, if taken for granted and not cared for. Since December 31, 1975, at the end of every New Year, I remain with that reflection and the with the thundering guns and tracer bullets illuminating the sky over Beirut, if not over Lebanon.

Շնորհաւոր Նոր Տարի – Shnorhavor Nor Dari, Bonne fête, Happy Holidays, - كل عام وأنت بخي - kulu eam wa'ant bikhayr – every year and you are fine.  

Seated LtoR: Antranig Chalabian (uncle), Ghazar Charek, Hovhannes Apelian (father), Standing LtoR: Vahe H Apelian, Joseph Apelian (uncle)