Chidem Inch: The 106th Anniversary

 

We Armenians commemorate again the anniversary of the start of the 1915 Armenian Genocide.  It was the day when the leaders and intellectuals of the Armenians were arrested mostly in Istanbul.  Some were later released, some disappeared forever.  On May 2, 1915,     several Armenian professors were arrested in Kharpert where three-quarters of my grandparents, and the same for my wife, hailed from.  Armenians lived there for at least ten centuries.

After the 100^th anniversary in 2015, I was not sure what commemorations would like after that grim milestone.  This year we are commemorating with as heavy hearts as we have had in my memory.  In these pandemic times, we experienced the horrible war in Artsakh that most of the rest of the world knows as Nogorno-Kharabakh.  In the gut wrenching month of October the Turkish supported Azeri’s took half of the Armenian territory that was liberated in 1990 with the fall of the Soviet Union.  Azerbaijan might not have prevailed if it were not for the Turkish support of drones, some also from Israel, air support, and mercenaries from Syria.  We later found out that Turkey supplied the command and control for entire operation.  Armenians hoped and expected Russia to step in and stop the madness.  Milirary assistance never came.  Russia stepped in only to force a treaty on the Armenians that greatly favored the Azeris.

It was a crushing military defeat.  It has been crushing spiritually as well for Armenians around the world.  I have been numb since that day in November when the treaty was signed.  I blogged about it:

• Chidem Inch: War in Artsakh
• Chidem Inch: Really? Israel?
• Chidem Inch: Oh, It’s About Occupied Lands…
• Chidem Inch: Tears for Artsakh
• Çidem İnç: Şun Şan Orti Erdoğan

I have not written about it since.  I was empty.  I was numb.

When watching the inauguration of President Biden, I was inspired by the moving poem written and recited by Amanda Gorman.  I decided to write a poem to express, what I wasn’t sure.  I slowly began to write.  Some days it was easy and the words flowed.  Other days the stream of consciousness was a trickle or even dry.

The past few days, I realized that I should try to finish it for April 24.  I spent last evening editing it.  As I read the final product, I was struck with two thoughts.  First, it was cathartic.  I can now read analyses of the war and prognostications about the future of the Armenia and Artsakh.  I literally could not before.  Secondly, I was unsure if the poem was any good.  Most other poems I write, I feel good about judging them relative my body of work.  But this was written on raw emotion, it was written for that catharsis I knew I needed.  My suspicions was that it might be too emotional.

I debated about submitting it to the Armenian Weekly and finally decided to.  I actually gave the editors, Pauline Getsoian and Leeza Arakelian, the “don’t worry about offending me if you decide not to publish it” caveat.  They were graciously affirmative and I am pleased to share the link with you here:  An Armenian Lament.

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Also, please check out the following:

• Ara Topouzian’s excellent annual reflection:  The Genocide defines who I am as an Armenian.
• Ani Hovannisian’s touching and powerful film:  The Hidden Map

Switcheroo?

 

Back in the early 2000’s, while living in Connecticut, I came home on a nice fall Friday evening after a high school football game.  My daughter was with me.  I parked my car in the garage.  We walked out of the garage, which was not connected to the house, and through the breezeway to the back door of the house.  I had my keys in hand, but instead of using the house key, I hit the unlock on my car fob remote and grabbed the door knob to open the door.   Needless to say, the door remained locked.  My daughter noticed what I was errantly trying to do burst out laughing at my folly.

In my early twenties, I left for a weekend getaway.  When I got home, my sister was staring me down.  I eloquently inquired, “What?”  She said, “Why did you take my toothbrush?”  My three sisters and I shared a bathroom and our toothbrushes were hung on the same cup holder rack attached to the wall.  “I took the toothbrush I have been using all along.”  My sister, didn’t say a word, thought, and then cried out “Ew!!  Gross!!” when it dawned on her we were using the same toothbrush for at least six months.  It was generally assumed, no doubt due to precedence, that it was my error, not hers.

This is but a sample of the silly slip-ups and inadvertent switcheroos that have made me shake my head, laugh, cringe in embarrassment, and, depending on the gravity of the context, become downright upset with myself.

Of course, these kind of things do not exclusively happen to me, they happen to everyone. 

I remember being at an Armenian youth competition where my Dad was running the track and field events.  He conscripted me to be one of the timers for the track events.   Dad told another volunteer that he should start passing out the medals to the events already completed.  The fellow agreed and went to his car to retrieve the box of medals.  He returned, plopped the box on the officials table, opened the box, and moaned, “Oh no, I took the wrong box.”  The box he had was full of spray paint cans.  I knew the cardboard box of medals was on a shelf in his garage right next to where the cardboard box of paints was sitting.

This is stuff of comedy as well.   The Three Stooges employ often employ the errant switch effectively in their slapstick mayhem.  The boys were painting a table and Moe had a cup of coffee.  After several strokes of his paintbrush and several sips of coffee, he dipped his brush in the coffee and took a sip from the paint can.  In another short, a southern belle inadvertently used potholder as the middle layer of a three deck cake.   The cake was iced and served resulting in everyone coughing up potholder stuffing.

We have all used a permanent marker on a white board, as I have.  After doing it a few times, we all learn to check. 

I have never grabbed a screwdriver instead of a pen.  If I did, I am fairly certain I wouldn’t try to write with it.  Likewise, I have never mistakenly picked up a jackhammer instead of an awl when I wanted to make another hole in a belt.  Luckily, I don’t even have a jackhammer and if I did, I would probably have caught my error before I figured out how to turn it on.

My switcheroo errors and musings are, basically, the fodder for comedy.

Mistaking a 9mm handgun for a Taser, discharging the weapon, and killing a person is tragic and unfathomable.

Easter Traditions

 

It is spring and it is Holy Week in Christendom.  That means this is a most important time in church as well:  the Armenian Church. Beginning with Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday there are four church services spanning from the joy of Palm Sunday to the sadness of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday to the joy of the resurrection on Saturday evening and, of course, Easter Sunday.  Beyond the church, the Saturday evening and Easter Sunday feasts are beautiful celebrations of the season, and in non-pandemic times, wonderful gatherings of family and friends. 

On Palm Sundays, the Armenian Church like all churches passes out Palms.  Many Armenians make crosses out of the palms.  My maternal grandfather taught me how to do this when I was a youngster and I have been doing it ever since.  I have seen other’s do it more artistically, carefully trimming their palms, and employing a more impressive and neater weaves.  I thought about upping my game, but no… I am sticking with the method Levon Merian taught me.  I can whip up dozens of crosses quickly using his method and pass them out to family and friends.  I may have to pass this skill along to my grandkids.

Another highlight of the Armenian Easter Season are the egg fights.  No, we are not throwing eggs at each other.  It is not a snowball fight with eggs.  It is much tamer and a mixture of fun and peppered with a bit of serious competition.  Everyone selects a colored, Easter that are traditionally hardboiled in onionskins to give them that unique reddish hue.  We hold the eggs as in the photo with the more pointy ends facing each other.  The person holding the egg that is above the other taps the egg with a bit of force.  One of the eggs crack, the other does not.  The person whose egg does not break is the winner.  The loser turns their egg around and the process is repeated with the loser using the blunter end of their egg.  Most of the time, the pointier end cracks the blunter end.  Winners play winners and the person with the last unbroken egg is the winner of the contest.

Selection of the egg is important.  In the boiling of the eggs, the egg can shrink and leave a pocket of air between the hardboiled white and the pointy part of the egg.  As such eggs are instant losers, you will see the seasoned elders tap the egg on their front teeth so that by sound and feel they determine if the egg is

a good contender.  Over the years, people have tried to color the tips of the eggs with nail polish and other paints or epoxies thinking this will give them an edge.  You have to pay attention lest a sneaky relative tries to use a wooden, plastic, or even marble egg.

Everyone believes that the person holding the upper egg, the person doing the tapping has the advantage.  The person holding the egg below knows that the tapper might try to tap the off center instead of hitting the pointy part to the pointy part, so they hold their egg so just a wee bit of the tip is exposed.  The tapper may protest saying they have covered too much.  The holder may expose a bit more of their egg… or they may not.  It is all a part of the fun gamesmanship.

You might think it is all about the kids with the adults “letting” the youngsters win.  Nay, nay.  Everyone plays to win… but win or lose it is always good-natured and full of laughter and joy.  I cannot think of an Easter when we didn’t have an egg fight.

When we lived in Connecticut and were part of the Armenian Church of the Holy Ascension in Trumbull.  Our priest Der Untzag Nalbandian and his wife Setta would invite us over for dinner after the Saturday night liturgy in which it was revealed that Christ had risen.  During one of his sermons, Der Untzag related how in the old days when everyone walked to the church, they would walk home with a candle lit in the church.  It was symbolic of spread the light, the good news, of the resurrection and taking that light home.  It sounded wonderful to me.  So, at the end of the service that evening, everyone was given a slim taper candle and went up to the altar and lit it.  Before leaving the church to get in their cars and go home, everyone wisely put their candles out.  I thought differently.  I told Judy to drive and I was going to keep the candle going and take it to Yeretgeen Setta who was home preparing the dinner.  Luckily, their home was also in Trumbull and close to the church.  Setta was so happy by the gesture and we felt so old school, we repeated this renewed tradition every year and actually bought a lantern for that exact purpose.

I have another tradition I picked up while living in Connecticut that is not Armenian but most definitely Middle Eastern.  We had many Armenian friends from Lebanon.  Once at the home of one of those friends, Gaby and Tina, we were talking about the famous Lebanese chanteuse Fairuz.  I was commenting on how magnificent I thought her voice is and Gaby asked if I ever heard her sing the Good Friday Hymns.  I said that I had not.  He looked for a CD he had to let me listen, but could not find it.  A few weeks later, when I saw him at church he gave me a copy he made of the CD.    Sometime later, I sat down to do some work and popped the CD in to check it out.  I got zero work done as I was blown away by amazingly beautiful and moving voice of the famous soprano born in 1934.

From that first listen to the beautiful, moving, and soulful Good Friday hymns masterfully performed by Fairuz, I have listened to that CD every Good Friday since.  I am moved everytime I listen to these hymns.  I would venture to say, these beautiful laments would move anyone no matter what their religious beliefs. 

Here is the full album from YouTube: