Torch by ~nibbia

Last Sunday was a խաշ event at a friend’s house. This meal is not an ordinary meal but the one at his house was even more special. It was his son’s birthday but that’s not the only reason it was special. My high school friend graduated from MIT and left the Boston area for many years before coming back here a couple of years ago. The meal was also special because I left feeling very happy to see them in their nice home, established, with many local friends. Two or three weeks ago I had a similar feeling of satisfaction and deep gratitude to God for my brother’s success in establishing his family in this foreign land.

Last week I was also touched by a couple experiences at my friend’s place. Our friend who is a Bentley professor thought that given my experience and background, I should apply to Harvard or MIT to study for a PhD (she was probably being nice but it was touching). I believe I will enjoy teaching at a university as a way of growing and giving back but that’s a long journey. The first step was a conversation with her for which I was very thankful. It’s now up to me to try which I will do after teaching a course or two as adjunct faculty (assuming someone thinks I deserve such an opportunity). The second touching experience was an offer to join his company from another friend who has been making a living from his software business (shameless plug for a good personal finance software). He seemed quite serious and although I was extremely touched that he thought it was worth a try, unfortunately I had to decline.

Today something unexpected happened at church. In order to run the annual assembly where the parish needed to elect four new members to the parish council, eight candidates were needed. When asked last week, I agreed certainly willing to invest and give back to the church and our small but vibrant Armenian community. I did not expect that people would actually elect me. Now I am truly humbled by the experience and already feeling the weight of the responsibility to help carry forward the torch passed on by generations of upstanding Armenians to preserve our faith, our culture and all the good which makes us Armenians. I hope in hindsight they will be happy to have elected me and plan to earn that through giving of myself, growing personally in the process.

As if that was not enough, I stumbled upon this video where the son of our priest is conducting his high school choir. The song’s title is “Holy, Holy”.

Ես իմ անուշ Հայաստանի արևահամ բարն եմ սիրում,
Մեր հին սազի ողբանվագ, լացակումած լարն եմ սիրում,
Արնանման ծաղիկների ու վարդերի բույրը վառման,
Ու Նայիրյան աղջիկների հեզաճկուն պա՛րն եմ սիրում։

Սիրում եմ մեր երկինքը մուգ, ջրերը ջինջ, լիճը լուսե,
Արևն ամռան ու ձմեռվա վիշապաձայն բուքը վսեմ,
Մթում կորած խրճիթների անհյուրընկալ պատերը սև
Ու հնամյա քաղաքների հազարամյա քա՛րն եմ սիրում։

Ուր է՛լ լինեմ – չե՛մ մոռանա ես ողբաձայն երգերը մեր,
Չե՜մ մոռանա աղոթք դարձած երկաթագիր գրքերը մեր,
Ինչքան էլ սո՜ւր սիրտս խոցեն արյունաքամ վերքերը մեր -
Էլի՛ ես որբ ու արնավառ իմ Հայաստան – յա՛րն եմ սիրում։

Իմ կարոտած սրտի համար ո՛չ մի ուրիշ հեքիաթ չկա․
Նարեկացու, Քուչակի պես լուսապսակ ճակատ չկա․
Աշխա՛րհ անցի՛ր, Արարատի նման ճերմակ գագաթ չկա․
Ինչպես անհաս փառքի ճամբա՝ ես իմ Մասիս սա՛րն եմ սիրում։

Ararat - shot from plane by ~vardart78

My beautiful wife had made arrangements for an amazing evening at an absolutely fantastic event organized by the Aramas Art Alliance and the Armenian Society of Boston. A group of young musicians from the Sayat Nova School of Music in Armenia and the Sayat Nova Dance Company of Boston performed this and many other songs, music and dances.

Here’s a classical version of the poem as a song. Here’s another more modernized version.

On the last six lines, I had to work hard to conceal the tears coming to my eyes. I listen to many kinds of international songs and music but only Armenian songs and poems have that certain power over my emotions.

Five years after coming to America, my childhood friend from California sent me a CD of Armenian songs. After listening to the first couple songs, I got that proverbial pit of կարոտ in my stomach. I called my parents and cried for 30 minutes at $1 per minute.

The kids that performed tonight deserved more than the standing ovation that they received. Theirs is our future as a people!

Debate by ~REGGDIS

Last week I was in the UK for work, first time in that country. Work went perfectly but from the moment I stepped into that country, I was flooded with strange thoughts and new impressions.

“Why have you come here?” asked the passport checkpoint official.

“For work.”

“What is the nature of your work?” he continued in a very polite tone. A few more questions…

“Where will you go after your 5 days stay?” he asked.

“Home… back to the USA,” I responded.

“Welcome to the UK.”

For the rest of the trip to the hotel, I was thinking about my last sentence “home… back to the USA.” A stranger in a strange country in a strange world, I was going to go home… that mystical place that has a special meaning for every Armenian.

Everyone extremely polite. Everything running perfectly on time. Discussion of austerity measures and restraint in government spending. What was it about these people that allowed them to conquer the world? Why am I writing in their language?

Vatican. Concentrate so much wealth in 100 acres. Wealth of the highest caliber. Statue of a king, viscount, or another lord or a street named after one. Systems everywhere, lots of systems. Driving on the wrong side of the road. Fish and chips… great fish and chips.

One morning, jet lagged I sat there working and listening to a debate on TV on how they could cut government spending. What a healthy debate! In the US, we are growing governments.

On the way back, I read Walden almost the entire time.

“Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written. It is not enough even to be able to speak the language of that nation by which they are written, for there is a memorable interval between the spoken and the written language, the language heard and the language read. The one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our mothers. The other is the maturity and experience of that; if that is our mother tongue, this is our father tongue, a reserved and select expression, too significant to be heard by the ear, which we must be born again in order to speak.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

How much I have to grow up to perceive the world at this level, let alone be able to write anything that “must be read as deliberately and reservedly…” How much we Armenians must endure to begin understanding how the world works. The books have been written in English. The maps have been written in English. For us they have also been written in Russian, in Turkish, and in every other language, old and new. We need to stop being the only ones reading our own books and drowning in our own tears. Maybe we need to be born again. Maybe we need to learn their father tongue. How else can we expect to have any influence when we are not even in the room, let alone sitting at the table where our fate is determined. Are we the spoken word, “transitory” in the timeline of the human civilization?

Two songs come to mind. The first is a revolutionary song – a lullaby, a beautiful contradiction still beyond my understanding. The second is the song called Cilicia.

Sunday after I was back, I went to church where I found new liturgy books. They’re in two languages, English and Hinglish. Hinglish is a strange language. It’s the Classical Armenian written with English letters. An Armenian born and raised outside Armenia is fortunate if he or she speaks some dialect of the language (somewhere I read that about 1500 words were needed). That Armenian is a minority if he or she can read and write in Armenian. There are probably a handful who have studied and understand the Classical Armenian. For whom is the weekly Divine Liturgy service? Is Hinglish the best we can do? Does it even please God when we worship him without understanding what we say.

How about we improve the Divine Liturgy, write it in the best of our father tongue, in nice big beautiful Armenian letters and hope that it’s read and sung as “deliberately and reservedly” as it’s written. This may also please the Creator. I’ll stop dreaming. For now, let’s have  a healthy debate about this and perhaps we will understand why I write in English.

Old Times by *Healzo

Today was the graduation/promotion day for children of Armenian and Sunday schools at our church. I sat in the back enjoying the whole event and thinking about the difficult challenge of maintaining an Armenian community and culture far from Armenia. Some of the children have Armenian first and last names, others only have the last names, and some have neither. Some are bilingual, others speak English only and are getting introduced to Armenian through the Armenian school. This diversity also reflects the overall church parish with first, second, and even third generation Armenians, many with non-Armenian spouses or themselves children of mixed marriages. Thankfully, the church family has a wonderful accepting atmosphere of love, friendship and fellowship. But the question of survival of that which uniquely identifies us remains as relevant as ever.

Also this week I read an article about the oldest leather shoe discovery in Armenia. From the oldest shoe to often being an old-shoe, what do Armenians have and what can Armenians do to preserve and enhance what Armenians have? The basics are our religion, the spoken language, our cuisine, the annual habits and traditions. These we seem to maintain more or less. Unfortunately, it takes enormous efforts to maintain and pass along the basics. Many families do not have an Armenian church nearby and must travel miles to get to one. We speak Armenian at home but our son would rather answer in English (extremely painful for me personally). We cook Armenian foods but even those are under constant attack and argument about actual origin, the real recipe, etc. If the basics are challenging, conversation about the complexities is meaningless.

For example, how does an Armenian mother raise a daughter with the same strong family devotion and sacrifice qualities in this individualistic, self-centered culture where over half of marriages result in a divorce? What qualities would it require to raise children who not only spoke but also read and wrote freely in Armenian? What gargantuan effort would it take to teach these children enough of the language for them to actually understand the literature? And would it even be possible for them to contribute to that literature? So even if we are able to get through the simple and complex challenges, what do we do for our children to repeat the process for another generation? Is the problem completely hopeless when only one spouse is of Armenian descent? Each family struggles in its own ways with these issues. Unfortunately, the kids grow up to struggle themselves as they try to establish families in the context of their bi-cultural upbringing.

Perhaps the answer is in our struggle. While we may disagree how a word should be pronounced or what the right way to make խորոված (Armenian BBQ) is, we all share the burden of our historical struggles and sufferings. Why not unite around our current struggle to preserve and enhance our culture and use that as the single source of agreement even when we disagree about everything else. Second, we need to ask and learn from our Jewish friends who have persevered despite their distance from a homeland and despite their struggles. While books could be written about the differences between the Holocaust and the Armenian Genocide, the struggle of survival after devastation of that magnitude with majority of people living outside the homeland is certainly something we have in common.

Do we (Armenians living outside Armenia) have more in common with other cultures (or the current host culture) than we do with one another? What about a generation later? It is fascinating to see a different struggle (whether a set of schools in Armenia should be converted to be completely foreign language based) evolve in the homeland where they seem to be oblivious to these issues.

A Trip to Karabakh certainly didn’t help. This Georgian movie is terrible (to put it mildly). Old neighbor’s usage of the Armenian struggle as a vehicle for delivering some muddled messages about its own struggle is a repeat of the same old, showcasing its true character. This reminded me yet again how important it is for Armenians in the diaspora to remain united. For example, having two churches in America and in some countries is absolutely not helpful! I hope there is someone in the world who can give me at least one theological argument or one good reason why the two churches should remain separate. May this song remind all Armenians who stumble upon my insignificant corner on the Internet about all that which we share.

Armenians in Armenia will have no issues partaking in a common culture but there are many issues they cannot raise because of the political mess inherited from being situated in that restless corner of the world for thousands of years. But I know that each family and every individual deep down looks upon an extended family member, a friend in the diaspora as a source of support when all else fails.

Little Boat by ~to-shreds

The year before my mother passed away, she taught my son a song about a little boy and his toy ship. Every time I hear the song (“Im pokrik navak” here), I remember my childhood. I remember my mother and her words here and there that in hindsight seem to all have had a purpose. She would sometimes make a comment about something that seemed irrelevant or unimportant at the time. Looking back those comments were carefully crafted statements about important life issues delivered in the right context at the right time.

I’m sorry to butcher the beauty of the song but feel that even a crude translation is relevant:

Created the little boy
A white paper ship.
He lowered the ship
Onto the waves of the river.

My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?
My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?

My little ship, my little ship,
Where are you, where are you going?
Where are they, where are they taking you
The crazy waves of the river?

My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?
My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?

The sun disappeared,
Behind the clouds it went.
Rain fell from the sky
And the little river flooded.

My little ship, my little ship,
Did you reach indeed the blue sea?
Or on the way drowned you the wind
And you fell asleep at the bottom of the river?

My little ship, my little ship,
Did you reach indeed the blue sea?
Or on the way drowned you the wind
And you fell asleep at the bottom of the river?

In a conversation with a friend I mentioned that one of my hopes is to live an uneventful and simple life in uninteresting times. In Armenian history every generation has faced some calamity, a disaster, a socioeconomic upheaval, and suffering. I briefly mentioned this here.

Try to plant a seed in a garden. The more fertile the soil, the higher the output of the plant. Disturb the soil or the roots, and risk ending up with a shocked plant. Storms, bugs, and looters can kill even the strongest plants. Fail to harvest, support, and feed the plants, and risk having a poor outcome. People who want to get very rich want to get too much fertilizer in the garden metaphor which can kill a plant. Others who focus on one aspect of life at expense of others (time being limited and constant) choose one type of food in the garden metaphor at the expense of other nutrients resulting in an overly green plant with no fruit, or some other deficiency.

Another friend of mine said that he would go and fight for his country. I said “I hope you never have to make that choice.”

I hope the waves in your life are nothing you cannot handle.

Florida - holga10 by Pauline Celle

Spring of 1994 was as full of hope as the spring of 1993. I had applied to a few colleges in the US but the question of financial support still remained unresolved.

At school I had a friend whose parents had emigrated from Poland. He used to be in my physics class. During one of the labs he offered to drive if I’d be interested to go check out the international fair in St. Petersburg. A few days later, my friend and I were walking around in the giant arena where people with ancestry from almost every country had setup booths showcasing whatever they considered representative of their culture. Having met no Armenians in Florida, I thought the probability of seeing an Armenian booth would infinitely approach zero. I hadn’t even finished my thought when I came across a huge area representing Armenia. After months of culture shock, being homesick and not seeing anything Armenian, I was stunned. I must have been standing there for some time to provoke a nice lady and her husband to approach and start a conversation.

It was wonderful to find the Armenian community in Florida. We went to church together, I shared with them my experiences, they told me their stories. I got close to two elderly couples who always called and invited me to all kinds of gatherings helping me become a part of the community. This, in hindsight, was something I really needed at the time. Their friendship helped me balance the cultural transfusion I was undergoing. Little did I know that they would help me tremendously in the next few years as if it had all been perfectly planned for me.

One day, they invited me to a small gathering. Suspecting nothing whatsoever, I arrived at a house full of the members of the community gathered to celebrate my birthday. Later I found out that my Armenian friends had arranged this party to help fund my return to America. My birthday present purchased the return ticket to America later that summer.

These two couples have helped me tremendously during my initial years. I will not mention names to respect their privacy. Their support will always be remembered and they will always be honored and loved in my home and in my heart for everything that they did. They have not only helped me financially but also provided much needed moral support. Moreover, they told me many stories from their lives and shared lessons they had learned which have helped me deal with my own situations. These are gifts that for me are worth far more than anything sold anywhere.

One of the papers that they signed to become my sponsors had a field for relationship. “What should I write here?” I asked. “Cousin” was the instantaneous reply. I remember I was so proud of that word probably because cousins are considered brothers and sisters in Armenian culture (much closer relationships than the word represents in the American culture). But I also knew that what he did was something very few cousins would ever do for each other. I have saved those papers and look at them periodically to remember and honor their support and friendship.

Years later when I asked them why they helped a stranger who could have turned out to be anything? They reminded me that people had also helped them in their early days and that I would probably do the same.

My year was coming to an end, I had been accepted to a few colleges but had decided that I would attend a community college if I was able to return because that would place the least burden on the people who had offered to help me. My research showed that only the US consul in Armenia could approve my return; therefore, I had to have all my paperwork in absolute order before I could even begin to hope for yet another dream to become reality. I knew that if I did not return to the US, I would miss my new family very much. They had made the year as perfect as I could have ever dreamed. I had learned a lot from them and had become very attached to them.

As a final step, I called my friends in Boston to let them know that I was returning to Armenia and wish them all the best and hope that I would see them again some day. The rest of the story leaves me humbled by God’s amazing powers.

The death of culture by ~Gabryellalf

A couple nights ago I had a long discussion with my wife about maintaining the Armenian culture. But first, why is it so important to maintain a culture? What is culture anyway? In this context, culture is “the sum total of ways of living built up by a group of human beings and transmitted from one generation to another.” Many people, unfortunately, never get to experience another culture to its fullest. Those who do will probably agree that it takes a long time to develop sufficient in-depth appreciation for the language, customs, art, history, poetry, songs, religion, food, character traits, jokes and everything else that makes up a culture. I see culture as the fragrance of a bouquet of flowers. Each society, as a unique bouquet, has its own beautiful culture with intricacies, some with similarities, but to truly understand these we need a fine tuned sense of “smell” (appreciation more appropriately). I believe few people get the wonderful opportunity to experience multiple cultures and even fewer get to meaningfully contribute to more than one. I am not talking about a four week visit to France, or even a one year immersion program. How about a study abroad for five years or living in a different country for a decade? I have lived in the United States for over fifteen years and find myself discovering interesting cultural undertones every day. Perhaps that is due to the wonderful diversity of this culture. Going back to the main question of why maintain a culture, I believe we must because we as individuals are small links in the greater chain that defines a culture and need to maintain to provide those around us and those that come after us the opportunity to appreciate and celebrate that which is beautiful in every society. Armenians have become very small in numbers and not too many non-Armenians actually study the Armenian culture, but I am sure those who do are bound to discover many amazing jewels created during the past few thousand years. Letting the fragrance of this or any beautiful bouquet parish one individual, one family at a time, through indifference or deliberate acts is not too different from ethnocide.

All people of Armenian heritage must celebrate that heritage, maintain and if at all possible contribute to that heritage just as they contribute to any other culture with which they identify. Who is an Armenian? Anyone who celebrates, attempts to understand, helps preserve, contributes to the Armenian culture is an Armenian. Perhaps this definition needs further refinement but for me a person of Italian descent who studies the Armenian culture or contributes to it in some capacity is far more Armenian than a person of Armenian ancestry who ignores his/her roots.

This brings me to the question of identity. As humans we have many roles, job titles, social responsibilities, individual qualities, and personal idiosyncrasies. To understand our cultures, our heritage, our ancestors, our history is to understand ourselves which is perhaps one of the key requirements for self-actualization.

Thank you for sticking with me through this long detour but the discussion I had with my wife revolved around the Armenian language which currently has more than one orthography (see Traditional Armenian and Reformed Armenian). Just as having two systems of weights and measures creates confusion, additional non-value added work, and need for conversions, so does having two different ways of writing create issues when communicating in a language especially across many dialects, proficiency levels, and geographic and other boundaries (ArmSCII vs. UTF-8 for example). The two systems simply make it more difficult to preserve the Armenian culture, teach Armenian, and publish in Armenian. I’m sure there are linguists working on various parts of the language but I very much hope that soon a leadership force will emerge to standardize along a common easy-to-teach standard, teach that standard across the globe, and use the language as the tool to perpetuate the Armenian culture.

I'm writing u a poem by ~saltyshadow

1. Basic letters and some basic words
2. Understanding sentence construction
3. Learning present, past, future tenses
4. Learning more words toward a stronger vocabulary
5. Reading and comprehension of books, articles, web sites
6. Understanding basic, then clear speech (radio broadcasts, for example)
7. Understanding regular speech, slang, accents, and expressions
8. Where to use “a” vs. “the” (still sometimes  not easy)
9. Understanding songs and jokes
10. Understanding poetry

I must confess that after seventeen years of learning this language, I still do not understand poetry. I understand most of the words in the poems but do not feel connected to the author or the message in the poem. This is not because I don’t like poetry or don’t understand any poetry. Poetry in Armenian is like a soothing melody for the soul. Similar to a fine solo piano piece packed with emotions, feelings, and messages, poetry brings to us in few words that which could be said in volumes.

It is possible that Armenian poetry is so special because of my Armenian heritage and culture. I say this because while I understand poetry in Russian, it does not seem to bring forward as many thoughts, feelings, and emotions. I would not be so arrogant to ever consider that perhaps there’s some special element in Armenian poetry because I have heard others state similar thoughts about English poetry.

Why bring up the subject of poetry in these economic times and times of political change? Because like all art, poetry can help us recharge, reenergize and appreciate that which we always have and that which we still need to discover.