Following a worship service in the Surp Giragos Church of Dikranagerd.
At the 10th Century Cathedral of Ani.
(Photo provided by Mary Ann Zamanigian.)
At the tenth century Pakraduni Cathedral of the Holy Apostles in Kars.
NINETY YEARS AGO AND TODAY
There is an age in our lifetime
When all our dreams must reach an end;
An age wherein our longing souls
Yearn for all their links to the past.
Nahabed Russinian
By Archdeacon Charles Hardy
Historic Armenia, the land of our roots, where less than a century ago, our parents and grandparents lived and raised Armenian families rooted in the faith, language, traditions and history of our ancient race, now left void of its original inhabitants, magnetically draws us to its soil with an unquenchable thirst of what had once been a glorious past.
I have often been asked why I keep going back to this land my parents were forced to vacate. Few Armenians today live on our ancestral homeland. Most of its churches are destroyed or in ruins. The homes that sheltered generations of Armenian families have been razed or are inhabited by either native or Balkan Turks or by Kurds.
Yet, there is nothing more dear and sacred in my memory than treading on the land where my ancestors walked and in immersing my soul into the beauty of its mountains, lakes, rivers, fields and streams that graced their everyday existence. It seems that their love and longing for their birthplace have in some way been grafted into my being as I recall the memories they passed on to me.
Our pioneering, experienced and knowledgeable tour director, Armen Aroyan of Monrovia, California, has led tours to Historic Armenia for the past fifteen years. This was the fourth pilgrimage I took with him (in 1999, 2000, 2002, and 2005). On each of these four trips, joining me were other first and second generation American Armenians whose instilled love for Armenia, drew us with fervor and excitement to our ancestral lands, uniting our souls in a common bond of kinship and friendship.
On this visit, accompanying me from my hometown of Racine, Wisconsin, were my wife, Araxie Djiknavorian Hardy, and Deacon Daniel Korakian. Upon our arrival at the Chicago O=Hare Airport the afternoon of April 29, we met Steven and Michael Bedrosian Pifer, father and son, from Kalamazoo, Michigan. Michael is a university student specializing in Armenian studies at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and is very knowledgeable of his Armenian ancestry.
We flew nonstop from Chicago and arrived in Istanbul early afternoon the next day. We were met at the airport by Aghavni Tashjian, a native of Istanbul, who accompanies us on our trips, Mary Ann Zamanigian of Providence, Rhode Island, and Stephen and Angele Dulgarian of Chelmsford, Massachusetts. This was Mary Ann=s third and Stephen=s second pilgrimage.
After touring some of the Armenian sites in Istanbul, we boarded a plane that evening and flew to Dikranagerd ( Diyarbakir) where we met the rest of our group: Dr. Armen Aboulian, Glendale, California; Aram Hovagimian, Cinnaminson, New Jersey; Garo Lachinian, West Bloomfield, Michigan; Dr. Manuel Momjian, Pasadena, California; Dr. Shant Shekherdimian, La Crescenta, California; Ara Tanajian, Athens, Ohio; Levon and Tina Thomassian, Glendale, California; Harry and Suzanne Toufayan; Boonton Township, New Jersey; and Herman Lacinian, Istanbul, Turkey.
A highpoint of our visit to Dikranagerd was the church of Surp Giragos which I had visited it on two previous trips. On this visit, I noticed that the floor had been cleaned and cleared of weeds and debris. Much of it had been damaged during the past two decades by the natural elements and neglect. Yet, one can still see its disfigured seven altars that once graced this sanctuary. Within the confines of its walls, before the main altar, we held a portion of the Morning Service (Aravodian Zhamerkutiun) according to the Book of Hours (Zhamakirk) of the Armenian Church. As we sang the beautiful hymn APark Ee Partsuns@ (Gloria in Excelsis), I wondered when had been the last time it had been heard in this holy place?
After a stop at the nearby Tigris River, we traveled on to Sasun. Above one of its villages, as I gazed at Mt. Maratuk (Maruta Sar), I recalled the words of a song a familiar to my parents= generation, ATartsyal Paylets Sasno Kulkheen Azadutian Troshag@ (Once again on the heights of Sasun shone the flag of freedom). I sang it in honor of our brave fedayees (freedom fighters) who made the ultimate sacrifice to defend our homeland and protect our people.
Departing from Sasun, we were on our way to Mush to visit the Msho Sultan Surp Garabed Vank, escorted by a jeep of armed soldiers. Very little remains of this once magnificent monastery that was one of the most popular places of pilgrimage in Historic Armenia. It is now inhabited by Kurds. Among the ruins of the monastery, we prayed for the souls of our countless martyrs and for all who had once lived on this land. As has happened on previous visits, a Turkish television crew made its appearance and videotaped our activities.
Leaving Msho Sultan Surp Garabed Vank, we were en route to the small sleepy village of Hatsegats. Here our beloved saint, Mesrob Mashdots, was born in 361 A.D.. Do today=s inhabitants know that from this soil came forth a man who some 1600 years ago invented the Armenian alphabet, one that is unique among the languages of the world? This year the entire Armenian world is honoring St. Mesrob for his invaluable contribution to the propagation of Armenian culture.
Our next stop in Mush area was the Sulukh plain and bridge along the Aradzani River. It was here in 1907 that the fedayee leader, Kevork Chavush, and his band of eighty men fought an army of two thousand Turks. Where exactly on this plain did the great patriot fall in battle? Where rest his remains and those of his comrades who sacrificed their lives here? To honor their memory, Dr. Shant Shekherdimian and I sang the song depicting the battle of Sulukh, ASosgumn Ahavor, Badets Msho Tashd@ (Dreadful Fear Covered the Plain of Mush).
We left Mush for Bitlis (Armenian Paghesh) where we toured a once thriving Armenian neighborhood. What may have been an Armenian Evangelical Church is still partly standing without any evidence of its past other than the year, 1884, inscribed above its front exterior.
Located seven kilometers northeast of Bitlis sits the village of Por (now Degirmenalti) to see the Surp Anania Church (St. Ananias) dating back to the sixth or seventh century. Khatchkars (stone crosses) from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries are found in front of the church and in the surrounding area. These khachkars, unlike others that we saw, had engravings of birds, fish and Maltese crosses carved on them.
Heroic Van was our next destination. The fortress of Van and the plain below are almost desolate. The ruins of what was once the Dziranavor Surp Asdvadzadzin (Our Lady Clad in Royal Purple) Church still stands. Not far from it are two restored large mosques. This plain and another area known as Aykesdan were the two most important Armenian populated places in Van. Both places experienced fierce battles that resulted in the proclamation of Van=s short lived independence in 1915.
Our visit to the island of Aghtamar was awesome. In the tenth century cathedral church of Surp Khach (Holy Cross), we prayed and sang the hymns of our forefathers. As we toured the grounds, we found numerous khachkars around the island. Here was located the seat of the Catholicosate of Aghtamar, the last Catholicos being Khachadour Shiroyan (1864-1895). Aghtamar is a, quiet peaceful place to meditate, pray and reflect as one gazes upon the sparkling blue waters of Lake Van and the nearby snow-covered mountains. On our ferry back to the mainland, Dr. Armen Aboulian, Aram Hovagimian, Dr. Manuel Momjian, Dr. Shant Shekherdimian, and I sang patriotic songs. These were exhilarating moments never to be forgotten.
A few miles north of the city of Van, we visited the once Armenian village of Lezk (now Kalejik), currently inhabited by Kurds. At the entrance to this village, there stands a huge pointed rock. According to a legend, the Assyrian Queen Semiramis had the dead body of the Armenian King Ara Keghetsik (Ara the Handsome) placed on this rock for the mythical dogs (Aralez) to lick, hoping to restore the king to life. .
Nearby, we stopped at Toprak-kale to see a huge rectangular door- shaped rock known as Mher=s Door or Raven=s Rock (Akravi Kar). According to another legend, God opened this door for Pokr Mher (Mher Junior), the son of David of Sasun, to enter on horseback because he was a righteous man. On judgment day, the door will reopen and Pokr Mher will appear, and God will restore the Armenian nation.
We left the historical and legendary region of Van for Mt. Ararat, another highlight of our pilgrimage. We saw the Biblical mountain in all its radiant beauty. I remembered the words of a poem written by the late Antranig Zarougian entitled, AUkhd Araratin@ (Vow to Ararat). As I recited the poem before this majestic symbol of Armenia, I looked at the mountain and repeated the words of the poet, ABidi hasnink gadarit@ (We shall reach your summit).
We continued on to the city of Kars, once a capital of Historic Armenia. Here is located the Surp Arakelots (Holy Apostles) Church built in the tenth century by King Abas. At one time, it was used by the Russians as a Chalcedonian church. Later it was converted into a museum, then a mosque and remains as such today even though a new mosque has been built a few hundred feet away. The natives told us (as they had on previous visits) that it is going to be become a museum.
. One of Armenia=s greatest poets, Yeghishe Charents, was born in Kars. From pictures obtained from the Charents Museum in the Republic of Armenia, we were able to locate his house and the old bridge across from it. Both are a short distance from the Surp Arakelots Church. The house has been abandoned.
Ani, the city of 1001 churches, today has only a handful left which are in various states of ruin and decay. The best preserved paintings are in the church of Surp Krikor Lusavorich (St. Gregory the Illuminator) built by the merchant Dikran Honents in the thirteenth century. The Cathedral of Surp Asdvadzadzin is still intact with the exception of its dome. Here in its interior, we held a brief service. How inspiring it was to pray in the same place where kings and cahtolicoi worshiped centuries ago.
Another sight to behold is the Convent of the Virgins located next to the Akhurian River near the Marco Polo Bridge. This time, I found a new path, and together with Deacon Daniel Korakian and Michael Pifer, we climbed down to the river within a short distance from the Virgin=s Convent. Present-day Armenia is a stone=s throw away on the other side of the river. We returned to Kars and sadly bid farewell to four of our group, Dr. Armen Aboulian, Dr. Manuel Momjian, Dr. Shant Shekherdimian, and Aram Hovagimian, who were leaving the next morning for Javakhk and then to Armenia., These young men had enriched our pilgrimage with their enthusiasm and sometimes daring feats.
On our way to Shabin Karahisar, we stopped at Erzurum and toured the city and its fortress. What would have been the l fate of this city had the Eastern Armenian Army heeded to General Antranig=s advice and not retreated with the Russian troops back to the Caucasus in 1918?
Located in the province of Erzurum is Gote (renamed Baghpinar), the village of Stephen Dulgarian=s mother. She was the only village survivor who had lost two of her children during the Genocide; one was killed and the other died of starvation. Half of the village homes were destroyed, and those that were spared are now Kurdish homes. A villager invited the group into her home. She was baking bread in the traditional tonir (underground oven) and generously offered it to all.
In the province of Shabin Karahisar is the village of Sis (renamed Chataloluk). Stephen Dulgarian found his father=s home now owned by a Turk. At the top of the hill is the medieval abandoned monastery of Surp Arakelots. His family=s flour mill, located at the foot of the hill, is still used by the Turks.
Shabin Karahisar was the birthplace of the Armenian national hero, General Antranig Ozanian,. We made the long and dangerous hike to the top of the citadel. In 1915, Shabin Karahisar was one of four places where fierce resistance took place against the Turkish army. (The other three locations were Urfa, Musa Ler, and Van.) When the Turks were closing in on the Armenians who had depleted their ammunition, rather than surrender to the enemy, the Armenians threw themselves down from its cliffs to avoid capture and dishonorable death.
Kharpert and its golden plain have always been dear to my heart, being the birthplace of both my parents. We visited the city of Kharpert and several of its villages. The first of these was Hussenig, the village of Mary Ann Zamanigian=s grandparents. This being her third visit, she located the family that lives in her grandfather=s home and had a memorable visit with them.
Hussenig=s Surp Varvar Church was once described as the largest in the province of Kharpert. There is very little left of it. A small section of rock at the top of the hill is all that remains, even less that what I saw on my previous trips. Below is the granary that was built by the Armenians but no longer used. Unlike the other villages of the area, most of the Armenian homes in Hussenig were seems to have been spared destruction.
The next day, we visited the village of Pazmashen, the birthplace of Michael Pifer=s grandfather=s family and that of my paternal grandmother. A few Armenian homes are still standing, and we were able to locate the site of what had been the Surp Asdvadzadzin Church. Nothing is left but a few scattered rocks. As Michael and I roamed through the village, we felt like we were two brothers looking for family.
Before returning to our hotel, we stopped at the neighboring village of Sursuri, famous for its bullfights during the time of the Armenians. Here we met the village chief who invited us to tea. Only a handful of Armenian homes are still standing and will probably soon be destroyed to make room for new buildings.
Near both of these villages is Khulakugh, my father=s birthplace. I located the four springs my ninety-eight year old aunt in Chicago described to me prior to my departure. While the original Armenian cemetery no longer exists, there is a newer one which is still used by the few Armenian families in the Kharpert province to bury their loved ones. Across from the cemetery lives a family I had met on my earlier trips. They were very hospitable, invited us into their home, and served us tea and honey.
Very near the village of Khulakugh is the monastery of Khulavank which dates back to the early tenth century. Built by King Abas in 923 A.D., it was also known as Movsisavank (Monastery of Moses). Its church was named Surp Kevork (St. George). During the Genocide, many of the orphans of Kharpert (including my ninety-eight year old aunt, the last living Genocide survivor of our family), took refuge within its confines. Here we offered a Hokehankisd (Requiem Service) for the deceased family members of all the pilgrims in our group. Between the village and the monastery was our family orchard of Karatsor. The locals told us that the old walnut and mulberry trees were planted by the Armenians.
We drove to Lake Hazar (Goljuk) where countless Armenians met their deaths during the Genocide. On his visit to the lake in 1915 with the American Consul Leslie A. Davis, Michael Pifer=s great- grandfather, Garabed Bedrosian, was an eyewitness to numerous corpses.
Our last stop in the Kharpert province was the village of Tadem, one of the oldest villages in the area. We also visited the nearby medieval monastery offering a prayer within its walls.
Gesaria ( Kayseri) was our last place of pilgrimage before returning to Istanbul. We visited the local Surp Krikor Lusavorich Church where we held a brief service. This beautiful church serves the needs of the few Armenians that are left in Gesaria and the surrounding area. A few times a year an Armenian priest is sent here from Istanbul to conduct services.
On our way to Chomakhlu, we drove through Everek-Fenese and Injesu. In the village of Chomakhlu, Ara Tanajian=s ancestral home, little remains of the Armenian presence. Among them are the ruins of the church now used as a barn.
A half hour away is Tomarza, the ancestral home of Deacon Daniel Korakian. As we began our walk through this town of 11,000 people, a woman washing her rugs in front of her home, smiled at us, went in, and came back out with a pitcher of tahn (yogurt drink) to welcome us and quench our thirst. Little is left of the Surp Asdvadzadzin Monastery other than a few sections of rock sprawled throughout the area where it once stood. This monastery was once a very impressive structure. Having taken with me several photographs of the Vank as it existed during its prime, we gazed at the pictures and the sight now before us. The natives were astonished to learn that such a magnificent structure once existed on the site of these ruins.
The church of Surp Boghos-Bedros (Sts. Paul and Peter) was spared destruction. The building is intact. A few years ago it was a dumping ground for broken old agricultural equipment. Now the debris has been removed. It was barren except for a pickup truck parked in one corner. Ornate frescoes still grace its ceiling and walls. The metal curtain rod of the altar remains in its original place. Above the apse are inscribed in legible form these words taken from one of the hymns (sharagans) of the Armenian Church: ASa eh seghan srputian yev ee sma eh badarakyal Krisdos Karn Asdudzo@ (This is the table of holiness and here is Christ, the sacrificial lamb of God). How could I not remember the Tomarzatsis who once served in this church, the men who taught me many of the sharagans during my youth? Before leaving, we prayed for them and for all the Tomarzatsis who had once lived here.
Yozgat was our next destination, the birthplace of Harry Toufayan=s grandfather, who had been a merchant. Later, he moved his family to Cairo, Egypt, where they owned a bakery. Today, Harry Toufayan, a well-known, successful entrepreneur and church and community benefactor, operates bakeries in Ridgefield, New Jersey, and Orlando, Florida.
Yozgat was also the birthplace of Araxie Djiknavorian Hardy=s mother. While neither of them were able to locate places directly connected with their families, there are still a few reminders of the Armenian past such as the clock tower located in the center of town which was built by an Armenian, and some former Armenian homes. One of these, a very impressive building, is now a museum. We returned to the city of Gesaria and drove to the airport where most of our group boarded a plane for Istanbul. Four of us remained behind with Armen Aroyan and our driver.
One of the most memorable and bittersweet experiences of the trip was about to unfold. We drove to a small village known as Gesi which is a short distance from Efkere, my father-in law=s birthplace. There, my wife Araxie Djiknavorian Hardy, found three of her first cousins; one brother and two sisters, children of an uncle who was left behind during the Genocide when he was only a year and half. We learned that her uncle had died seven years ago at the age of 83. These cousins embraced her warmly with tears. Their hospitality knew no bounds.
A song was written in Turkish during the Genocide about the Gardens of Gesi (Gesi Baghlari that sadly expresses the sufferings of the Armenians. It was well known among Gesaratsi Armenians and is still sung today by many Turks. As her male cousin sang it for us in the family=s summer home garden of Gesi, Araxie remembered her father singing this same song while working in his store in Beirut.
We went to the neighboring village of Efkere and visited the Surp Stepanos (St. Stephen) Church. Araxie=s great uncle, Der Mesrob Avak Kahana Sahakian (1863-1917), served as a priest in this church before immigrating to America. It, too, like the many other churches we visited, has been left in a state of total neglect while nature continues to take its toll. There were once paintings of the four evangelists (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) on each of the four interior sides of its dome. Today, only two remain, and they have been badly damaged by the natural elements. In this hallowed sanctuary, we prayed for the soul of this humble priest who had witnessed great suffering during the Genocide. We also remembered all the deceased members of the Djiknavorian-Sahakian families, all the Efkeretsis who died on this soil, and those who once lived here.
That evening, after an emotional farewell, we returned to the Gesaria airport and boarded the plane for Istanbul.
Farewell, beloved land of our fathers. Ninety-years have passed since the dispersion of your rightful inhabitants. We have not forgotten you. Nor have we forgotten our loved ones who were forced away from your shores and those who rest beneath your soil. May those precious memories and our love for our fatherland, infused in us by our families, be passed on to our posterity and to all future generations of Armenians.