Jade From His Father's Father

A friend had just introduced me to Nevzat * and the three of us were sitting in front of his shop having a tea.  His thick black eyebrows were well paired with his dark and kind eyes.  I was told that Nevzat was Yezidi and I was keenly interested to learn his story.

“And you are Yezidi?” I asked.  Nevzat smiled.  From around his neck and under his shirt he pulled out a silver Zoroastrian symbol adopted by some Yezidis as a mark of their religion.  He looked around and suggested that we needed to be more discreet in saying the word “Yezidi,” a warning he repeated over the following days.

I was once again in southeastern Turkey, stopping by for a few days on my way home from Iraqi Kurdistan.

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The fate of the Yezidis in Turkey was sealed 30 years ago when they were caught between the hammer and the anvil of the Kurdish separatist guerillas and the Turkish military.  Almost the entire Yezidi population of 30,000, already greatly diminished, emigrated to Europe.

A few remained in their villages, including Rojhat and her family.

  

Some emigrants such as Ibrahim, have recently begun to return to their villages for the summer months.  (see November 2009 entry in this blogsite).

 

And still others like Mezdar stayed in Turkey his family having become Muslim.

The majority who left Turkey, however,  have found their new lives elsewhere, like Ahmut and his family in Germany.

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And then there is 35-year old Nevzat, a Kurd raised as a Muslim, seeking the religion of his father’s father.

His grandfather was Yezidi who became Muslim.  Although Nevzat didn't know the circumstances,  the “acceptance” of Islam would have been an act of survival in an overwhelming Muslim environment.  Nevzat was raised Muslim, but around the time of his grandfather’s death in the mid-1990s he became curious about the Yezidi religion.  There were clues he remembers from his grandfather, Nevzat said although he was not specific.  (I imagined the grandfather secretly lighting candles on Wednesday and Friday nights, much like the stories of New Mexico’s Crypto Jews lighting candles in their homes on the Jewish Sabbath.)

Eventually Nevzat discussed his interest in Yezidi’ism with his father, a respected Muslim Kurd.  It was a practical, not a spiritual discussion, he said.  His father was concerned about the reprisal of discrimination - if not persecution - by the Muslim Kurdish community, should the family’s Yezidi heritage become known.  Following his father’s advice, Nevzat has proceeded with discretion over the years.

He studied my photographs of Yezidi temples, shrines, and friends; and, listened intently as I passed on some of what I had learned and experienced over the years.

The night before leaving, I showed him the two talismans I keep with me during my travels:  A St. Christopher’s medal given to me by my mother: and, a plain silver ring given to me in 2010 by a young impoverished Yezidi sheikh working in a rundown hotel in Iraq.  Nevzat studied them intently.

Without a word he went into his shop.  Soon he emerged, holding his fisted right hand to his chest.  He hesitated a moment before sitting down next to me and then slowly opened his hand to reveal a pebble-sized piece of polished jade.  I looked at it and then at him.

“This is for you, Robert,” he said.  “My grandfather gave it to me just before he died 20 years ago.  He told me that someday I will meet someone who my heart will tell me I must give it to. I give it to you.”

After a long pause of warm silence, I feebly tried to refuse the gift.  I knew what the outcome of the attempt would be. 

I put the jade, ring, and medal into the small pouch, which with certain attention, I put into my shirt pocket over my heart.  We nodded and had another glass of amber tea.

(* All names have been changed;  identifying details have been omitted or altered.)

Anton and Surp Giragos Church - Diyarbakir, Turkey

On May 6, 2002, I wrote:
“The Armenian church was frightening in its decaying sadness and squalor. Inside the compound where 2 Armenian families lived stood a monumental skeleton of the former church, its stone arches standing naked in regimental order.

“The old man, likely shrinking in size every day, led me through the muddy and garbage strewn courtyard to a small building. He unlocked the blue door, the only splash of color to be seen, and ushered me into a small church.

“Anton turned on the lights, but it was still dark, all the windows long since permanently boarded up. It looked like mildew, but it didn't smell like it. It was fresh and cool. Wide-cuffed tan-and-brown frocks with large metal crosses attached to the shoulders hung on one wall; near-dead crimson gantlets were piled on a small table; and, bibles in varying states of disuse were stacked in two nearby alcoves.

“Anton busied himself straightening up remnants of past lives while I tried to absorb it all. The alter area was a garage sale of Virgin Mary memorabilia. I felt that if I touched anything it would crumble into dust. But of course I did, and of course it did not.

“The future of the church's community is already past.”

March 19, 2012

I knock on the thick steel door in a back passageway of Diyarbakir's old city enclosed in its massive basaltic walls. I knew the way well having returned many times over the years. But now there are two gleaming brass door knobs circled in curvacious Armenian letters. A young man comes, and after a short introduction he welcomes me in, closing and locking the door behind us.

Although I knew that Surp (Saint) Giragos church had just undergone a complete restoration, I was unprepared.

Diyarbakir's past dominant cultures is a literal Who's Who of Anatolian/Middle Eastern empires, from the Hurrians 5,000 years ago and likely before, continuing uninterrupted through the Ottoman Empire. Overlooking the Tigris River it is now the largest city in Kurdish-dominated southeastern Turkey.

Periods of history bore witness to vibrant Armenian populations as late as the waning days of the Ottoman Empire, and largely ending with their genocide in 1915. The remnant Armenian community essentially left the city in the 1990s due to political and economic reasons, some relocating to Istanbul, others to Europe.

Surp Giragos church, originally constructed in the 16th century, was the largest church in the region and particular in its 7 alters. It was rebuilt several times through the centuries, and following WWI it was used by the Turkish state as a military depot and other secular purposes. The church was repatriated to the Armenians in the 1960's; in the nineties its flat earth-covered roof collapsed.

Its restoration began in 2009 and was principally funded by a foundation created for this purpose, and the municipality of Diyarbakir led by its Kurdish mayor. The Armenian Patriarchate from Istanbul officiated the internationally attended consecration mass in October, 2011. There has not been another service held in the church since.

How many Armenians remain in Diyarbakir? Hasan, one of the two young Muslim Kurds caretakers, tells me, “Maybe there are 15, but I don't really know.” Later in the compound I share a tulip-shaped cup of amber tea with an Armenian man and his daughter. He is from Siverek, 90 kms to the east. “In Diyarbakir? No, there are not any here. They have all left.”

Hasan allows me to visit the small chapel I visited 10 years ago. He unlocks the blue door and light streams in. Although swept clean and empty, it smells the same.

I knew that Anton had moved to Istanbul in 2004 due to poor health. I ask about him. He is still in Istanbul but his health continues to fail, I am told. He is blind and can no longer speak.

But Surp Giragos glories in its restoration.

Postscript - The Bell Rings On

On November 4th, 2012 the new bell, the church's first since 1915, was to be rung. I visited Surp Giragos two weeks prior and admired the impressive100 kg bell that waited to be hoisted up the still-under-construction bell tower.  

I returned the day before the natal ringing of the bell.  A gathering was a foot.  I spoke with a Canadian Armenian who arrived just that morning for the celebration.  He was tired but seemed at home.  The bell hung unseen above looking down on squads of workers scurrying with intent.   

I was unable to stay on, but I am sure the Armenian Patriarchate from Istanbul got along just fine without me.

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(December, 2013)  from Al-Monitor:
http://asbarez.com/117363/turkey%E2%80%99s-kurds-seek-forgiveness-for-part-in-genocide/

(January 2015) from the New Yorker:
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/letter-from-turkey