The Armenian Congregational Church of Greater Detroit has long established itself as a very welcoming place to visit, be it for church services or as a guest at one of their well-planned social functions.

This tradition was perpetuated by Rev. Dr. Vahan H. Tootikian, Pastor Emeritus and Mrs. Rosette Tootikian, and continues with Pastor Shant Barsoumian.

Dinner guests were warmly welcomed by their annual Thanksgiving Dinner Banquet on Nov. 20.

The dining room was particularly eye appealing with elegantly set tables with white cloths, china, and crystal. Chairs too had been slipcovered in white with a fall colored sash tied on the back with a bow. Tables were centered with holiday themed centerpieces. Adding to this attractive ambiance was the wonderful fragrance of a flavorful meal filling the room. Who, after all, does not anticipate the culinary expertise of a well-prepared Thanksgiving dinner?

Two hundred guests were not disappointed. Mrs. Nancy Berschbach offered a brief welcome and the Rev. Shant Barsoumian offered the invocation appropriately thanking the Lord for the beautiful gift to be consumed on this special day of giving thanks, including in his words to the wise, “May we show gratitude in our words and actions, Paree Aghorjag.”

Mr. Rodney Keteyan, Board of Trustees chairman welcomed guests cordially, on their behalf. He was followed by the talented Mrs. April Tini singing “Bless This House,” appropriate for this special day when all of us take stock realizing how fortunate we are to be safely together in a church dining hall.

Dr. Taline Hagopian sang a favorite of Rev. Dr. Tootikian: “Hyegagan Yegeghetzi.” (The Armenian Church)

It was a young group of select acapella classic singers from West Bloomfield High School called “Laker Express” who were an entertainment hit. Their perfect blend of voices brought much applause and smile to the choir’s youthful faces.

The clergy gave the Benediction and the formal program concluded with everyone joining in “Hayr Mer.”

Dessert and coffee was an offering of an elaborate array of sweets and fruit. If you imagined it, it was there for the choosing on that long banquet table, of course including pumpkin pie—no sweet tooth was left wanting.

It takes much cooperative effort to accomplish any successful event such as this one, the kickoff holiday to the celebration of the birth of Lord Jesus Christ.

Sponsors were Mr. and Mrs. Michael and Tamar Kodian, and Mr. and Mrs. Mark and Ann Zartarian. The Sweet table was in loving memory of Dr. George Kodian by his wife, children, and grandchildren.

It was the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service that really sets the flavor for those who look forward to the service offered by the Armenian Congregational Church each Christmas Eve.

The candlelight service begins at 7:30 p.m. offering a respite from the hustle and bustle that precedes this welcome evening service.

The alter is banked with a multitude of poinsettias and wreaths. It sets the dignity deserving of the Lord’s holy birth – an organ prelude begins the call to worship and parishioners song “It Comes Upon the Midnight Clear.” Then Rev. Shant Barsoumian gave introductory remarks saying, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” The people responded, “They lived in a land of shadows, but now light is shining on them.”

Pastor Baroumian then lit the Christmas candle. Scripture readings were done by Marian Flanagan, Frances Garabedian, Ovsanna DerVartanian, Carole Basmasdjian, and Harry Berberian. Rev. Barsoumian delivered Christmas messages.

The sanctuary lights were lowered for the candle lighting ceremony. The pastor lit his candle from the central light of Christ, the Light of the world. He then passed the light to the ushers from whom the people took a candle, lit, and circled the church. The Benediction followed.

Mrs. Susan Harrison was the choir director and organist.

Services were followed by a light reception sponsored by the Board of Deacons.

When the need for an organ transplant is the medical diagnosis, it is understandable the patient and their caregiver are facing a very stressful situation.

Nick Pompeian (Photo: postbulletin.com)

Birmingham, Mich. resident Edward Pompeian was having serious health issues and it was suggested to his mother Helen (Nazarian) Pompeian to take her son to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minn. and her mother’s love guided her to do just that.

Helen Pompeian was an active member of the Pontiac, Mich. “Ani” chapter of the Armenian Relief Society (ARS). She was an attractive, vivacious blonde, dedicated to her family and Armenian heritage. Along with her son Edward, her daughter, and his nephew, in 1972 Helen decided the move Rochester should be permanent.

It was in 1973 that Ed received his first kidney transplant with his mother Helen being the donor and a second kidney transplant in 2004 from his son.

Ed founded Gift of Life Transplant House in 1984. His vision and mission was to provide Mayo Clinic transplant patients with high quality affordable accommodations in a supportive homelike environment providing room and board for $30. A day to the transplant patient and one caregiver for as long as needed whether or not they could pay anything.

My good friend Helen passed away five years ago, but her kindness and love of mankind was inherited by her son Edward and his son Nick who now is President of the executive Committee of Gift of Life Transplant House Board of Directors serving one and a half years of a two year term.

Nick Pompeian, 30, in addition to owning a successful commercial real estate company works with the Gifts of Life Staff. “I love any occurring disputes on a management level as well as doing public relations. I talk to groups about our association with the Mayo Clinic and the importance of donations to enhance The Gifts of Life assistance to patient’s well being,” said Nick. “It doesn’t matter if they can or cannot pay. Patients stay and care is guaranteed. We want to do everything possible to alleviate as much stress on them as we can.”

His father Edward started with an eight-bedroom facility for transplant patients and now it has grown to two locations across from each other with 84 rooms. Both facilities are located on Second Street SW.

The home located at 705 Second Street has been named to Gift of Life Transplant House: Edward and Jayne Pompeian Home. The couple have continued to be involved with the houseguests in many ways, saying “It is a special gift to leave a legacy to our children, grandchildren, and future transplant recipients.”

What a magnanimous accomplishment this young man Edward Pompeian of Armenian American heritage has done for his fellow man.

A major gift was given to Gift of Life Transplant House by the Anne and Henry Zarrow Foundation, the 724 house well be named in their honor.

Nick Pompeian proudly explains, “Dad founded the Gift of Life Transplant House, the first of its kind in the country and the largest hospitality house in the nation. Two others have come to existence, one in Scottsdale, Az., and the other in Jacksonville, Fla. Our board was instrumental to share information with them.” He stressed the importance of donations.

Nick Pompeian added, “The success rate for the transplants is increasingly higher than previously. New improved technology has made transplants very successful. Helen Pompeian’s friendly personality made her an important asset to Transplant House. She visited patients, listened to their stories, and she offered them solace, understanding and encouragement, a friendly ear. She was a comfort to the patients.

I told Nick I believe your grandmother must be above observing our conversation and laughing in approval. She always spoke of her grandchildren and how attentive they were to her.

Nick is a lot like his grandmother—confident and out going but then I got a real surprise from him. He told me, “I went to Armenia this past October with my parents, sister Adrienna, my Aunt and Uncle, the Mardigian.” The Mardigians are a prominent metro Detroit family who had made a substantial donation to FAR (Fund for Armenian Relief) to build schools in Armenia. He said, “they have donated generously to Armenian’s needs and on this trip they received the Medial of Honor from His Holiness Karekin II Catholicos of All Armenians for all they have done. I got to shake the Catholicos’s hand and I had my picture taken with him. I absolutely loved my visit to Armenia. It was a life changing experience. It was an honor to have that connection. It was very emotional and put things in perspective. How lucky we are to live here in America. Sometimes we get caught up in material wants, but it’s faith, family, and friends that are the most important. I plan on returning every other year. I want to visit Karabagh next. We visited the Tavush District, Berd, Holy Etchmiadzin, and Yerevan. We traveled with the FAR board members and then we traveled on our won with a FAR representative. We were there ten days. We also visited Lake Sevan and Garni.”

I asked Nick what his emotional reaction was when he landed in Yerevan and he replied: “I imagined it but it was like a dream. It was so beautiful. My family—we are all proud Armenians. I hope every Armenian wants to visit Armenia. The experience makes you proud to be Armenian.”

Edward and Jayne Pompeian are to be congratulated for the Gift of Life Transplant House and for blank Nick, seemingly a perfect fir for his position on its Board of Directors.

Fundraising events are held throughout the year to benefit Transplant House.

Transplants have been instrumental in saving lives and it could be your life that is saved.

To donate the address is:

Gift of Life Transplant House
705 Second St., Southwest,
Rochester, Minn. 55902

They also could be found on Facebook.

Looking back, you wonder in amazement where the two years since his passing on March 1, 2015, have gone. They seem to have evaporated like your spirit to carry on.  But live you must, and only you know the true reasons for hanging on.

‘But live you must, and only you know the true reasons for hanging on.’ (Photo: Cristian Newman)

Well-meaning friends say, “take one day at a time,” as if there is anything else you can do.

It was sudden. The phone rang after midnight awakening me from a fitful sleep.

You instantly know it cannot be good news. The voice on the other end said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you your husband passed away at 12:15 a.m,” leaving me in shock and despair.

I was alone up north, isolated and unbelieving of the news I had just received. Death has been something I’ve always feared. No amount of attending church sustained me with reassurance there was a Heaven and that we would be with our loved ones again.

My husband had smiled at me as I was leaving that afternoon for much needed rest. He asked if I would return the next day. I thought that was odd and I replied: “of course.” We parted with what would be our last kiss and a goodbye.

I cannot recall the sequence of events that followed, but I notified my sons downstate and the funeral home. Even at this point I don’t really want to rethink it all; about how all alone, I proceeded to put things in order for his funeral. We got through it, but I know I could never have gotten through a regular funeral with viewing and people streaming by. This was a private funeral. He was a private man.

Other widows are left to deal with the aftermath of losing their mate to a long, drawin-out sickness, or a sudden death. Neither is of consolation. They are left to deal with the reality of losing their lover, confidant, and best friend. They all admit to much sobbing and loneliness. Having family helps but eventually they say when they are alone, the desolation hits them hard. They tell me each day is a challenge as the memories of life as it was flood their minds and some days they are paralyzed with fear. They also are told things will get better as time passes.

As for me, I drove back up north alone the day after the funeral. I had never been alone throughout my life. As an Armenian girl brought up in our traditional fashion, I lived with my parents until I married and then lived with my husband. The only time we were apart in 52 years of marriage was when I was persuaded to go to Ireland for two weeks with a Dubliner fellow real estate agent. She knew how hard I worked to succeed. I finally gave in to her, realizing I needed relief from the constant stress. So in 1992, my Irish friend and I landed at Dublin airport and I loved the Emerald Isle.

I always wanted to return to Ireland with my husband, but it was never to be.

Asking widows to express how they feel is a sensitive subject. Each and every one had the same thing to say: “I am lonely, so very lonely. I lost my life’s companion, never thinking death would be so difficult to deal with.”

The widows are overcome with grief when they recall the times they shared with their husbands. Laughing comes hard. They look at their wedding photos, amazed at how young they appeared. They recall the wedding ceremonies, the receptions full of family and friends. It brings solace, but still the tears flow. Where did those years go? Some of the widows are firm in their faith that they’ll be with their mate again one day—a few were hesitant to believe it but hoped it was true.

These women experience the ups and downs life throws at us all. They seemed to be resilient. Some have decided to fill the emptiness with volunteer work, some have joined card clubs and bowling leagues, others have devoted time to baking at church for bazaars and picnics.

It is bad enough to become an adult orphan when our parents die, but some have lost siblings and even a child. Death is a part of life and can be cruel when the loss sustained is young.

They all agree loneliness is the hardest part of being a widow. Many have had to take on new tasks like pumping gas, getting a lawn and snow removal service, having a new roof put on, getting estimates for foundation problems on the house, and of course writing all the notes of appreciation to those who had attended the funeral and paid respect to their families in other ways.

Some of these women—now alone—are fortunate, as they claim to feel the presence of their deceased husband in their home; they feel as if they are guiding them in many ways, which brings peace and serenity.

Death is a part of life, a path all humans must follow. It is a journey—not an end, but a new beginning into another world with God. They are there waiting for us widows and widowers alike.

Our hearts are heavy. Smiles come with difficulty. It is, as they say, “one day at a time.”

During my recent church attendance, I found the Der Hayr’s sermon very interesting, since it expanded on a topic I had written a column about several years ago: broken alliances between relatives and friends.

‘If any one group of people could use a lesson on humility, brotherly love, and an adjustment of Christian attitude, it could be right there in that particular church.’ (Photo: Stefan Kunze)

Hard feelings between people seems to be an impossibility to overcome, but the leader of the flock this Lenten Sunday was emphatic in his instruction to the faithful that bygones should be forgiven and Christian brotherhood was the biblical order of the day. I wonder how many took heed and actually complied or they simply thought it applies to others, thinking smugly: “It applies to others. I’m in church almost every Sunday.” Some of the most guilty are.

If any one group of people could use a lesson on humility, brotherly love, and an adjustment of Christian attitude, it could be right there in that particular church. I’ve been reassured by others the problem exists in other ethnic groups as well, leaving me to wonder in the case of the Armenians could it be a result of being subjected to being treated like second class citizens and worse for hundreds of years under successive Seljuk, Ottoman, and Turkish rule.

Those 1,500,000 Armenians who were raped, sliced open, hacked to death, looted, beaten, tortured, and completely demoralized, were part of all of us without inception. That genocide of 1915 and the subjugation in previous decades should have driven the victim Armenians closer. The suffering Armenians were described as a close knit clan of people representing one big family and above all the church was supposed to be a family refuge a place where everyone clung together, as place to turn to in time of need and desperation.

Some of the biggest offenders, gossipers are in church every Sunday. What better place to catch up on the mishappenings of the week? I looked around to see if any ears were burning, or if eyes were watering but no—the priest’s words were for others. Frequent church attendance couldn’t possibly apply to them. Why do they even take Holy Communion without impunity? But God is watching us all.

To his credit, the priest is apparently aware that many animosities exist among his flock. His message of good will was clear that as of “right now” make an attempt to clear the bad air be it with brother, sister, parents, or in personal friendships and with anyone you are on the outs. There was no chaotic rush in the sanctuary to do so. Maybe at the time it was food for thought.

If the broken friendship is the result of money being the culprit, it pretty much is a hopeless case. Selective memory comes into play and “I don’t remember that” is an easy out.

I talk to enough people to unequivocally say each and every person is on the outs with someone. So Der Hayrs, good luck with that sermon to forgive. Your intention is admirable.

The Kiss of Peace portion of the Badarak should be taken seriously, it is not to be a mockery. The matter of jealousy, competition, and anger is an unflattering reality of the clan.

For some church attendance is as rare as a Canadian who doesn’t know what a hockey puck is.

Some of the nicest, kindest, people possess clean hearts, a rare breed who seldom if ever attend a church, who do not gossip or denigrate their fellow humans. They are there for those in need, and truly would give you the shirt off their back.

I recall a former area priest, Rev. Fr. Daron Stepanian usually stating at a community event (as a matter of fact it was a Lenten luncheon) how unimportant it was for neighbors to be on good terms with each other. His words were wise and logical.

Hopefully Der Hayr’s fervent pleads for rendering ailing friendships will be heeded and starting with the post Badarak coffee hour that should not be an appointment to pass juicy gossip tidbits about heresy over a coffee and doughnut about a community member. We are all guilty but as they say, “If the shoe fits…”

A sweet tongue will get a snake out of its hiding place is well and good, but who wants to deal with a snake? In Armenian it is translated like this: “Anoush lezoun otzuh pouynen guh haneh.”

Kill them with buttery pilaf and kindness one person said; “silence is golden” rings true. “Think twice before you speak”—it does pay to take the high road before resorting to a rude or nosey person.

Sometimes you just have to give it right back.

It was the annual Lenten luncheon sponsored by the Women’s Christian Fellowship of the Armenian Congregational Church of Southfield, Mi. on Friday April 7. It is always a well-attended event by all segments of the Armenian community.

Mrs. Carole Basmadjian graciously welcomed guests to the church’s dining hall beautifully outfitted for a sit down dinner fitting the occasion. She invited Pastor Shant Barsoumian to give the Invocation as he declared, “May Holy Week, the Resurrection of our Lord be a blessing for us all.” He added, “His sacrifice guides us. We must remember his sacrifice always and especially as we shortly will be approaching Holy Week, the Feast of the Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Crist.”

The Lenten menu consisted of Vospov Kufte, baked cod, salad, halva, and Lenten Cookies, a traditional Armenian menu appropriate for the occasion.

Mrs. Basmadjian welcomed Deacon Ms. Ovsanna Dervartanian to speak about Armenian Lenten traditions. She explained prior to Lent, Armenians were in a celebratory mood, eating whatever they desired, and having good fun times. “When Lent starts people then lived a quiet life and restricted their food consumption, including abstaining from food of animal flesh or any product produced by animals. The Lent period starts with seven Sundays. It signifies when Adam and Eve were thrown out of the Garden of Eden. Ms. Dervartanian gave an explanation of the seven Sundays and their significance.

Included in the past lunch program were two songs sung by Mrs. Kathryn Charles accompanied by pianist Mrs. Susan Harrison. The musical selections included “Here I am Lord and “Come To Jesus.” Lyrics were uplifting, “I will provide ‘til their hearts are satisfied” and “sometimes the road is lonely and filled with pain, so cry to Jesus and live.. because when we walk sometimes we fall, so we call on Jesus.”

Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian, Pastor Emeritus invited all the clergy to join him in giving the Benediction. He always refers to them as his brothers in Christ. Each clergyman gave a brief blessing, which was followed by everyone rising to sing “Hayr Mer.”

Participating clergy included Very Rev. Fr. Diran Papazian of St. John’s Armenian Apostolic Church, Rev. Shant Barsoumian of the Armenian Congregational Church, Rev. Hrant Kevorkian of St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church, Badveli Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian, Pastor Emeritus of the Armenian Congregational Church and Fr. Mikael Bassale, St. Vartan Armenian Catholic Church.

We need to be mindful of how taxing Easter Holy Week is on our own clergy. Services can last up to three to four hours beginning on Holy Tuesday, for the Feast of Ten Virgins, Maundy Thursday of Washing of the Feet ceremony, Good Friday for the Service of Entombment, Holy Saturday, Scripture Reading and Easter Even Divine Liturgy, and finally Easter Sunday with morning services and Divine Liturgy.

We need to be grateful to our clergy who are steeped in tradition knowing grabar Armenian carrying on their Christian duty to us in memory of all our saints, martyrs, holy men, and Catholicoi.

Lent was marked by another appropriate Lenten Dinner. It was at St. John’s American Apostolic Church of Southfield, Mich. The dinner was blessed by Hayr Sourp. A crowd of 175 people feasted on a delicious lobster dinner with drown butter, potatoes, corn, and salad followed by sake and ice cream to honor a young parishioner’s 16^th birthday.

In the Armenian Church a Home Blessing is done after Christmas and Easter by the visiting clergy who bring blessings of God to the family members, to the bread, salt and to the water of the house. These are the vital elements for human existence. Contact your clergymen to make an appointment.

We celebrate Easter as a victory over death. Satan came to tempt Jess but he relied on the word of God to keep him strong.

Greeter: “Kreesdos haryav ee merrelotz”

(Christ is risen from the dead)

Responder: “Ohrnyal eh harrootyunn Kristosee”

(Blessed is the Resurrection of Christ)

***

One of the highlights of attending Armeinan functions are the meet and greet aspects of folks you see infrequently. Such as the case with sisters Zoe Dakesian and Sally Tarpinian with whom I chatted at Armenian Congregational Lenten lunch, formerly of Massena, N.Y. Both ladies have great memories of Massena as a one-time strong Armenian community with Survivor Generation owners of grocery stores, dry cleaners, barber shops, and other businesses. “How did they do it with no language skill?” and they replied, “They just did it. They wanted to be self employed.” Bravo, Massena!

Dr. Melissa Bilal recently lectured at the Rev. Dr. Vahan H. Tootikian Hall, Armenian Congregational Church Southfield, Mich. She drew a large audience curious to become informed about her most interesting object of research. Her topic: “Voice Signatures: Recordings of Russian Armenian POWs in German Camps, 1916-1918.”

Voice Signatures: Recordings of Russian Armenian POWs in German Camps, 1916-1918

Dr. Bilal is a petite Armenian dynamo, dedicated to many aspects of Armenian history.

It was unknown if these Armenian detainees were aware that if during their captivity the Armenian Genocide was taking place. Were they married, were they single, did they have children and what was the eventual outcome of their captivity, is not known.

During WWI the initially secret Royal Prussian Phonographic Commission made recording of prisoners of war held in different camps across German territories, among those were Armenian soldiers from the Russian Empire with the intent to establish an archive.

It was a sentimental journey which Dr. Bilal took her audience on giving them the opportunity to hear the voices of fellow Hyes held German prisoners one hundred years ago. It just brought to mind how much more Armenians have suffered. As detainees in a prisoner of war camp, they were a captive audience for the Prussian Phonographic Commission.

Dr.  Bilal was no stranger to German culture. She worked at a the Orient Institute in Istanbul doing research as part of her project to prepare an album of the POWs. The audience was requested to not record any of the detainee’s voices.

Dr. Bilal said all these men declared themselves as Armenians even though they all spoke several languages. They were bilingual in Georgian and Turkish as well as Armenian. They did declare Armenian was their mother tongue.

So we were taken back to those dark days of the early 1900s to hear the songs of these imprisoned men, who mostly were identified as members of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation.

Ms. Bilal plays the flute but proclaims “not professionally.” The music of the men were lullabyes, patriotic songs, and love songs.

During her research in Berlin, she was looking for evidence of Komitas Vartabed, who had studied there in the late 1890s. The musicologist scholar was instrumental in collecting Armenian lullabies and village songs, an extremely important endeavor to preserve the music categories of all Armenians before his arrest in 1915, eventual release, and death in Paris in 1935.

In searching the Berlin archives, Dr. Bilal found Armenian hand-written notes, music and signatures of Armenian men. She says, “I was speechless, I wanted to hear their voices.”

Replicas of cylinders were made. In 2015 she first heard their voices. They sang in Turkish, Georgian, in addition to Armenian. “It had an emotional impact on me when I heard the first song. Remember, this was from one hundred years ago,” she said.

It was not a new area of music, all were connected. “I started reading about the notes on the documents how war and anthropology are connected.”

The difficult names of Germans were given who headed the musicology school.

These detainees suffered from malnutrition. They were forced to work in labor camps.

One prisoner, Avetis Ovanesov, 24, a shoemaker born in Sushi, stated on March 11, 1916: “Armenians were in camp hospitals” speaks Armenians and Russian. Another POW: “Take my news to Hamo” others were Ovanes Berikyants and Ruben Ter Khachatoryan whom I am mentioning for the sake of posterity.

In the ethnographic collection, she played ten recordings. Lyrics – “Water comes from places and your rivers destroy… No one knows my sorrow.” Another, “You are a rose, I am a nightingale.” Love is a constant even in a German prison camp. Meghk (pity) Whose sons were they? Armenian mothers are eternally damned to lose their beloved sons.

Levon Tergrigoryantz “My beloved who is a flower in the Heaven. This is the one I love.”

Aramin yerkuh (Aram’s song) devoted to Aram Aramyan who was executed in 1899. He wants his watch to go to his mother, his ring to his sister.

The voices in these songs connect us to these men our ancestors. Most of the songs were Dashnaktzakan (ARF) songs. They even were singing songs of Sassoun. They expressed themselves in different languages.

Dr. Bilal said, “These are pieces of life.” She discovered these POW recordings five years ago. She is deep in research of other kinds. “These is always research to be done. There is a long journey ahead. The archives were a mess although Germans are organized people.”

Dr. Melissa Bilal is a Visiting Scholar of History at MIT. She holds a Ph.d in music from the University of Chicago. At Columbia University she was a Mellon Postdoctoral Teaching Fellow in music and the Ordjanian Visiting Professor. She also taught in Bogazici University’s History Dept. She prepared the cd “Voice Signatures: Recordings of Russian Armenians POWs in German Camps, 1916-1918 (Forthcoming in 2017)

She currently is collaborating with Dr. Lerna Ekmekcioglu on a project titled “Feminism in Armenia” focusing on twelve prominent Armenian women writers born in the Ottoman Empire.

This lecture was cosponsored by the Armenians Research Center University of Michigan-Dearborn, Cultural Society of Armenians from Istanbul and the Armenian Congregational Church.

Dr. Bilal’s preparation and informative content was excellent and another glimpse into the misfortune of Armenia’s geographic location.

Thank you to Joseph and Julie Rosendo. Shad shnorakal enk. To think I saw the film The Promise and the Rosendo’s Tracelscope Part I and II within a week has sent me into shish kebab heaven.

Rosendo at Noravank in Armenia (Photo: travelscope.net)

Imagine my excitement while surfing late night TV channels and discovering on Detroit Public Television that the Rosendos have traveled to Armenia. Yes, Armenia—the often neglected country not visited by travel filmmakers and “fair and balanced” news shows.

Armenia, the thousands-of-years-old country of our ancestors, which in 1991 became an independent republic for the second time, finally ridding itself of the Soviet yoke.

One cannot get effusive enough in appreciation but accolades to Joseph and Julie Rosendothe husband and wife team—and their filming entourage for their production on Armenia. Let’s hope this exposure will generate more tourism for that struggling country’s economy.

I was sitting in my gisheranots (nightgown) watching Joseph Rosendo bravely sipping that potent Armenian spirit called oghi and doing the circle dance in Yerevan on a sunny day. Mr. Rosendo in particular looked like a pro, moving his body and head to the rhythmic infectious beat of Armenian village music played by a group of men.

While Joseph produces, writes, and narrates the show, wife Julie assists as co-producer, photographer, and in public relations. They have an able staff who make it all come to fruition.

Mrs. Rosendo responded to my phone message about my elated happiness about their Armenian film presentation saying, “We truly loved Armenia, wish we could back. I’m saving your message for Joseph to hear.”

With future broadcast repeat information in hand, I quickly spread the news, including to the Manoogian Day School, for them to see that Armenia is finally getting recognition.

I remember when I was a youth I would eagerly scan the credits of a film or TV show for an –ian name only to be disappointed.

I watched the 10:30 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. rebroadcasts to breathe it all in and to take notes. The photography was beautiful; the narration by Joseph was well researched and presented. He and his crew provide excellent travelogues on all their presentations such as Rwanda (including information about the country’s wildlife and the 1994 genocide), South Africa, and Australia, etc.

The focus always includes a country’s history, customs, archeological sites, and interaction with locals, especially in their marketplaces and bazaars, with additional focus on artisanal crafts and special celebrations.

Many important Armenian sites were featured, including the beautiful, majestic Mount Ararat, which will always be identified with Armenia regardless of its so called present boundary with Turkey.

Archeological sites and digs were visited in Erebuni. Rosendo walked through the remains of the royal palace from 780 B.C.

Yerevan changed hands many times with the invasion of the Mongols, Persians, Byzantines, but their sacrifice made the Armenians resilient.

Without an ounce of fear, Rosendo said it loud and clear: “The Ottoman Turks committed a genocide against the Armenians 1915-1922, killing more than 1,500,000 Christian Armenians. In 1923 it meant you were dead or in exile. They began to continue the killing of Armenians they began in the 1890s.” I stiffened with admiration for Rosendo for that most important historic fact he declared bravely for all to hear.

He made a solemn visit to the eternal flame memorial to the Armenian martyrs. How beautiful it was to hear the Armenian woman singing “Ter Voghormya” just as it is sung every Sunday in the Badarak (Armenian Holy Mass).

He described Armenia as a country of rocks: “One-half of Armenia is mountains.” He visited Aragats. The Armenian art form of Khachkars (cross stones) in a cemetery became the focus, it was to assure entry into Heaven. The carved wheel on a Khachkar was a symbol of eternity.

He showed Lake Sevan and the St. Asdvadazin 11^th century Armenian Apostolic Church, stating Armenia had hundreds of churches and monasteries, many in very remote locations. He also visited Medzamor.

The centuries -old Haghpat monastery was shown with a baptism taking place proving religious worship has returned to the nation that in 301 A.D. became the first nation to accept Christianity.

The camera showed the amazing beauty of Armenia—its mountains, distant churches, villages, and its people located on the old silk road.

Viewers were told that evidence of civilization existed in Armenia as early as the Stone and Bronze ages. The now famous old leather shoe was shown from thousands of years ago.

“Voila!”  Exclaimed Rosendo as Armenian women rolled out traditional lavash (bread), slapping it against the hot tonir (oven) to bake within seconds.

He toured a bustling Yerevan market place of goods and culture showing a booth full of pomegranate shaped items. They had a cultural connection, Armenia is a pomegranate state, reflecting marriage and fertility. Displayed too were obsidian volcanic glass beads and necklaces. He said, “Markets are to meet people.”

Rosendo visited a private home in a village where oriental rugs are still made on a wooden loom, not like the present day machine made rugs. The 4×6 rug that was being woven would wholesale for $1,000. “Armenian rug designs live on as a craft long identified with Armenian culture,” he said.

The travelogue included the thorough cleaning and washing of a sacrificed lamb, but thankfully not the actual slaying of the animal. The meat was for madagh shared by everyone. All parts of the lamb is used, even hats are made from it. When Rosendo asked about the custom, he was told, “We believe in sanctity.”

a traditional Armenian scene? A table full of Armenian men and joseph eating, laughing, drinking oghi, known as Armenian vodka.

He said, “Present day Yerevan belies its turbulent history. The Rosendos gave us a two-part glimpse of our homeland.

As a result of the genocide, those exiles are found all around the world… But all our eyes remain turned toward Ararat and Armenia.

I wish to thank the Rosendos and their crew for visiting Armenia and putting her on public television. Also shown was a fountain that if you threw a coin into it, meant you would return to Armenia. How proud you made the Armenians—“this small nation that no one can destroy.”

Part I and II of the show’s DVDs are available at $19.95 each or $45.85 for both (includes shipping and handling). The episodes can also be streamed on Amazon.

Mail to: Travelscope, P.O. box 519, Topanga, Calif. 90290   
phone: 888- 876-3399

I usually have some idea of how I’m going to spend my day when I arise in the morning, but on Monday, July 17, 2017, I had no idea I would make my destination the Great Lakes National Cemetery in Holly, Mich., about an hour’s drive on I-75, to visit my husband Bob’s gravesite.

Great Lakes National Cemetery

I knew there was a lot of road construction on I-75, and I discovered an alternate route—which, to my surprise, was quicker. Once I got past Clarkston, the landscape became more like that of northern Michigan. The only negative was that I was driving alone. No matter how new your car is, as a woman you have concerns about mechanical breakdowns. But, fortunately, the trip was smooth.

As instructed, I took Dixie Highway to a dirt road called Belford, and before I knew it, to my surprise, in the distance I could see thousands of white grave markers glinting in the sunshine on a perfect 80-degree day. On the flag-lined road entering the cemetery premises, a chill came over me, just thinking about the soldiers of every religion and nationality resting here who had served this magnificent nation to preserve freedom and the American way of life.

The perfectly blue sky above held fluffy white clouds as I turned left into the cemetery. As usual, several funerals were being conducted, and mourners alighted from cars and hearses. The sound of the honor guard firing three rounds from rifles was sobering, marking as it does the conclusion of a person’s funeral.

It brought back the memory of Bob’s military funeral on that very cold March day in 2015, and then the mournful yet lovely sound of “Taps.” The flag is folded by two military volunteers and handed to the widow. The ceremonial gunfire conjured up the emotional atmosphere that had me fumbling in my purse for tissues to dry my tears.

I located Section 11 and noticed all the sod had been removed for a renovation project, and so the walkway between the markers was too narrow to accommodate my walker. I waved down a worker using a golf cart. I explained my plight, telling him that Bob’s grave site was many rows back. He volunteered to locate the site for me, and stationed two workers to remain there until I arrived.

That same gentleman walked with me while cautioning me to be careful on the unsmooth, rough soil. I reached Bob and could not control my tears. The three workers walked a distance away to afford me privacy. I repeated the Lord’s Prayer and spoke to my husband of 52 years. Those years, like any period of a marriage, had good times and some not so good. We got through health issues and Bob’s being shot and surviving our store holdup as well as three life-threatening fires.

I told Bob, “You’ve escaped this life and left me behind to fend for myself.” No answer was forthcoming. All the while the birds kept chirping happily, oblivious to the somber atmosphere the mourners were experiencing this day at the cemetery dedicated to our fighting men and women of wartime and peace.

I noticed the workers patiently waiting for me in the hot sun to end my visit. One of them volunteered to drive my car up the private path for my convenience. They opened the car door for me and saw me get settled again, telling me to be careful as a drove down the narrow path.

All through the ordeal of these recent years I have been very fortunate to be given assistance when needed, and some of the circumstances were so unusual, so strange, that they left me with the conclusion that those helpful people were angels who had been sent to ease my way.

Thinking ahead, I parked on the road to mark the spot for my next visit. I noticed the name “Cherry” in the first row, and knew to walk back 14 rows from there.

Bob’s marker has the Armenian cross on it and says, “Robert Joseph Kessel, June 17, 1934, March 1, 2015, Loving husband, father, grandfather.” (What it did not say is that he led an Armenian life, too) I realized then that I had made a serious, unintentional mistake of omitting “son.” Too often a man’s parents are neglected. As the mother of two sons and a brother (deceased), I disdain women who upon marrying a man pull him away from his family. (I am an authority on the subject.)

I drove away and parked by the cemetery lake. Oddly enough, now it seems everyone I talk to tells me their loved ones also are resting at the Holly site. It is a wise choice. It is always perfectly groomed. It is a place where you really feel comforted. Lazy waves, created by light winds, on the water’s surface. White water lilies in bloom among the green pods. Cattail weeds along the water’s edge. Lucky mallards in groups with their newborn chicks.

Two herons crossed the road in front of me, adding to my delight and surprise.

I asked Bob, the avid fisherman and boater, if the perch were biting as well as they did at his childhood cottage on Elk Lake in Lapeer, Mich., where he and his parents had spent idyllic summers ever since Bob was four. As an only child, he had a wonderful childhood. As a young adult, he and his buddies used the cottage after summer for playing cards and sipping brews.

Let’s remember the reason for this National Cemeteries sprinkled across this great nation. (What alarms me is the number of acres set aside for future burials—thousands more.) The men and women who fought for our freedom, in whatever capacity, now have deservedly arrived at a destination of tranquility, peace and quiet; no bombs, no tanks rumbling by, no air strikes, no foxholes, no desert, no jungles. They can hear the volley of rifle tributes and “Taps” to their comrades. They are now safe and at home, alongside their fellow soldiers of the army, navy, marines, and coast guard.

They served in WWI, WWII, The Pacific, Europe, Africa, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Thank God for war correspondents like Ernie Pyle and photographers who accompanied our armed forces putting their lives on the line to record battlefield scenes; and Hollywood, too, for all the films made then and now to remind us of their valor. The folks back home could bear witness to how freedom is preserved by Americans who fought to keep us safe. The films shown in theaters stimulated American citizens to save tin cans, buy war bonds, and sacrifice certain food items so servicemen could have them.

Today, we have service men and women who are physically and mentally impaired, confined for life in VA Hospitals. Many who come home do not receive the care they need or in a timely fashion. There is disparity of service received from state to state.

Bob had decided to donate his body to science for research at the University of Michigan. We had visited this National Cemetery a year before he died; when he was hospitalized, I told him if anything were to happen to him, his final resting place would be in Holly, and he smiled broadly, nodding in approval. It was a quiet place for a quiet, nonconfrontational man. Peace, quiet, birds singing, a nearby lake… it is a perfect place to recline and at night to look up at the stars.

I often envision Bob fishing in a wooden rowboat with his father, Bert, or swinging a golf club from one fluffy cloud to another, and at those Friday night fish fries where all the neighbors at the Elk Lake cottage pooled their catches for big group dinners. That’s why we always made a nostalgic trip out there every summer without fail. One thing he didn’t get to do before passing was to fish once more time in that lake where he grew up in the summer. Now he can breathe freely again and fish to his heart’s delight.

This column was written with love and admiration for not just Robert Kessel but all the men and women who served this nation in wartime and in peace, who welcomed our immigrant exiled parents to its shores, especially during the 1915-1923 Genocide of the Armenian Nation. The first-generation children born in America to those survivors of genocide served proudly in all branches of the armed forces.

To Be Continued…

So many of our G.I.s waste away in Veteran’s Affairs (VA) hospitals—alone, lonely, forgotten by anyone who might care. Unfortunately, many do not get well enough to leave, to lead ordinary lives.

Great Lakes National Cemetery

Who better deserves top-notch medical attention than these men and women who served our country, putting life and limb on line to preserve freedom? Didn’t we always feel safe here in this country, even though we heard during World War II that the enemy had come dangerously close to our shores?

Here we are now, in the 21st century, concerned that we are being targeted by radicals in our own country determined to change the whole world. We gather at venues defying their dreams of destroying us and our way of life. They want to send us back to live in the Dark Ages. Daily we step out to follow the everyday rhythms of our lives, wondering whether we will be safe and will rejoin our loved ones safely at the end of the day.

Some of our armed forces died on the field of combat, some came home and lived ordinary lives. Many need hospitalization to get well, and some of them deteriorate in VA hospitals. But, worse yet, some come home to nothingness and commit suicide. How dreadful is that?

Television reports often say how well our warfighters are treated in VA hospitals, while when out and about former armed services members grumble about how little medical attention they are receiving, or how they have to beg for medication. Sometime the medical attention they require takes months to receive. Flaws in the system are glaring. Merely saying “thank you” to them for serving surely is not enough. We send billions in aid overseas, to countries with questionable loyalty to us, but when veterans complain about the lack of help they need we can only shake our head wondering what is wrong with the system. We need to be helping our own before sending all that money overseas.

Michigan is apparently way behind in veterans’ services of all kinds. If I were younger and stronger, I would be leading some kind of battle to find out why. How many phone calls does a veteran have to make to get the information they need, whether for housing, jobs, or medical attention? I surely do not know the system, but at one point I got in touch with the governor’s office for information and a sense of direction; that did not result in success.

I will repeat, the men and women, our soldiers, who served or serve our country to preserve the American way of life should have their needs taken care of in a timely fashion. It is not enough to provide them with a final resting place with a marker in a National Cemetery. By the way, if you are thinking burials here are at no cost, think again. At least that was our experience. As I write this, I admit I have not contacted the proper authorities to find out otherwise.

My husband Bob was a smoker starting in his teens, but he stopped smoking cigarettes over 30 years ago. Unfortunately, it was too late. He developed COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and had breathing problems that magnified in later years. When he finally decided to avail himself of VA services, he was given some medication, of course at a financial cost to him, but the man was never offered oxygen.

I wanted to go with him on these appointments, but he would not let me. I don’t have the benefit of knowing how assertive he was in his approach to asking for medical treatment. I do know this: In the years before he died, breathing was torture. He would take a few steps, and it took 15 minutes or more for him to catch his breath. When I asked why he had not asked for oxygen, he just shook me off.

One particularly bad breathing day, he said, “I think it is time to go to the hospital.” He still wanted to drive, as he always did. We drove the half-hour trip to Gaylord, Mich., and that was it… I watched through the early morning hours as they administered breathing treatments with masks over his face. He just didn’t want any more of it. He pulled off the mask.

Late the next morning, I told him I had to return to the cottage to get some rest and to shower. He asked if I was going to return the next day, and I replied that of course I would.

He didn’t quite make it to age 81.

He did the same thing that my mother did when she was in the hospital: waited for me to leave, after I had spent the entire night and early hours of the day, to pass away. She knew what a hardship it would be for me to live life without her. I was her youngest, and she and I took care of each other.

Bob, too, waited until I left to will himself to die. I don’t know how I got through all that—alone, on my own. Today, I hate being a writer, reliving some of the horrid details of the end of our life together after 52 years of marriage. I pray he is with his parents, his favorite cousin Jim Lovay, and his army buddy Mike from Wisconsin.

To leave on a high note: Bob served during the Korean Conflict but got lucky. I always teased him that he never saw a day of combat since he was sent to La Rochelle, France, where his group built housing camps for soldiers. It was a joke that made us both laugh. That is where he ended his service to his country. When I asked him to go to Europe for a vacation, his response was, “I’ve already been there!”

I have the remnants of a rosary he bought on his visit to Lourdes. He was a good Catholic boy who even as an adult attended early morning mass. Then he met an Armenian girl. He was 29, I was 23, and my father advised me that since Bob attended church so often, our marriage should take place at his church, St. Michael’s, because we usually attended St. Sarkis Armenian Church only on holidays, and for weddings. And so it was.

I became Mrs. Robert Kessel. Later, when I began writing for the Armenian Weekly, I became Betty Apigian Kessel. I could not deny my Armenianism and my long history with it. I do feel cheated that I was not wed in the Armenian Church. I particularly love that part of the wedding ceremony that has bride and groom kneeling with their foreheads together tied with a golden cord and cross. That thought crushes me every time. But Catholic or Armenian Apostolic, we made it work.

The year war 2005, and I remember exactly where on the front page of the Detroit Free Press the article appeared stating a National Cemetery would be built in Holly, Mich., and at the time it seemed a coincidence to me that, accompanied by Bob and my buyers, we had sold a very large section of acreage in Holly just a few years earlier.

Remember our veterans, and let’s do all we can to make their lives mean something to them and to all of us. We are eternally grateful for them for their contribution to our freedom.