Welcome Home

65. Welcome Home (14 April 2025)

"MLGA" - doesn't roll off the tongue very
nicely. I wonder how it would look on a cap?
(14 Apr. 2025 - Bourj Hammoud)

It has been almost four weeks since our return to Beirut from our “home assignment”, and we are relieved to be back. Not because everything is rosy or easy, but because we have a sense that we are where we are supposed to be, where we are called to be. Yes, the electricity and water supply is still unstable. Yes, the Internet is sometimes there, sometimes not, but always slow. Yes, the roads are full of people who care even less than before about how they drive. Yes, they still think that their car horns will magically cause the traffic in front of them to disappear. Yes, buildings continue to ascend to serve those who do not feel the pain of ordinary Lebanese. Yes, the economy is still in tatters, banks are continuing to abuse depositors, and we have to carry around dollars for larger purchases (such as groceries at the supermarket). Yes, the disparity between rich and poor is stark, and people mostly don’t notice the poor around them. Yes, drones still ply the skies overhead on behalf of “The Chosen”, to take note of and eliminate “The Rejected” and crush and kill “The Unlucky”. And, yes, the attacks by our war-mongering southern “neighbor” continues to be cheered on by the Machiavellian foreign policy of our home country. After we shared the news of the first attack on Beirut since our return, our son Sevag wrote to us: “Welcome home.” Sincere and ironic at the same time.

The end of another old building,
the beginning of another high-rise.
(25 Mar. 2025 - Ras Beirut)

            Sunday, April 13, marked a half-century since the Lebanese Civil War. It was a war, for sure, but the “civil” moniker is a debatable point. Wars are never polite, but more than that, it was not merely the outcome of local, societal tensions, but rather a product of regional conflicts, fueled by powers outside the region. In recent days we watched and read some remembrances and news commentaries, with lots of archival footage reminding us of that era in Lebanon. We lived through just a few – nine months’ worth – of the Civil War, when I was a theology student at NEST and Maria was a nurse at the American University Hospital. Perhaps it was at that time when Beirut started to occupy the quality of “home” in my thoughts and feelings. It was then that I had connected to something deeper than the misery and uncertainty of the war, something which some of my friends, now emigrated to the West, found puzzling. They would express their wonder: “You love this place more than us!”

The joy of children's "Hosannas"!
(13 Apr. 2025 - Qantari, Beirut

            But “home” is more than geography. It is geography plus people plus meaning. That is something we have found here, in this battered scrap of the remnant of Western Armenia. We regularly hear the comment, “Lebanon is such a beautiful country, but the people are trash! That’s the problem with this country.” Upon hearing this, a friend of ours countered, “But the people are beautiful, too! We have such dear ones around us, like you, to share a cup of coffee with!” Yesterday, during Palm Sunday services, I reminded myself that the presence of the children singing God’s praises, right before us, is more valuable than the memories of past Palm Sundays when there were so many more children, or when times were “better”.

Beirut ProTip: You can always find a place to
park if you look for the "No Parking" signs.
(11 Apr. 2025 - Hamra, Beirut)

            Living with contrasts and contradictions; that’s what it’s like to live in Lebanon. Some of the most beautiful springtime flowers in Beirut are the variegated orange blooms that come up amidst bright green leaves [Nasturtiums, for you gardeners] – and they are often seen proliferating… around garbage dumpsters. Or, to keep people from parking on sidewalks and to open up a place to walk instead of the streets, bollards are installed everywhere, to the point where you can’t walk on the sidewalks because the bollards take up all the space. Or, on Bliss Street, at the crosswalk across from the Main Gate of the American University, concrete blocks were placed in the street to keep people from double and triple parking and to improve the traffic flow. The result is that people double and triple park next to the obstacles, and so traffic on Bliss Street crawls more slowly in the narrow path remaining. And then there are the rubble-filled lots, or the bullet-ridden buildings that have been abandoned since the Civil War, that, thanks to nature, have given a bit of extra greenery to the crowded streets, while also serving as public toilets for taxi drivers. None of this is new to me, but it showed itself afresh as I reinstituted my daily walks, something I had scant opportunity to do while in the U.S.

 

Is Beirut still screaming? Shouldn't it be
louder? (28 Mar. 2025 - Gemmayzeh, Beirut)

           Last week while driving to the dojo where I work out I found myself stuck in a traffic jam, different than the usual evening rush hour. Motorbikes were weaving in and out of the rows of cars, some of them on delivery routes, but others of them with flags and Palestinian scarves. As I inched forward, I realized that I was headed into a demonstration. The wide sidewalk at Ain el Mraisseh was crowded with people, likely both Lebanese and Palestinians, protesting the war on Gaza. It seemed that those driving by were more in number than those on the sidewalk, though I didn’t stop and count. But as with all crises, including all the abuses perpetrated upon the Lebanese by their leaders, along with the rampant corruption infecting all spheres of life, things that may prove too entrenched to eradicate any time soon, those who just want to get on with their business (like me) will remain in the majority. Instead of resisting and raising our voices, we will merely complain and move on. But if it’s your home that’s at risk, shouldn’t you try to do more?

LebCat 65: Waiting for that one phone call,
that big break that will turn everything
around! (12 Apr. 2025 - Geitawi, Beirut)

            And so, my thoughts inevitably go to Armenia, both the part that the international community sort-of recognizes as well as the parts that are either ignored or considered inconvenient (even by some in Armenia’s officialdom). Calling Armenia “home” or “homeland” should lead us to do more than simply to hold a remembrance event on April 24. It must unite – in our thoughts, feelings and especially our actions – land, people and meaning, in the pursuit of what is just, not what is convenient. To that end, for the sake of “our homeland,” what am I doing? And what are you doing?   [LNB]

Oh Wow Fives

60. Oh Wow, Fives! (23 August 2023)

Faces of loved ones sacrificed in the 2020
Port explosion – a pain and an injustice
continually ignored by authorities.
(4 Aug. 2023 - Beirut Port)

I went into a store here in Beirut to buy something, and as I prepared to pay in Lebanon’s official currency – the U.S. dollar – the cashier saw I had taken out $5 bills and exclaimed  (in English), “Oh wow, fives!” Her delight was due to the fact that as businesses, great and small, abandon the use of the Lebanese Pound, they are always in need of small denominations of U.S. currency to return change to their customers. I provided a much-needed resource to a small business, as people struggle to make their way through daily life unassisted by any authorities, swimming in that morass of disinterest and disconnection that is the country’s ruling elite. Courtesy of our son Sevag’s annual visit to us here in Lebanon, we enjoy the privilege of having small denominations of U.S. currency. Here I was, the hero of the moment, with my crumpled and discolored images of Abraham Lincoln, bringing a moment of joy in the middle of the hot, muggy summer.

But seriously, can't you tell that the
infrastructure has improved?
(11 June 2023 - Bourj Hammoud)

            One of the most distasteful aspects of my life today in Lebanon (though by no means the only one) is the necessity to focus or fixate on monetary issues. Lebanese, especially Beirutis, have always made currency exchange rates, values of precious metals, gasoline prices and more their daily small talk. Though there is so much more to life, though much greater depth is possible in conversation, but this is what one hears from each passerby, from men gathered at curbsides, from women catching their breath over a cup of coffee: the never-ending stream of analysis and “expertise” that has supplanted hopes, dreams and ideals – the very things that young and old should be actively investing in their country in order to push it toward a brighter future. Instead, materialism, reinforced by circumstances created by those in power and their cooperative external powers, is pushing the brightness out of the country just to dissolve in diasporas around the world.

Watermelon? Strawberry gelatin? Sevag and
I puzzled over this one at the Mineral
Museum. (1 Aug. 2023 - Mathaf, Beirut)

            The impact of all of this upon the Armenian community in Syria and Lebanon is what troubles me the most. As the Dons of this kleptocracy look for new ways to fill their stomachs – most recently by a farcical “helicopter tour” of the new oil-drilling rig off the Lebanese coast –small and “unimportant” groups such as the Armenian community are left to fend for themselves. It is interesting to see how a country can continue to appear as a functioning entity while running on “autopilot”. A bit of electricity here, some trash collection there, fixing a water main when it breaks, leaving NGOs to install street lighting and traffic lights, and repair the worst potholes as highways steadily deteriorate, while many, many employees in the public sector come to work but once every one or two weeks, as their monthly salaries hardly cover the cost of transportation – this is today’s Lebanon.

When gas prices rise too high, there are
still great ways to make use of your auto!
(3 June 2023 - Ainjar)

            We’ve been noticing one of the semi-comical expressions of that while driving around various parts of the country with Sevag. It’s the “LPO mode” that auto owners have entered: “License Plate Optional”. Earlier this year I began to notice an absence of license plates of some cars on the road. Now it is probably up to 5 to 10 percent of cars. The office that processes car registrations is clearly not functioning. But in classic Lebanese manner the population is facing the situation with humor. It’s considered a badge of honor to drive an LPO car, even to the point, some say, that people will remove their license plates just to be seen as part of the LPO club!

            This summer I walked into a store in Ainjar, the mostly-Armenian village in the Bekaa valley. Whenever we’re going to be there for a few days I’ll stop in to pick a thing or two, and often times, since this is Ainjar, and since, due to my position, I can’t remain anonymous, I’ll run into people I know including people who know me since the 1990s, or the 2000s, or current times. The lady behind the counter, who does not belong to one of the aforementioned groups, asked me, in Armenian of course, “Are you Ainjartsi (her intent: “originally from Ainjar, but visiting from overseas”)? My interest piqued, I said, “No, I’m not. Why do you ask?” With no hint of malice or sarcasm, just puzzlement, she said, “Well, lots of people are very happy when they see you.”

Providing an unintentional glimpse into
the dysfunction of the country.
(4 Aug. 2023 - Tabaris, Beirut)

            Amid such a negative environment I’m glad we can have positive encounters with those we meet, and grateful that our casual interactions can be uplifting. Certainly, this is not something we can automatically produce: without God’s encouragement in our times of frustration and discouragement we would have little to share with others. As well, without organizations backing us up it would be a challenge to remain positive in the enforced misery people are subjected to each day. So, I don’t mind being mistaken for an “Ainjartsi”, and I don’t mind that (most) people are happy to see me!

            During the summer a small group of young Lebanese-Armenians in their twenties, on their own initiative, approached Haigazian University in order to present a film series, seven items in all, ranging the gamut from practically “home-made” to professionally produced. Their emphasis was on increasing the public’s knowledge of Western Armenia and elevating the use of the Western Armenian language. They delivered their introductions each evening in flawless Western Armenian as well as English, and it was clear that they cared deeply about the entire project, and plan to expand their efforts to develop other materials that would interest young Armenians in their heritage, using modern pedagogical methods in a technologically accessible way. The name with which they christened their platform is “Hnarti” /Հնարդի, combining the Armenian words for “old” and “contemporary”. Despite the hemorrhaging of young blood from the Middle East, vision and vitality can still emerge from this community.

LebCat 60: Every pharmacy should have a
watchcat at the door.
(14 Aug. 2023 - Hamra, Beirut)

            In eight weeks I’m hoping to bring the Armiss Choir back on stage to sing one or two numbers. Hopefully a couple other Lebanese choral groups will also perform. A colleague and dear friend has just published a book on a century of Lebanese-Armenian choirs (1920-2020). The dedication of the new book will happen in October, and part of the dedication program will be vocal selections. From real choirs singing in harmony. Live – which is how music is best done. So, it’s time to get things organized and underway, and to invest a bit more in the health of the country and in a couple of its modest but essential components, that is, the arts, the Lebanese-Armenian community and the Armenian Evangelical Church.

            Finally, something to talk about besides currency rates!   [LNB]

How about Them Apples?

54.How about Them Apples? (31 October 2022)

The last few apples from a half-crate
bequeathed to us (5 Oct. 2022 - Geitawi)

As the people await the outcome of deliberations to select yet another paragon of mediocrity, ineffectiveness and corruption to lead the country, and as Lebanese, young and old, meanwhile engage in their mindless mimicry of that most worthless and idiotic of American holidays, Halloween, my mind goes to things of slightly greater value in this autumnal season. That, of course, includes the beauty of the changing colors of deciduous trees, visible elsewhere in the country, but hard to find in Beirut, where any sort of tree is happily sacrificed for the sake of building empty concrete-and-steel structures (if you know the right people). In our previous home in the east coast of the U.S., we reveled in that yearly shift from greens to warm tones, deep reds and bright oranges and shimmering yellows that heralded the cooling weather. When we come across the smallest evidence of those colors in the countryside, we experience a moment of joy and wonder at God’s handiwork refreshing our eyes and spirits.

Clouds on the horizon, and the sun
illuminating the illegal landfill on the coast
(13 Oct. 2022 - towards Bourj Hammoud)

            Another aspect of this season, also connected to our previous life in the U.S., has to do with one of the quintessential gifts of the land in the fall, namely apples. They are plentiful in Lebanon, and are available in several varieties, from sweet to tart. Sadly, apple cider hasn’t really caught on, but apple vinegar is prepared in great quantities for a variety of uses. For whatever reason this year (I leave that to your deduction), the market for apples is glutted, and domestic apple production is a losing proposition. When visiting Ainjar recently, friends there said that they are leaving their apples on the trees – and the ground – because they cannot sell them, and therefore it is meaningless to harvest them. And then they gave us a huge bag of apples, just gathered that morning, to take back to Beirut to enjoy. Fresh. No chemicals. Delicious. And unsaleable.

The neighborhood transformed into a street
in Egypt for a movie filming
(30 Sept. 2022 - Geitawi)

            Last week, on one of my shopping trips (which I do by foot, since I can get some exercise that way), as I entered a nearby fruit stand, I noticed that a middle-aged woman was talking with the grocer about apples, their price, the varieties and so forth. Probably just another interested shopper, I assumed. Until I was leaving the shop and saw that she and the shopkeeper had walked over to her car, where the open trunk revealed crates and crates of apples… And she was continuing to talk about apples and negotiate a price for them. It bothered me, not just because of the reason for the glut of apples in Lebanon today, but also about the state of the “middle class” here, which has taken to driving around to neighborhood fruit stands to sell a bit of their homegrown produce. And to add to the inscrutability of the situation, the cost to the consumer is not dropping as it should, but rather continually increases. It’s not just the poor who are bearing the brunt of the self-serving “leaders” running this drama, but all strata of society. As my mother used to say when astonished at something, “How about them apples?”

The odor of burning garbage can't hide the
beauty of wedding flowers and the joy of
a wedding! (15 Oct. 2022 - Khalil Badawi)

            The irregularities of life here have become something of a routine. Strangely, the near-complete lack of municipal electricity – a total of about 10 hours for the entire month of October – has made life more predictable. We know that whatever the schedule is for our supplemental power (“ishtirak”), that is when we have power, amounting to a little under 12 hours per day. Since we live in the same building as my office, that adds another 4 hours on weekdays. So, sitting in the dark, or shaving in the dark, or doing my online Arabic lesson while I wait for the lights to come on, is just another feature of life in Lebanon. Add to that the irregularity of the office internet, which the provider cuts for anywhere from a half-hour to 3-1/2 hours during work hours, and one becomes inured to things that would cause major emotional upheaval anywhere in the “developed” world. Except perhaps with looming energy shortages this winter, the developed world will know how the other 90% of the world lives (statistic courtesy of me making it up).

It's a bit of a drive to get there, but
at last I've found some equipment
to start my exercise program
(2 Oct. 2022 - Sawfar)

            I have a human Arabic teacher who has an amazing command of the language, and an amazing amount of patience with me and my esoteric interests. Fortunately, as a schoolteacher she is aware of all of the classroom tricks that someone in his 60s tries to pull off and keeps me moving forward. It will soon be six years since we began our lives here, and although I have accumulated a fair amount of exposure to the language, gaining facility in Arabic for daily interactions remains a hill I need to climb. Doesn’t help that my job is conducted mostly in Armenian with some English. We’ve begun to focus exclusively on spoken “Lebanese”, which I expect will propel me up that hill.

            I also have a mechanical Arabic teacher. It’s an “app” on my devices, and it has more than a few quirks. Those quirks help me maintain my interest (292 days in a row and counting). I particularly like the mispronunciations that the developers haven’t bothered fixing. Things like “tabibbouleh” for “tabbouleh”, and “shishai” for “shai”, and the American city “Safanennah” instead of “Savannah”. I’ve even taken to pronouncing those words the same way!

LebCat 54: Keep walking and mind your own
business. I'm working for the security
company (3 Oct. 2022 - Geitawi)

            And I continue to invoke my mother, especially when I see the insanity around us and the barbarity inflicted on Armenia and Artsakh while everyone is looking somewhere else, and the self- and other-inflicted miseries overtaking so many. Things like this may no longer amaze me, yet I can’t help but say, “How ’bout them apples...”   [LNB]

Motion Sickness

Motion Sickness

46.Motion Sickness (31 December 2021)

Awaiting one of our flights out of Philadelphia
(15 Oct. 2021 - Phila. Intl. Airport)

One of the constants of air travel, as well as ground travel, is the ubiquitous plastic-lined bag for the use of those experiencing stomach discomfort while being jostled back and forth, up and down, and side to side in the plane, boat, train, bus or car they are in. It also helps those around them to be able to stay clean and somewhat spared from the odor, though the poor sufferer continues to suffer what is gently referred to as “motion sickness”.

            We have been experiencing a type of “motion sickness” in recent times as we completed our required home assignment and made our way back to Lebanon last week. It was an uneventful flight, except that the airplanes were crowded cheek-to-jowl with travelers, some with masks, including those going to Lebanon. Maria and I lived through five months in the U.S. and Canada of constant travel, constant packing and unpacking, constant calculations of whether the weather would be warm or cold, along with constantly arranging flight and hotel bookings, constantly working on what kind of presentation fits a particular audience, constantly trying to wrap up paperwork and follow up on unfinished tasks in the concluding weeks when we were supposed to be “resting”. Getting back home to Beirut and its daily stresses and misery afforded us a bit of respite from the previous period!

Many ordinary people want to learn, pray and
help Lebanon. (31 Oct. 2021 - Pottstown, Pa.)

            Yet it wasn’t all misery, because we got to meet wonderful, caring people, Armenian and non-Armenian, many of whom were aware of the trials being endured by the Lebanese and the Lebanese-Armenian community. Hearing their questions, seeing their concern and willingness to do something, hearing their words of blessing and being with them in God’s presence was a gift we gratefully received. Yet it was balanced by the exhaustion of upwards of 14,000 mi / 22,000 km of traveling (aside from the 16,000 mi / 25,000 km to actually get to the US and back)! Enviable? Perhaps. I suppose it depends on who is doing the envying.

Getting the word out about Lebanon
(6 Nov 2021 - Belmont, Mass.)

            There is a TV ad that has appeared recently on Lebanese television depicting two young Lebanese boys talking about their dreams, which include going to school. It concludes with a voice-over stating, “Rights should not be just dreams.” Yet the dreams of a preponderance of people around us is not to have Lebanon become a livable country, but to leave Lebanon for a livable country. This “exit strategy” is based on yet a different kind of motion sickness: that of being made sick by a society that never experiences stability, that is continually in motion due to the profit-seeking, power struggles or whims of those in authority, whether locally, regionally or worldwide.

            On Beirut’s streets over the years, in my limited Arabic, I would often hear passersby including numbers in their conversations, assumedly regarding the price of this or that. How I wished that the conversations would revolve around ideas, or culture, or wonder at God’s creation! Today virtually all of the street conversations, and possibly also the private ones, are about the exchange rate, the cost of cheese and medicine, and the impossibility of carrying on in these conditions. One man at the exchange house said, “We’re living in an insane asylum!” I wish that my Arabic had not improved to the point where I could understand this much.

Exciting times on Home Assignment
(6 Dec. 2021 - Broomall, Pa.)

            Economic freefall produces one kind of motion sickness. Seeing dear friends and family members continually zoom away from you (and I’m not referring to screen time) can produce a similar spiritual nausea. When a family, or a community such as the Armenians, conclude that social disintegration is the best route to take, that their children must leave the country, then there is not much that can be said about the hopes for that family’s (or that people’s) future. Even if you are driven by the patriotic emotions that so often cloud Armenians’ judgment about their viability as a people, the consequences of cultural and societal disintegration cannot be dismissed. Many a person will insist on the necessity of laying hold, without delay, of the “promise of a better (economic, educational, health and secure) future elsewhere” – something that is only a promise, not a guarantee. It will apply to some lucky individuals, but what will become of collective identity? What will become of community? What will bring health and strength to the family, that place where individual and collective identity is formed and nurtured? We are in a rush toward “every man for himself”; and the shards of what was a collective hope, a concerted effort to come together to endure hardships and grow in character (such as was seen in the post-Genocide era), will become merely the subject of books and articles that very few read or care to reflect upon. Only a collective awakening to our spiritual and cultural resources can offer us a more hopeful outcome.

It's Christmastime in the city...
(30 Dec. 2021 - Geitawi–Beirut)

            I realize that I enjoy privileges and resources that few around me have. Yet I also have a perspective that many around me lack: that of having experienced the long-term consequences of living in a diaspora situation, in societies that are quite capable of swallowing up and homogenizing the qualities and distinctives that define a people group, including their language, creativity, spirituality, world view, and desire to survive and thrive as a unique entity. The motion sickness that we are all enduring will make it difficult, but all the more crucial, that we together take the long-term into account as well as the short- and medium-term… and listen well to each other.

LebCat 46: You look smashing in red... I mean
on red. (28 Dec. 2021 - Mar Mikhael–Beirut)

            One of the pleasures I enjoyed during “home assignment” was getting back to exercising (which is important, considering how much I enjoyed the pleasures of overeating and gaining weight during that same period). It was a long time since I was able to go to the gym at 6:30 a.m. and get a bit of sweat going. I also got back on the mat at the aikido dojo, but quickly remembered that aspect of warmups that I dread: forward and backward rolls. I dread them because of the dizziness they cause me. But I have learned that the way to work through this sensation is, first of all, to properly position my body to roll; second, to do the rolls more frequently; and third to fix my eye and my mind on a distant, stable point. That long-distance view enables me to be steady when the world seems to be slanted this way or that.

            My prayer for Lebanon, and in particular for the Armenian people, is that we fix our eye on that unchanging Point who does not change (James 1.17), who brings calmness, steadfastness and faith in Christ in the midst of the storm, and who blesses his people in the most difficult of circumstances with the enduring riches of wisdom, truth and love.   [LNB]

Sa Koronyan

35.“Sa Koronyan” (31 May 2020)

A March windstorm toppled the cross from the
red cupola of the Armenian Evangelical Church.
(31 May 2020 – Nor Marash - Bourj Hammoud)

Over and over again, we are hearing from medical and epidemiological experts telling us, to the best of their knowledge and experience, that we are going to be living with, not defeating the Coronavirus. It will be just one more thing that we have to take into account in our daily routine. What that means in terms of our lifestyles, our long-range plans, the economies and habits of families and countries, is still to be determined. How it will decimate minority communities, is also to be determined, although we are already getting a taste of what is to come. The Armenian community here in the Middle East, such a crucial guarantor of the continued existence of the Armenian people the world over, is facing daily traumas as it fights for its existence. In the past few days we lost yet another Armenian school, the St. Agnes Armenian Catholic School in Bourj Hammoud, while two weeks ago the last Armenian School in Jordan closed its doors. Yesterday I read that one of the two local Armenian FM radio stations was forced to go off-air and continue (hopefully) as an Internet-only station. In at least as critical a situation as we face today, Middle East Armenian families a hundred years ago went without many things, including shoes and new clothing, in order to maintain their schools and culture, and they produced vibrant and tough generations. But today people’s values and priorities are… not the same.

Experts report that a majority of mini-pizzas are displeased with
the direction of the economy. (9 May 2020 – Watwat - Beirut)

            We were scheduled for a few months of home assignment (or “furlough” in missionary parlance) in the U.S. later this year, beginning in late summer, in order to travel and inform interested church groups about the work of our partner organizations (the church union and the university). Now, all of that has come under question, and our sending body is studying the situation, examining what governments and the air travel industry will do to recover from their current state of disarray. Making any sort of prediction about travel, or saying anything else about what life will look like “A.C.” is a fool’s errand. (“B.C.” = “Before Corona/ Covid-19”; yet although it is inaccurate, I use “A.C.” = “After Corona”; it’s a better abbreviation than “W.C.” = “With Corona”, no?)

Reaching out to those in need now takes the form of leaving
clothing and shoes where they can be taken without
drawing attention to oneself. (25 May 2020 –
Khalil Badawi - Beirut)

            Tomorrow Maria will be venturing outside our home for the first time in 2 months, for a health checkup and a stop at Haigazian University. It will be interesting to hear her observations on this “release from captivity” when she returns. I know that I often dread venturing outside our home, particularly with all the protective items I am forced to wear. The Lebanese government now mandates wearing a mask when going outside, and is stressing the need to keep infection numbers low because of the lack of hospital capacity for those needing respiratory care for the virus.

            Nevertheless, my excursions outside the house have been more frequent, and not always negative. Three weeks ago a friend was driving me to do some grocery shopping, and I asked him to run by our old neighborhood, where we lived 20 years ago. What a refreshing visit, seeing old friends – the baker and the greengrocer – who asked about Maria and the boys by name, and were truly happy for this quick visit (and exhibited boundless patience with my stumbling Arabic). When we see how much we matter to people like this, who seek nothing of us but friendship, that’s when we feel truly alive, truly connected to this place.

Coronahair and coronahaircut. Apparently the barber
was quite satisfied with the job he did.
(29 May 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

            If it is permissible to say, I intensely dislike this plethora of online meetings and digital gatherings that are sometimes touted as the “new normal”. I doubt that it’s a generational thing, because I know of young people who say the same thing, and like me do not reject the technology, but do not also consider it universally applicable. The majority of communication that is done nonverbally is virtually (pun intended) eliminated from these electronic methods, rendering human interaction shallower, and distances farther. It’s not a small world after all. My sister as well as my son, both school teachers yet of different generations, realize how little real teaching and learning happens in this “virtual classroom space”. They know very well how struggling students need the physical presence of an instructor who can “read” their body language and step in with the necessary support, encouragement and creativity to help them move forward. This also is the case with online worship experiences, something in which I have been heavily involved in the past 2-1/2 months. We are enduring the pain of human separation, a pain that will remain for the foreseeable future, as long as “social distancing” is required.

LebCats 35: Lebanon’s success in stemming the
spread of the virus is due to high levels of
cooperation – even among cats – with social
distancing principles. (31 May 2020 –
Geitawi- Beirut)

            A fun project that came about because of a need for musical content in our worship broadcasts was a “virtual choir”. For the nine participants it was our first foray into this type of production, where the musicians, each in a different part of the world, collaborated in recording a song. Listening to the piano track we sang our parts into our computers or phones – some of us singing more than one part. Then the files went back to Washington state from Oregon, greater LA, Philadelphia and Beirut to the producer/ accompanist, who turned them all into one wonderful online vocal ensemble. Way to go Shahan, Arek, Sako, Palig, Sevag, Garin, Talar and of course Maria and me! Not a bad way to deal with this “A.C.” world!

            As I was walking around Bourj Hammoud recently, searching in vain for an open money-exchange house so that I could obtain local currency and buy some groceries, something struck my ear as one Armenian woman was commiserating with another over the current social and economic situation. She said (in Armenian), “Sa Koronyan yete asang sharounagvi…” (If this Koronya continues like this…). I was past them a few steps before I realized she was not referring to a perfume, but had Armenianized the word “corona”. Maybe the Armenian community will be able to adjust and even thrive in this “A.C.” world after all.   [LNB]

Cue the Locusts

33.Cue the Locusts (31 Mar. 2020)

It’s spring, but nobody’s going anywhere these days.
(24 Feb. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

Here in Lebanon we look with amazement at a panicking world that, upon realizing that the novel coronavirus was not going to remain a “Chinese disease”, began by decrying the enforced confinement and “social distancing” intended to slow the advance of this nemesis, because of the perceived injuries to their liberties. The puzzlement here continued as the reality of this pandemic set in, and country after country realized that their economies were going into a deep pit because people were unable to work and therefore were cut off from the income they relied on. It may sound callous, but Lebanese, who have been in an economic downward spiral for the last several years, thanks to the greed and incompetence of their leaders, exploded with rage in October that they were not going to take it anymore. It shut down the country and the already abysmal economy, sending banks into panic over the danger to their usurious profits, whereupon they took it upon themselves to prohibit depositors from withdrawing more than a couple hundred dollars a month. The service industry, already limping along due to the lack of tourism, saw nearly a thousand restaurants close in Beirut alone, schools lost three weeks of instruction due to strikes and road closures, and specters of a return to civil war loomed in the shadows. The country was not on its knees, but rather prostrate on the ground when this virus became a local reality. How much farther down can you get?

The list of coming events at a nearby restaurant.
(23 Mar. 2020 – Qobaiyat - Beirut)

            I hope that no one would wish this situation on another, here or in any country. But it’s very tempting to say to the world, “So, how does it feel?” To face each day with fear, uncertain of what the future brings, wondering if death will snatch your friends, loved ones or even your own life? Yet there are so many people who face much greater trials than what most in the affluent world are struggling to comprehend. It is very easy to comprehend in lands under occupation, where walls are built to protect privileges. It is very easy to comprehend in places where refugees are used as political pawns. It is very easy to comprehend by those today continuing their jobs, with or without masks or gloves, who know that when the government says “lockdown” and “curfew”, it is effectively telling this subsistence-level stratum to starve to death. As many have commented, if rich people were to die from hunger, the world would find the will, the creativity and the resources to end that scourge. But those 9 million who die each year from hunger-related reasons remain out of the spotlight.

Not how a school playground is supposed to look in the
middle of the day. (24 Mar. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

            Oh, did I mention? We are under a nightly curfew. The government announced, and is enforcing, a 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. curfew throughout the country. This is in addition to closing all “non-essential” businesses, that is, anything that does not sell food or medicine. And if your water tank is leaking (every household has a water tank on the roof because of the sporadic delivery of water, 30 years after the Civil War ended… sporadic, like all the other utilities), well, you won’t be able to call someone to repair it. Anyway, he might not have the parts to do repairs because the banks have had a 5-month stranglehold on the capital that is needed to import goods.

How I spent my 16^th birthday – telling “Dad
jokes” at a youth/veteran C.E. youth gathering.
(29 Feb. 2020 – Armenian Evangelical Church
of Ashrafieh, Geitawi - Beirut)

            The school year has taken a body blow in this crisis-upon-crisis mode we call “the new normal”. Administrators and teachers have hastily transitioned to “online learning”, a tenuous format that might enable learning to occur. When the October protests dragged on, schools were already beginning to implement some of these methods, and it increased as the months dragged on, the strikes continued and regularly turned into violent clashes between protestors and various security forces (there are so many here I can’t keep track). Yet students as well as adults are learning quite a bit from this current in-house confinement. In some cases children are in a healthier environment. No longer do they chant, “Revolution! Revolution!” (“Thawra! Thawra!”) when being let out for recess, as if it were a game. Others are at the mercy of their abusive or neglectful parents/guardians. Those who care for the latter, such as the Armenian Evangelical Boarding School in Ainjar, constantly carry that burden in prayers for God’s mercy.

            The last couple of “normal” things I did were to deliver a talk on Hrant Dink, the Armenian journalist and activist who was assassinated in broad daylight in front of his newspaper office in Istanbul, and to attend a a wonderful lecture on Gomidas (or Komitas). Ironically, among the 300 of us sitting in the hall where that lecture/concert took place on March 8 were religious and community leaders and even a cabinet member, only one day after the government told people to avoid all crowds.

A tall tree at a nearby park, uprooted by gale-force winds
on Mar. 12. (25 Mar. 2020 – Geitawi - Beirut)

            Maria and I were already doing most of our work online since we arrived in Beirut. Except for the worship services we attend and where I assist. And except for the “Armiss” choir that I direct. And except for the committees in which we serve. Now, none of that is happening. In their place we have video conferences and work online from home. The choir rehearsals are suspended. And in place of Sunday worship services in various churches the UAECNE (our church Union) has begun broadcasting a single weekly pre-recorded program, which I am producing. (Look it up on YouTube under UAECNE.) Pastors are taking turns preaching the sermon, and I am including a variety of recorded hymns and anthems in Armenian. It is an interesting initiative that will likely continue in some form as an audiovisual ministry, and will find a home on the Union’s website (coming soon, I hope), connecting people not only across the region, but helping those who have emigrated elsewhere to maintain some connection with their roots.

LebCat 33: Look, I don’t care what the
government says about restaurants closing.
I know you’re in there. I can smell the
rotisserie chicken, OK? (13 Mar. 2020 –
Geitawi - Beirut)

            On March 12, as we were beginning our days/weeks/months of seclusion, Lebanon and the region experienced several hours of winds at speeds between 100 and 140 km/hr. The roaring sound woke us all up, as objects were being tossed from one rooftop to another. The huge flag flying on top of a nearby office building was torn from its mounts and ended up somewhere far away, perhaps in the Mediterranean? The following day everyone was out surveying the extensive damage throughout the country. Strangely, though our electricity was never interrupted – just our sleep.

            The news out of the northeast of Africa is not good. A devastating plague of locusts is destroying crops and threatening famine to countless people. Could that be next on the agenda for Lebanon? We watch… and pray.   [LNB]