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  • Memories of Past Christmases in Iran

    Memories of Past Christmases in Iran

    http://asbarez.com/117883/memories-of-past-christmases-in-iran/
    Tuesday, December 31st, 2013

    BY CATHERINE YESAYAN


    On a misty December day in Glendale this year, I was jolted back in
    time 50 years to my childhood Christmases in Tehran. The experience
    was evoked upon the sight of the beautiful holiday décor arranged by
    Glendale School Board member Mary Boger in their living room. Mrs.
    Boger's home was one of the four enchanting homes chosen by Herbert
    Hoover High School for the Tour of Homes, a holiday fundraising
    tradition now in its 56th year.

    I caught my breath when I entered their living room and saw not one,
    but three Christmas trees. They were all decorated in white twinkling
    lights and icicles. Patches of fluffy and sparkling snow made from
    cotton roll gave the look of a very old fashioned Christmas décor. I
    wished my mom was with me.

    My mom - the Martha Stewart of 1960s Iran - was meticulous in every
    aspect of home making. And during the Christmas season, she put
    extensive effort into creating exceptional décors and a beautiful tree
    for our celebrations.

    First, there was the buying of the tree. The Russian embassy was in
    walking distance from where we lived, and along the sides of its
    walls, Christmas trees were sold. Buying the Christmas tree was a
    family affair. We all went along - Mom, Dad and us three kids, but Mom
    had the last word. She scrupulously chose the largest tree with the
    most perfect and symmetrical shape. We all brought the tree back home.
    The installing of the tree was a big hassle, because we didn't have
    all the tools and facilities available today.

    Then came the painstaking decoration. Aluminum icicles were at the
    height of fashion and she hung them all over the tree, making sure all
    the strands dangled perfectly straight from branches. As a special
    helper, I would place the lights evenly around the tree, squinting
    from afar until perfection was achieved. I was so proud to have the
    most beautifully decorated Christmas tree of all the families we knew.

    My father's side of the family belonged to the Evangelical Church,
    which was founded in the mid 1800s by American missionaries. The
    church was situated in the old part of Tehran on Ghavam-Saltaneh
    Street. Its sprawling grounds included two schools and living quarters
    for American missionaries. At this church, my father's side of the
    family celebrated Christmas on December 25. My mother's side belonged
    to the Armenian Apostolic Church and they observed Christmas on
    January 6, as most Armenians do.

    The Evangelical church to which my father belonged had a youth
    program. Mother was not keen about us participating in the program,
    because it was not conducted in Armenian, and our peers and
    instructors were proselytized Muslims. However, I loved the activities
    and have many fond memories of that church.

    At the youth program, we learned Christmas carols in English and
    sometimes translated into Farsi. Leading up to Christmas, the elders
    of the church drove us around in crammed cars to visit different
    Christian homes so we could sing the songs we had learned. Today,
    hearing Christmas carols takes my mind back to that youth program.
    Without question, singing carols is a memory that I will always
    cherish. I'm glad that I insisted my mom to allow me to participate.

    In Tehran, Christmas was not a big celebration, but New Year's Eve was
    the excuse for major festivities. All the hoopla, the gift giving, the
    decorations, the `Holiday Tree' were for celebrating the New Year, not
    Christmas. Santa came on New Year's Eve and we opened our gifts on New
    Year's Day.

    I sometimes think that it would have been so much better, if, here in
    the `West,' Santa would come for the New Year instead of Christmas.
    Then all children from every religion could enjoy the charm of Santa
    Claus. In reality, what does Santa have to do with the birth of Jesus?

    Back to my memories of Armenian Christmas in Tehran: On January 5, we
    had our Christmas dinner around the table at my maternal grandmother's
    home. The traditional food included smoked fish, pilaf and koukou. We
    had the same menu for Easter. I'm not sure how the dish became the
    traditional menu for Iranian-Armenians. I think the koukou (a cake of
    greens & eggs) and the pilaf were adopted from Persian cuisine, while
    fish is a staple from the Armenian tradition.

    Red wine was always present on the table, and the `holy cracker' was
    brought from church and was cracked and served in the wine. The
    tradition also included burning incense (Frankincense), and I've
    always loved that aroma.

    Another custom I remember, now phased out, was visitations. After
    Christmas and Easter for almost two weeks priests and deacons would
    visit parishioners' homes and bless them.

    Christmas and Easter dinners have an important role in our culture,
    and we were reminded of this regularly in Tehran. During dinner, our
    elders told us stories about how they celebrated the holy days in
    years past. My mom always told us that her father insisted that for
    Christmas the dinner could be served after the sun set, but Easter
    dinner had to be served while the sun was still up.

    My grandfather was a village boy, his family moved to Tabriz when he
    was young. So my mother's memory of her own father's family practices
    reveal to me that Armenians living in villages in Iran also kept the
    tradition of having Christmas and Easter dinner.

    The best part of Christmas was when we had the home ready for visitors
    on January 6. It was a tradition that the women stayed home while the
    men went from home to home to visit and celebrate the advent of
    Christmas and the New Year.

    Our relatives and friends came for a short visit just to keep the
    tradition and to say Merry Christmas. They had to visit about 20 homes
    or more within a few hours. Usually they took taxi. We served them a
    shot of brandy and a chocolate and then off they went to the next
    home. Sometimes they brought their kids with them. That's how we
    stayed in touch with distant relatives.

    My dad was a translator and worked with many Jewish and Muslim
    merchants. On January 6th, all his clients came to visit us. The house
    had such a festive spirit. We were dressed in our best clothes, the
    house decorated `to the T' and the food was overflowing. Dad's clients
    brought us nice expensive gifts: huge vases, bowls, platters and trays
    of sterling silver or hand-painted miniatures in rich marquetry
    (khatam-kari) frames. We kids received gold coins. Usually Dad was not
    at home because according to the tradition he had to visit other
    relatives, but Mom received the visitors graciously.

    A few years ago when Mom was still alive, I had the opportunity to
    walk to her home for our `Jour-orhnek' dinner - Blessed-water - that's
    what we call the Armenian Christmas. To get to her home, I had to
    cross small residential streets in Glendale, where most homes are
    occupied with Armenians.

    While walking, I looked through the windows and saw some dinner tables
    ready inside homes. The mood was so festive. I noticed people arriving
    by car or on foot, with their hands full. They carried gifts or dishes
    of food that they had prepared. I could even smell incense burning
    while passing by some homes.

    Needless to say, the women were coiffed beautifully and the men were
    in their best suits. I was overjoyed to see how in these foreign
    shores, `Odar aperoom,' we Armenians are thriving and the traditions
    are alive and well.

    As I sit here reflecting about past Christmases, I realize that
    although I no longer fuss about decorating my house and to have the
    largest and the most beautiful tree, I admire people who do that. I
    feel blessed that I can pass my stories to our next generation and I
    hope they will continue to tell the stories and practice the customs
    we have brought with us from old countries.

    I'd like to quote the prolific novelist Isabel Allende who says, `I
    need to tell a story. It's an obsession. Each story is a seed inside
    of me that starts to grow and grow, and I have to deal with it sooner
    or later.' This is true with me. I appreciate Asbarez paper for
    giving me the opportunity to share my stories. I wish all a happy and
    healthy 2014.

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