Dear Sarineh,
It’s December 25: Christmas night out there, in the Catholic world. It means that many in Lebanon are already celebrating now. Everything is quiet at this hour here, in my neighborhood in Yerevan. Neighbors have gone to sleep after a long day of debating over food preparation and home decoration. It’s dark in the house, but I have left the Christmas tree lights on, because they are the borderline between the staleness of the materialistic world and the magic of Christmas. I’m not doing much — just sitting in my armchair and scrolling on my phone, reading people’s summaries of the passing of 2024.
It’s getting hectic here, Sarineh jan. Christmas and New Year’s preparations in Armenia are always a little too much — supermarkets bursting with food, an incredible variety of beef and pork, exclusive bonbons from all corners of the world, exotic fruits that people buy but don’t know how to eat, loads of alcohol and soft drink bottles. The employees make perfect slices of Armenian basturma and sujoukh for you, if you have the patience to stand in the enormous queue. At home, women make grape leaf tolma and huge cakes one week before hosting, then they go to Facebook cooking communities to ask how to keep the cakes edible until Christmas. Some women spend half their salaries to order food. From time to time, as you walk through more commercial parts of Yerevan, you can spot an Artsakhtsi woman, standing humbly on a corner, offering honey-drenched homemade pakhlava in a box — the best in the world. If you ask me, the smartest women spend their money on gifts for their loved ones and decorations for home. But hey, it’s really not about tolma this Chritsmas.
It’s Christmas night in the Catholic world, and I am sitting here in the dim light, thinking of what you might be doing in Beirut right now. It’s warm and cozy in my living room, but my mind is preoccupied with all the details you gave me about electricity cuts. I remember the video call we had last week, when I couldn’t see you because you were sitting in complete darkness.
We’ve had so much fun at your place in Bourj Hammoud, dear Sarineh. The warmest mornings with the most delicious Lebanese knefe and freshly brewed coffee — treats of your beautiful mom. The zaatar, the msahba and all the other delicacies she made for us will forever be the taste of Lebanon for me. I remember the day you took me to St. Charbel, after I had taken you to Tatev monastery here, in Armenia. These were magical moments of nourishing faith. What else should Christmas give people but faith?
I used to complain about Christmas — nag about what Armenian ladies have to go through, all the overwhelming smells that hit your nose when you enter any Armenian home, and all the traditional tastes that are said to be people’s favorites but end up being taken for granted. It’s the same thing everywhere — same ingredients, same tiresome process in every kitchen. At the end of the day, it’s the sunken faces and panicked hearts of Armenian housewives upon realizing that the layers of the honey cake are as hard as kitchen boards, that the tolma filling is too salty, that the chaman on the basturma is cracking and the pickles for the salads are not crunchy enough… I used to complain that money was wasted on food instead of decorations and gifts for loved ones.
On this serene Christmas night, as the heating is moderately low in my room, and the aroma of apple and cinnamon strudel (nobody else makes pastries like this on Christmas in Armenia) is wafting from the kitchen, I want to complain of nothing. It’s Christmas night out there in the Catholic world, and I know how much you love this night of the year. You, born and bred in Lebanon, previously Catholic, now married into the Armenian Apostolic church. You, a beautiful combination of the west and the east. You are having one of the saddest Christmas nights of your life.
In my latest email, I asked what you were going to do this Christmas, and what you wrote back made my heart ache. Tell me now, darling, will I find anything of the radiant Beirut I left behind when I last visited, in 2019? Amid all the catastrophe of emigration, school closings, increased rent, overpriced food and medical services, and shocking electricity and water bills, what is left of the Beirut I loved so much?
Still, I couldn’t help asking you what your mom was going to cook this Christmas. As a foodie, I’m always coaxing people into talking about their family recipes so that I can research more later. One day, I am going to spend Christmas at your mom’s place in Beirut to savor her kebbi, ouzi, and, oh, the saghle burma. And maamoul, of course. I promise. I hope. Because when else shall I hope for a miracle other than on Christmas night?
As long as Christmases come and go, people will hope, habibi. There will always be hope in the eyes of the young Artsakhtsi girl, to return to her village and see her roses bloom. Hope is in the modest lady at her stand at Vernissage market, waiting for one more person to buy silver jewelry from her so that the hours spent outside in the freezing cold will not be in vain. It is in the heart of the young man from India who came to Yerevan four months ago and sincerely hopes that his family is doing better back in their village thanks to the money he sends home.
Even though you, dear Sarineh, have drawn me a horrific picture of what’s going on in Lebanon, describing in particular the disturbance at Ayito village where your grandmother lives, I’m still not giving up on hoping that it will get easier soon. Things will calm down. I know you think I am giving you empty words, but all I have is hope.
After today, the Catholic world will gradually forget about the magic of Christmas. Decorations will be taken down. The dazzling lights of the Christmas trees, squares, parks and windows will be turned off. People will go back to sipping coffee in their tedious offices. Shops will put away their Christmas collections. While Christmas in the Catholic world is slipping away, our Armenian Christmas is yet to come, on the sixth of January. My mother will cook fish, spinach and chamichov plav — rice with raisins: the rice, symbolizing the people of the world; and the raisins, the Christians among them. She will make a beautiful Christmas table without exaggerations, and while I sip my red wine, my mind will again drift back to our blissful days in Beirut. We learn to appreciate happiness only after it is no more.
I hope to receive an email from you by Armenian Christmas, dear Sarineh. I hope you will give me some good news. I hope you will tell me something has changed for the better there. That a school has reopened or a displaced family has found shelter. That would be my perfect Christmas gift this year.
Much love,
Anna
Anna Matevosyan
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- It’s not just about tolma this Christmas - January 8, 2025
Oh my dear Anna, im reading this beautiful article in tears…. I love it 🎈 ❤️ keep on writing about this enchanted and cruel world we live in..
Oh wow I am speechless, just got the chance of reading this and I Ab baffled, got sucked in your armed chair and almost can taste the wine, very cruel and cold world and is up to us to keep a slither of warmth to it, keep writing ✍️ don’t stop.