My maternal grandparents, Dr. Aram Der Boghosian (1894-1985) and Zohra Der Boghosian (1910), are both survivors of the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Unlike many victims of tragedies whose pain and fear prompt silence and an unwillingness to discuss the details of their experiences, both of my grandparents seemed to feel a personal, historical, cultural, and emotional need to share their stories with myself, my sister Claire, my brother John, and my four cousins. The seven of us spent many summers at their home in Asbury Park, New Jersey captivated by these stories.
My grandpa Aram was a prisoner of war in the Turkish army and would describe to us how his extensive knowledge of multiple languages and classical music were the keys to his survival on at least a few occasions. My grandma Zohra, at the age of five, was forcibly marched from Diyarbakir, Turkey to Aleppo, Syria, eventually finding safe passage to Mexico City, Mexico. Immediately prior to being driven from her home, my grandmother described to us how she came upon a leather pouch lying in the street. Upon arriving home, she opened the pouch and miraculously found three gold coins that were ultimately used to pay for her older sister's passage to the United States.
In addition to providing their children and grandchildren with a critical link to their past, I have come to recognize that these stories, and others like them, served a more important purpose for my grandparents. First, they demonstrate how fortunate and privileged they were to have survived and subsequently prospered in both the Armenian and American communities. Second, these stories reaffirmed their steadfast Christian faith. And finally, these stories demonstrate how the Genocide provided Armenians with an inner strength to endure seemingly insurmountable obstacles, marking them as survivors rather than victims.
Most recently, my impressions of these stories have come into sharper focus as my wife (Kim Dagermangy) and I became parents (Katherine Grace). In June 1998, my wife and I moved to New York.
This time in New York has given my daughter an opportunity to interact with her great grandma Zohra and has given my wife the privilege of hearing these stories of the Genocide first hand. Moreover, although my daughter is far too young to have any understanding of these stories, I am convinced that the strength, enduring faith, and unwavering spirit, which my grandmother has drawn from her experiences will survive another generation.
