Where was I? Ceramics, Palestine Pottery/Armenian Ceramics and more. So, three families came from Turkey to Jerusalem to make ceramic tiles for the Dome of the Rock. After that venture fell through, two of the families, the Karrkasians being the other family, decided to stay and create Armenian Ceramics. They worked together for years and then decided to separate. The Karkashians moved to a new location inside the walls of the old city. Here the stories vary, depending on the story-teller.
Harout Sandroumi, a very lively and likeable Armenian potter, now owns what was once the Karkashians business inside the old city, and he tells a slightly different tale of what happened. He tells many tales, all of them interesting, and when Cotton Fite, a classmate at Williams who is now very interested in the area and its issues, and I entered Harout's - "People call me Harry!" - shop, we were soon seated on the other side of the little counter he rules, listening to his tales of what happened and what is happening.
Harout believes things began to change in the 80's. "Before then, people looked after each other. Now, it's different. The Armenian priests who used to lead the community now think only of themselves, like everyone else. They don't need money. They've got plenty. They want your women. When there's a problem, they know who to talk to." Clearly this "who" is the government. Harout is an engaging guy. He designs and makes beautiful pottery, and I believe he loves Jerusalem, at least the old Jerusalem. However, he, like many others, suggest or scream that people don't look out for each other any more. Where once, people in different communities cared about each other, now people in a single community no longer care. And minority communities are shrinking. Harout figures the thousands of Armenians who once inhabited the old city now number less than 100.
Later, while Khitam, Cotton and I were having lunch at the Jerusalem Hotel - beer, salad and chicken shwarma - Cotton got up and spoke to a solitary figure sitting next to us. The man had silver-gray hair, olive skin and a quiet air. Cotton spoke to him of their meeting a few years before and how glad he was to see him again and wished him well. Soon after that, as he was leaving, Cotton told me the man, Venunu Mordechai, is the Israeli citizen who told the world that the Israelis have nuclear weapons. Since then, he has been confined to Jerusalem and forbidden to speak to anyone of nuclear matters. His parting words to Cotton were: "I hope I'll see you soon in Chicago." I spoke with him briefly before Khitam and I left. "You know my story?" "Cotton told me, that's all I know. Is there a book?" "Not yet." "A website?" "Yes." I wished him well. I'll check the website tomorrow.
Last night, Khitam and I drove to Bethlehem after late lunch with Cotton. There we wandered, visited another Armenian pottery shop then went to hear The Edward Said National Conservatory of Music Orchestra play extracts from Bizet's CARMEN in a beautiful new space on the edge of a refugee camp on the edge of Bethlehem. The hall seats well over 2,000 and was nearly full. At least three quarters of the audience comprised Palestinians, the orchestra is made up entirely of young Palestinians and a few others who live in Palestine, and the chorus, from Switzerland, combined with many young Palestinian singers. The concert was wonderful! The audience, including Khitam and me, was engaged and amazed, and the concert was moving and exhilerating. What a treat and what an example of the power of art: the concert transformed the audience. Tired and a little hungry, with an hour's drive home after a full day, we were delighted we had been there.
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