Summary of the Taped Interviews
Of The Assyrian Family Histories
By Dr. Arianne Ishaya
These documents are copyrighted. No changes in wording are permitted.
Yoel (Joel) Yonan
Date of Interview: Feb. 3, ‘82
Born in the village of Goytapa, Urmia
Date of birth: 1913.
During the flight of the Assyrians from Urmia he was 5 years old.
His mother and two of his brothers were killed during the massacre of the Assyrians.
One of his brothers and sisters had come to USA before the war and were in Chicago.
He stayed in the Baqubah refugee camp and when that was closed, the British moved the refugees to the Mindan refugee camp. After two years when the Mindan refugee camp was dismantled, he moved to Baghdad.
He came to USA in 1940. Worked in a hotel. He moved to Turlock in 1953 to join his brother Sam Yonan. He worked in San Francisco. In 1960 he bought 40 acres of a vineyard; but continued to commute to San Francisco to work. He and his wife are members of St. John’s Assyrian Presbyterian Church. He has two sons and a daughter. None of the sons is married; but his daughter is married to an Anglo-American.
The younger generation of Assyrians worked in San Francisco because up to 10 years ago most business in town was owned locally and Assyrians were not given jobs in Turlock. With the coming of chain stores and corporations the younger Assyrians have been more successful in getting jobs locally.
Sam Yonan (brother of Yoel Yonan)
Date of Interview: April 25,’82
I was born in 1907. I established that date for visa purposes. I underestimated my age to escape military service.
I went to school at the American mission school in Urmi. There was a school for boys and one for girls. There was also a college before 1914. They had a dorm to house village students. I attended school for one semester only. We learned Algebra, geography, Persian, English and arithmetic. In the class there were about 20 Assyrians. There was 1 Persian, 2-3 Armenians, and some Christian Kurds. The majority of the students were Assyrians. The teachers were Rabi Peera Amrikhas and Rabi Mariam…Mr. Wilson was the American principal. But most teachers were Assyrian.
In 1914 my father worked in the American college as a maintenance man. Then, he bought a small dry-goods grocery store. I remember almost everything from the flight. We left Urmi. My father had a “droka” driven by oxen. Assyrians in our group were planning to go to Russia. We loaded the oxen cart and we left. Somebody had a broken carriage; all the caravan was held up. It was late spring. We came to Hamadan then Baqubah. We never made it to Russia because of the revolution there. My father and two brothers were massacred during WWI in 1918. I remember people falling, people starving and dying on the roads. One day my brother and my grandma were lost. The next day we lost another brother. One morning when we woke up, there was no bread, no water either. My mother begged a woman “Hoyan khlapkh (Idiom: Let me be a sacrifice to you) do you have anything for these kids? There were three of us. We got some Russian bread mixed with the hairs of the bag. Yet it tasted more delicious than what I ate today! We managed one way or another until we got to Baqubah. There the British gave us rations.
My mother was sick and could not take care of us. She stayed in Baghdad after Baqubah. Her sister in American helped a bit with money. We kids were sent to an orphanage. The orphanage was run by the Assyrians but was under British control. They fed us and clothed us well. After graduation I landed a job at I.P.C. (British Petroleum Company in Kirkuk). I knew Persian and that helped. I was secretary typist for the production engineer. In the 1930’s about 100 Assyrians were working in the IPC as truck drivers, sweepers, clerks, craftsmen, but mostly office jobs. When the depression hit, we were laid off because we were not Iraqi citizens. So I got my visa to come to America. The embassy agent asked me why I wanted to go to America. I said because we are a dominated minority. In Iraq by Arabs, in Iran by Muslims, and in Turkey by Turks. We have no home.
I had a cousin and a brother and sister in America. We took a car to Damascas, from there to Beirut, from there a steamship to Greece, to Istanbul, and then to Marseille. There were plenty of Assyrian in transit there. I met some schoolmates there. Elia Sargis from Charbash, Elisha from of sheinabad. I have a picture of them all together. I knew Elia’s brother, David. His two sisters were in Baghdad. And o found Odishoo Mirza from Goytapa, Rabi Sarah Mirza, who was a schoolteacher at Fisk Seminary in Urmia.
In USA I landed in New York, Ellis Island. My brother and sister drove from Chicago and picked me up. We had not seen each other for 16 years. I stayed in Chicago from 1930-45. I did not like the weather in Chicago and drove to California. In San Francisco my brother was first a bus boy then became a waiter. Before he retired he was the captain of the dining room in a hotel. I worked in a hotel for a while. My brother Joe was in military service then. I opened a service station in Oakland. There we were friends with a few Assyrians and got together every week in one house. There was Frank Jacobs, John Aslan, and John Sayad…
Kasha Eskhaq Malik: He wrote The Beloved Physician of Teheran. It is about Dr. Sayid Khan. He had converted to Christianity. His wife was Assyrian.
I have nothing to do with farming. But Joe has a 20 acre Vineyard and is still farming. He bought it for $10,000.00. It is worth now $200,000.00.I am glad I am here, and sweet home for me is the USA. My sister passed away last year.
Rabcca Rustam (Married surname: Thomas)
Interviewed March ‘82
Rabcca is from the Village of Degala the closest village to the town of Urmia. She does not know her exact date of birth. But her guess is that she is 98 years old. Her grandpa wrote the birthdays of all the children in the Bible. At the time of the flight grandpa stayed home. He did not think they would harm him. They killed him and all the books were lost. She is alert and has great memory judging by her detailed descriptions of events. At the time of exodus, she was living with her in-laws. She had a little girl. Her husband was working in USA as a migrant laborer. Her father was a carpenter. He was a contractor to the wealthy people in town. He did detailed wood carvings on the buildings of rich Muslims like Baguir Khan, Nasser-d- doleh, and others. Her mother was the daughter of Kasha Sarguis. She was from the Rostams too. Sharing her story was a very emotional experience. She started crying halfway through her story; at times, she was sobbing aloud.
When the Russians withdrew in the winter of 1915, the Turks and the Kurds attacked us. So we fled to Urmia. My grandpa (mother’s father) stayed back. He didn’t think they would harm him. But even our neighbors attacked us. They killed him, and the Bible where he had written all of his children’s birthdates (there were 10) got lost. As my mother-in-law and I were preparing to flee, my father-in-law said: “Foolish ones, where are you going?” See, he thought this was like the traditional pattern when marauders would hit a quarter in the village and leave with their spoils. He did not join us, and we never found him.
They had killed 20 old men and women and stuffed them in tanuyras (fire pits). So we fled.
See how my ears are ripped? One has healed over a bit, but not the other. I was wearing earrings. I had tied my baby on my back with the kind of blanket they bring from Tiflis. As I was running with the crowd, I got separated from my relatives. In my group was Joel of Goytapa, Iramia Baba of Tarmani, Khaloo (uncle-a kin term used for older men) Peera of Tasmanlooi together with their families. These are the people I remember. Before we crossed the City River Bridge the Turks stopped me. They undid the shawl and took it. I took the baby in my arms. When we crossed the bridge, the Turks were lined up on both sides like a wall, and we were fleeing in the middle. I had a flowered woolen lachikta (scarf) on. I had another scarf under it to cover my ears. It was cold, and we didn’t even know where we would end up. The baby was crying; she became frightened after they took the shawl away. A man came forward and asked me to take off my head scarf. There was snow. It was just a week before Christmas. I could not put the baby down, so I just stood still. The man stretched his arms, pulled my scarves, and ripped off both of my earrings. I continued on my way. The crowd reached the town, and we found women and children who had gotten there before us. They were crowded along the streets and had filled up all the corners. We were following blindly. A woman from our village who had married a Muslim. She took us to her house. My head was bare. My ears were bleeding, and the baby was crying. The women of the house were sitting under a Kursi. (A portable wood heater). I sat there, too. They fed the baby. A woman attached four rags together as a scarf and placed them on my head. We stayed there that night. The next morning, I started thinking with a clearer mind and remembered that my father had a local Turkish friend. They were like blood brothers. So I told my host that I had a Turkish uncle in town and asked them to take me to his house, which they did. When his wife saw me she cried and cried. She told me it was three days now that my uncle and brother had been looking for me and were wondering whether I was killed or taken into slavery. She sat me at the Kursi and brought me a new (Lachikta) head scarf and fed my baby. After a while, my uncle arrived. When he saw me, he started crying and told me that my mother was safe at the Sahabi (American Missionaries). See, I did not know that my parents had escaped to safety. He advised me to stay where I was overnight; he would go to inform my parents about my whereabouts because they were tormented. The next morning, they covered me in a chador (long sheet that covers a Muslim woman head to toe), and I followed my uncle to the Mission yard.
At the mission, the American flag was flying over the roof; it was safe from plunder and attacks. Rooms were available, but we were very crowded. We had to sit and sleep all cramped up. The Mission could not provide food. They could not feed all those people. But the nasty Turks put chalk into the flour. So people got dysentery. Those whose villages were nearby were sneaking out and bringing food for their families. Goytapa, Degala, these large villages were pillaged; but still there were some houses in which some produce was left behind. You see, some had buried it, hidden it, so they were going and bringing it. That is how it was as to food. But disease fell among the people. At least 50 people died every day. My daughter died in the Mission yards. The dead were buried in mass graves at Mart Maryam (St. Mary’s ancient church in town) without a shroud or coffin. Then typhoid epidemic struck. My mother smuggled us back to our village. There we lived in hiding and in fear. As soon as we heard the sound of a bullet, if we were standing on a ladder, the ladder under our feet would bounce because we shook from fear. I used to ask God how long we would have to suffer.
The flight of 1918 was due to the Russians becoming Bolshevicks. In 1915 during our first flight- Mar Shimun who had also fled Hakkari, camped in Salamas. The Russians had left food and ammunition behind. So our mountain brothers joined with the Assyrian men of Urmi under General Agha Petros who valiantly came forward to join the Allied forces and defend the Assyrians with Mar Shimun. There is so much trickery in the war. Message came to Agha Petros that the British have brought troops to Sain Gala, and he was to go and accompany them to Urmi. Thus they lured Agha Petros from Urmi. 2000 men or more went with him; so we could not resist the enemy. One day, I am in Guytapa. Suddenly, Rabi Surma appeared with a group of Patrati. As soon as she reached our door, she started waving and urging us to get out, No one must stay. So people rushed out, grabbing children, a few things, some with, some without shoes started running. So, we went. Along the way, there were people with carts loaded with carpets and samovars. The Turks were behind us. We could hear the sound of bullets. But some stayed in Guytapa. One was Kasha Mushi Malik. He said I am a priest. He was a well-known person, and people from all the villages had stored their belongings at his house. So the Turks thought that a man with such furnishings must be very rich. So, after plundering the house, they demanded cash. He explained that the property was not his and that he had no cash. Then they said if he renounced his faith, his life would be spared. Then he raised his Bible and said, “Under the cross I will be killed, but I will not be converted. They shot him dead. His wife escaped from another door. Then my father went to him…. (Unintelligible.)
After the enemy ransacked the village, the people who had stayed behind took their guns and barricaded themselves in the red church. Then came the Sahabi (title for the missionaries) Dr. Cochran. He advised the men to surrender their weapons for safe passage. So they surrendered their guns, and some were shot.
The rest of us who had taken to flight: the carts got stuck in the mud. So people were dumping the cauldrons, trays, samovars on the road so that they would get trampled over and not fall in the hands of the enemy. Our group escaped safely. At night, we had to sleep in the wilderness, thirsty and hungry. Some found a few twigs of barley or wheat. They separated the grain and ate it to ward off hunger. In this condition, we reached Sain Qala. The British had told us they would meet us there, supply us with ammunitions, and we would return to our villages. Sain Qala had gates. It is a beautiful place with orchards, water, and cool weather. We were in the front, so we entered safely. People camped in those orchards and began preparing a meal. The meal was barely prepared when we heard the sound of gunfire. There was such a panic that carts and people were running into each other. The oxen were falling and kneeling. Those who could, escaped, but many died there. The British ordered the gates of the town to be shot closed so that the people who had passed through would be safe. But all those who remained stranded behind the gates were killed. As we were fleeing the townspeople were shooting at us from behind the windows of their houses. Our boys were retaliating by shooting at the windows. On our way we reached a Gadoog (mountain pass). The carts were abandoned; they could not make it up the steep pass. Some stayed behind. They could not climb the hill. Some climbed it. We reached Golan tapa. From there we went to Bijar. We had lost 50,000 people by then. It was estimated that half of the nation had perished. What with all that were killed, abandoned, starved, or fell ill and stayed on the roads (sobbing). I have seen mothers abandoning their children. We reached Hamadan tired and half-starved. Dysentery ravaged the people, and the sick were flat on their backs piled in a ruin. We stayed there for a few days. Those who had money rented a place and stayed there. But word came from the British that they could not help us there. They had prepared for us in Baqubah. They had established posts along the route. Every evening they gave us rations. We stayed the night in an encampment then moved to the next until we reached Baqubah. The British put the men and stronger women to work on moving and breaking rocks for building a road. The British were stern. So people would go all day long and return to the campsite in the evening. Lice invaded the people. From Hamadan we were going to Shahabad- a village. It was a pile of ruins. There was a Kasha (title for a priest (translator) Eshaq from our village. (Father of Rabi Shoushan). He had 5 daughters and one son (sobbing). We went visiting the sick who were lying out there. We saw him. He was laid out there. Lice were swarming all over his face. He died in that condition. There was no place to wash. There was a little ditch. People were washing in that cold water. We could see lice flowing over the water. There was so much of it. So we reached the frontier between Iran and Iraq. We were no longer afraid because this area was under British control. We encamped at the border. In the evening, they gave us canned meat. But we could not open the can. So our people were trying to puncture them with rocks unsuccessfully. Then the British showed us how to open them. Most of the time, they gave us rice. But we of Urmia are not used to eating so much rice. People were not digesting it. We walked and walked until we reached the train station. Those who were sick could not walk, and people passed them by. Unlike Russians, the British had no compassion. They would ride by in their cars and care less. When we reached the train station, they put us on trains for the rest of the trip to Baqubah
In the refugee camp, the British had set up tents for refugees, but we were quarantined separately. They bathed us and gave us medication for the lice. There was a wagon where our clothes were washed in high temperature water to kill the lice. Then they located our relatives in the camps.
Soon after we reached the camp, the British took away the young men’s Mooraqua (weapons) and drafted them into military service. They drilled them and gave them uniforms. Those who had families in the camp came for a visit occasionally. Those who were older stayed in the camps and did civilian duties. The British had given us Hedanas (earthen foot stove). Cooking fuel was scarce. If someone had to do baking, they used the Tanuyras (Large circular cooking pits). As soon as a woman lit the pit, people would rush in and place their cooking pots and kettles around it, pushing and shoving each other. The woman would plead with them to let her do her baking. Finally, in desperation, she would kick the pots and spill the contents all over the place. The old men brought kerosene tanks containing close to 500 gallons. The British set motors at the riverside and brought water to the camps via pipes. The old men were assigned as watchmen over the water. The water was rationed according to the people in each tent and distributed accordingly.
I stayed in Baqubah for around two and a half years.
We managed for ourselves. Brought water from the river, cooked, etc. They moved us to Mindan refugee camp because the Arabs started shooting at us. I stayed in Mindan no longer than 6 months. The mountain Assyrians were familiar with the surroundings. They left the camp and found jobs. Those who wanted to leave for America came to Baghdad. They had rented a date grove where we could stay while we filled out papers to join our relatives in America. The ships were scarce then. We had to wait. It took me 8 months to get to this country. My husband’s name was Lazar. He sent me passage money. We got stranded in Bombay. There were close to 360 people in transit with us. They called the place Bay Qala. But others were staying at different quarters too. We stayed for more than 40 days. Because the soldiers were given priority to return home. We paid for our food. But the Indian missionaries had rented the quarters for us. So we paid no rent. That was in 1921.
From Bombay, we came to Italy. We brought our food on the ship. Dry toast and canned meat. We bought other items when we reached the ports. In Italy, we saw donkeys braying. “They have donkeys in Europe, too!” we exclaimed. We stayed in Naples for 40 days. We rented rooms there. From Naples we sailed to Ellis Island. Those who did not have citizen papers were deported.
My husband was a carpenter. I stayed in Chicago for about 22 months. Then, we moved to Turlock in 1923. My husband Lazar was not made for farming. After three years, he returned to Chicago to work there. I was left with a vineyard, cows, chickens, and horses to take care of. I did not speak English and did not know how to get around. But I managed the farm by myself. Except for plowing. My German neighbor who worked for others did that. I had cows, chickens, and crops. I raised money from these, and he sent some, and we paid the $2000.00 loan on the land within 18 months. During the depression, I did not go on welfare. I was Dr. Adam’s neighbor for 19 years. We owned adjacent plots. Dr. Adams was our agent when we bought our ranch. We had 10 acres, including a home, a barn, and horses. Those days, there were no tractors. Dr. Adams family helped me with language, letters, this and that. They were so good to me. They took me to Church and other community functions. Whenever I had office work, he came along with me.
He was very respectful towards his wife. She was the daughter of Hakim (Dr.) Israel. He had six sons and two daughters. All are alive now. At the time, there were few Assyrians here. Sam Yadgar was one. There was Rabi (title for a teacher) Khoshaba, the Khoubyars, Backus’, Joseph Adams. Dr. Adams was such a man that if a new Assyrian came ad did not know the language or wanted to buy on credit, he would give Dr. Adams name, and Dr. Adams always endorsed such people’s signature. He was such a man that 80 refugees were stranded in Seattle. There was no one to sponsor them so they could be released. Dr. Adams, along with Joash Peters, went to Seattle. Dr. Adams was dressed like a millionaire, and Joash Peters introduced him to the authorities. At that time, Dr. Adams owned 130 acres of land, including houses. He sponsored all those refugees. He could sign a check here, and it could be cashed in Los Angeles. He was trusted that much. When Rabi Surma came here in 1926 he bought a brand new car to take her to Fresno to visit the mission. Others went along. They gave her land to build our ancestral Church. Now, they call it the Church of the East. They brought Kasha Nestorus. He was from a well-educated family.
When we first came here, we were few. The Presbyterians used to go to to the American Presbyterian Church. But the American girls started dating our boys. That made their parents jealous. They said, “You are uncivilized. You are black”. Go build your Church. Rabi Khoshaba and Sargis Khoubyar came to Dr. Adams at nigh crying. They said we were the first missionaries. Our monuments in China and Japan are a witness. Now they throw us out of the Church. Where is our dignity? So, Dr. Adams helped buy 9 lots close to the present high school. So the Assyrians from Turlock and San Francisco collected money, and we built a hall that could accommodate 150 people. There were restrooms and water inside. The other lots were empty, and we were going to build a non-denominational Church there because we were all united then. But later, the Presbyterians who were driven out from the Presbyterian Church, those who had pledged to support a non-denominational Church, people like Khoshaba and Khoubyar, they said they wanted to practice Presbyterianism. That a general meeting was called. The hall was packed. The Presbyterians acted disrespectfully in their manners. One of them got up and claimed that the hall belonged to the Presbyterians. Dr. Adams silenced him and reminded him of the by-laws that stated the non-denominational character of the Church are on the wall. Those who abide by them belong to this Church. So they got up and left. Only a handful remained. So we had alternating preachers who did not get paid. As to the Presbyterians, this Kasha Elisha David had studied for ministry. Dr. Stone in Chicago was his patron. He had sent him to the minister in a Black church. He did not like it, and they did not like him either. So, all this conflict in our Church was created to get Presbyterians a Church and also to get him a job. The rumor was that Dr. Stone would pay the salary of the priest and his assistant. He would even pay the trustees and finance the building of a sanctuary. So, they messed up our Church for their purposes. So, they deserted us, but later some came back to the church. But Dr. Stone’s promises did not materialize. Kasha Elisha was given a letter of recommendation to the effect that these are people from Iran; they have no money to help them. So, he raised money from wealthy Presbyterians in Stockton and Fresno to build the Church. Assyrians also donated money. All the windows were donated by the Assyrians and they bear their names.
As to my husband, he was good for nothing. He would come occasionally from Chicago, complain about this or that, and leave again. He was not a man of skills. The only thing he could do was be a waiter. The fourth time he left, he did not return. He sold the farm without telling me. One day, a man comes and says this is his farm, and I have to move out. My husband was divorcing me. So, relatives and neighbors came to settle the dispute between us. It was decided that the money for the sale of the farm should be divided between us. We had bought it for 8000.00 and spent 4000.00 on it. It was in 1941-42. I moved out of my farm in 1942. I bought 8 acres of land in Hawkeye for $5,500.00. It was undeveloped land. I planted grape vines. The vines I had not bought. I had taken cuttings from other vineyards. The land was full of weeds. I used to word until it was too dark to see. I also worked in the bomb factory. It had ten sections. I used to work in one of the sections. The employer used to say “Bring your parents, even your grandparents. There is a job for everybody here.” They paid us $18.00 a week. They used to give us a meal too. I used to get up at sunrise to make up for the time I worked in the factory.
At the time of the interview, Rabcca had sold her farm and was living as a pensioner with an Assyrian lady, Khat Shakar, who had turned her residence into a senior Care home. Khat Shakar had married Mnashi Adams, Joseph Adams son. She said that Dr. Adams was the first Assyrian in Turlock. After him came his brother Joseph Adams (Shakar’s father-in law). When he first came, Dr. Adams was buying and selling land. Then he gathered all these Assyrians here. His goal was to bring Assyrians from all over America and settle them in Turlock.
Helen Schwartz (Born 1910. She is Senator John Nimrud’s sister)
Jerome James (Former husband, Born 1904, famous for building skyscrapers in Chicago)
Date Interviewed Oct. 31,’87
Helen talked about her husband first. Jerry was a migrant worker in Russia before WWI started. In 1917, When the Assyrians became displaced from their homes, he fled from Russia to Siberia, from there to Shanghai, China, and waited for his uncle in America to send him passage money for America. He arrived in the USA in 1923. He stayed one year in Angel Island to qualify for a quota. His first job was in construction, carrying mortar in barrels. There was a building boom in the 1920’s. Jerry went into the plastering trade.
Hw worked on the famous Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. From plasterer, he became a painting contractor. Never experienced hardship during the depression. He was working for Baird and Warner Real Estate Company. He employed many Assyrian painters. The family moved to Chicago to be close to his uncle on his father’s side. Died at the age of 54 with assets over 7 million dollars.
Jerome James had two sons who also became prosperous developers, Edward and Kenneth James. They built homes and developed two streets in Turlock who still bear their names: Kenneth Drive and Edward Drive.
Helen was 7 years old when the war broke out. She fled with her mother, age 37, brother, 14, and sister, 9. Her father was already in America. Worked as a cabinet maker. Her aunt fled too with her family. It took two months to reach the Baqubah camp. They lived for two year in Baqubah. The Arabs perched on date trees were shooting with snipers at the Assyrians in the refugee camp when they were there. After that, her brother built a one-room shelter in Baghdad while they waited for their exit visa. They travelled to America from Basra to Bombay, to Italy. For the first time in her life, she saw bananas and was trying to eat one with the peel on. She was 11 years old when they reached New York, Ellis Island. Her brother John Nimrud was born in the USA. In Chicago, most Assyrians lived on Clark Street, which was not a good area. They went to Carter Memorial Church. Mr. Carter actively helped the Assyrians, so the Church was built in his memory. “We learned both English and the Assyrian language at the Church. Rev. Hedoo Ablahat, a mountain Assyrian, came as a young man to America and went to McCormick Presbyterian Seminary. He was our minister at the Church.”
Alfi Jones
Date of Interview: May6,’82
Note: Alfi Jones is the daughter of Katie Eshoo. Katie is famous among Assyrians for having composed two nationalist songs together with their lyrics and for serving the sick refugees in the American Mission yards in Urmia during World War I, from whom she caught typhoid and died.
Alfi: I was born in the town of Tabriz, Iran. I have lived in Turlock for 40 years.
At the age of 10, I went to Fiske Seminary, which was a large boarding school for girls in Urmia. My grandmother graduated from that school. For many years afterwards, she was the principal of that school. In her records she relates that due to political disruptions, all the books were stolen. She wrote each day’s lesson on the blackboard. After using it, it was copied as a page in a new textbook for other students. Many of my grandmother’s pupils live in Turlock now. She was a great record-keeper and writer, some of which date to the 1890’s. Three years ago a close relative of hers brought all these documents to me. Looking through them, I found a large notebook with names and grades of her students. My father was a graduate of the boy’s mission school. He came to Canada and worked on a farm for room and board until he graduated from Queen’s College in Ontario as a medical doctor. In 1902, he returned to Urmi. At that time, my grandmother was still a principal at the Fiske Seminary. Her only daughter, Katie, who had studied in the mission school, was a teacher at that school. My father Samuel Eshoo met Katie at that school, and they were married at that school. Soon after, they moved to Tabriz permanently. There was a large Mission school and also a hospital there. My father worked at the hospital and also had a private practice for both Assyrians and Muslims. I, my brother, and my sister were all born in Tabriz. We attended the mission school and the Church there. In time, more Assyrian students left for USA and Canada leaving their beautiful homes surrounded by vineyards and orchards in Urmia because of constant harassments. Very often, their villages were raided by Muslims who carried away their belongings and crops. That is why their homes were built very close to each other with a small opening in between in case of an emergency. In 1912 and later there was a major persecution of Christians. 200 girls were carried into captivity; a thousand people died. The American Mission was the safest place. 15,000 Assyrians fled to Mission yards. There were no sewage facilities. 20-30 people died a day. My mother was at this time in Urmi, visiting my grandma. Not being able to return home to Tabriz, she was forced to stay with this crowd. She offered her services as a nurse. A well-known Assyrian evangelist had also returned to Iran for a visit and was also caught there. He preached to the sick and dying. My mother, among others, also caught typhoid and died at the age of 27. Living 200 miles away and with no communication, we did not know about her death until a year later. 50,000 Assyrians fled from their homes and property. I travelled all day, walking, running under fire. No hotels. Camped in the wilderness. Children were deserted when very sick. Teenagers lost; never found. It took 32 days to arrive in Hamadan. The British had made accommodations for the refugees.
An aunt stayed with Them for two years after her mother died. There was also an Assyrian maid and a Muslim Haji who had worked for them for 12 years. On her was to school Muslim teenagers spitted at her and called her “Najess” (religiously unclean). At school the main textbook was the Bible in Assyrian. They also learned English, Turkish, and French. High class Muslim girls also attended.
In 1919, we as well as the Americans and the British, were ordered to leave at once. We were told to go to Hamadan, where all the refugees were. We left a 12 room home with European furnishings in care of Haji. Even the grand piano on which Mother learned how to play. They started off in covered wagons along with others. But father decided to return home. Since he was a medical doctor, he had Muslim friends. One patient was from the royal family and was a very rich landlord. He extended an invitation to hide as guests in his home. He sent us Muslim clothes to camouflage our identity during the two-day journey to his home. He offered us carriages and ten of his Muslim soldiers for protection. As we left the town, we saw the Turkish army ready to enter and take over power. We passed through without being noticed. They gave us a royal salute. On the way we found many dead in the outskirts of town. He had a whole village as his home. He had 10 wives ranging in age from 100-10 years old. A family of 200 looked after his estate. Each wife had her own compartment but a large common kitchen. We lived there for four years.
We returned to our home in Tabriz after the revolution. Haji kept it as we had left it. The prince’s oldest wife gave me 16 gold coins engraved with the Shah’s portrait.
After a few months, there was another disturbance that made evacuation necessary. This time, Father hired horses. Women were carried in large baskets. We travelled like that for 28 days. Stayed in a Caravansary (caravan house) at nights. Made tea, ate roast beef and lavasha (flat bread). Father had changed his money into gold coins. As kids (two girls one boy) we did not understand the dangers involved. We were just playing and travelling. But I can remember the Kurds descending upon us- mostly for purposes of looting. But we knew they would not touch the children. So all the gold pieces were sewn into the lining of our jackets. So the Kurds took everything from my dad and his companions but did not get any of the money that was with us. Reached Hamadan. Met other refugees there. Grandma had rented a room. Lived there for almost a year. Missionaries had started schools, and there was a Church for the refugees. Many refugees settled temporarily in Hamadan with the hope of returning to Urmi after the war. A few families went to England and France. But our family decided to come to North America. We travelled to Baghdad, where the British had prepared a village of tents with complete sanitation systems. United Church Organizations in America sent assistance to Christians in the Middle East. Many families decided to stay in Baghdad permanently. However, the goal of many families was America. It was right after WWI, and the first reservations were given to the veterans aboard boats. Since there was no air travel at the time. After months of waiting, we were given passage to travel by way of India. To get there from Baghdad we had to travel on Tigris River on a boat that accommodated 200-300 people. Natives pulled the boat when it got stuck in the shallows. Arrived in Basra, from where we boarded an ocean liner to India. Calcutta was large and beautiful. After a month, we boarded another ocean liner to Japan. From there to Singapore and then China. To Hong Kong. Hong Kong is built on a hill and looked like a Christmas tree as we arrived at night. From there to Shanghai, and via Sea of Japan to Tokyo and Yokohama. This was a compact and clean city. The inhabitants were extra polite. We stayed there for several weeks, waiting for passage. The last leg of the journey was in a beautiful Japanese ocean liner across the Pacific Ocean. Some families were going to San Francisco, but we were heading to Vancouver. It took a whole month to cross the Pacific Ocean in those days. The menu was fish every day. Not very appetizing. We finally arrived at our destination. It took 8 months to get from Iran to Canada. Our housekeeper Haji sold our house and sent 24 pieces of Persian rugs to New York. He was a poor Muslim. Not all Muslims are bad. We were detained in Vancouver for a physical checkup and examination of our refugee status. All our money was spent by that time. We were told that we could not enter and must go right back because my father’s citizenship had lapsed for being too long away. My father writes to former Canadian friends. Two weeks later, a telegram arrived from the Missionary Society of United Church of Canada saying that there was a small mission hospital in N. Manitoba where the previous physician was ready to retire. We settled in (not eligible) the size of Ceres, populated by people who fled from Ukraine and Russia. They had settled there as homesteaders. They were very poor. Our home was on the Mission hospital property. Ours was the only building with electricity, which was supplied by a generator in the hospital basement. We used wood for cooking and heating. It was a 30 bed hospital with 4 nurses. Three Ukrainian girls did the cooking and laundry. Nick, the undertaker, was also an interpreter for Dad when he went on house calls. He was the only physician within a hundred miles. For transportation, we used a carriage in the summer and sleds for winter. The temperature went down to 30 below Fahrenheit in the winter. We grew up in this environment to our teens. Father never remarried. The children divided the housework among themselves. My brother Homer worked part-time and went to medical school. One of his sons is also a physician with practice in Los Angeles. In 1921, I registered in the University of Manitoba. I was the first Assyrian student there. After graduating in the field of Education, I taught in a grammar school near home. We were required to teach in a country school for two years. In 1940, I went to visit relatives in California. I met my husband, got married, and settled on Geer Rd, Turlock, where I still live. My husband passed away after 7 years and left me with two small children, ages four and seven. I had to manage a big vineyard on my own. Did not know how to drive. But I learned how to manage. I listened to Jack Shure preach and raised my children as Christians.
I have opened my home to foreign students who attend college here.
Mr. and Mrs. Arby Khoubyar
Interview Date: Dec. 10,’81
Nina: I came to America in 1926.
During the flight of Assyrians from Urmi in 1918 she was 14 years old. During the war her father was killed. Her mother died on the road when they were fleeing.
I stayed in an orphanage in Baghdad. The orphanage had about 200 boys and girls. They were mostly Assyrians, but there were a few Armenians too. The orphans used to go to school. Each girl had a small job to do. Their age ranged from 5 up. The supervisor was Mrs. Jones, the daughter of Dr. Shedd. There were two Assyrian teachers: Rabi Gozal and the other was Rabi Rosa.
After Mrs. Jones left for America, I joined her in 1926 and stayed with her. This was in Belmonte, California. I stayed there for two years. I met my husband, Arby Khoubyar, in a meeting. One Sunday, there was a speech on the Assyrians from the old country. The speaker had come from there and was reporting on the conditions there. People were inquiring about their relatives. So I went to the front after the lecture and asked about my uncle Karam. So we met in 1927 and got married 6 months later. We moved to San Francisco, where Arby worked as a plasterer. We have two sons and one daughter. Both sons are teachers, one in Turlock and the other in Modesto. All are married to non-Assyrians.
Arby Khoubyar is the youngest of 4 brothers. They left Iran at the start of political upheavals in Iran. His father was from the village of Seeri. He worked in the American Mission (qala) for Dr. Labore and Dr. Shedd.
Arby: It was the day of Ashura (Muslim Religious parade). We were running and my oldest brother David -now a priest-got lost on the way. I do not know how my mother found him.
My father had come a year and a half before us. He worked and sent us passage money. So we left with a few families. Arrived in Ellis Island. My father and my eldest brother were waiting for us. We stayed in Chicago for two years. My father worked in a department store. We came to California because my father thought he could be a farmer. He should have been a priest. He couldn’t raise a grasshopper. My father knew Dr. Adams in the old country. Dr. Adams was starting a farming colony here. We stayed 5 years in Delhi, then moved to Turlock. Dr. Adams was given a raw deal by some real estate agents to establish an Assyrian farming colony in California. The land was no good. When the wind blew, the sand filled the air for 3-4 days. You could see nothing.
I started 10th grade in Turlock. The Swedish kids did not accept us because we were colored; you know, they were white. We could not get along. There were fights every day. The Assyrian and the Portuguese kids were one against the Swedes. The Swedes, who were here first, did not like other ethnicities. Mrs. Khoubyar: At that time, the Assyrian women wore their traditional head coverings and were not liked.
Mrs. Arby Khoubyar describes women’s occupations outside the home:
My father and mother started working in the Hume cannery in 1911. All Assyrians have worked there, their women, that is. First, we used to cut everything by hand. Now, it is done by machinery. Apricots, peaches, all were cut by hand. There was spinach, too. No, it was not a good job, being eight hours on your feet. But you had to make a living. There were no other jobs. In the 1930’s 50-60 Assyrians were working in the Hume cannery (later, it became Tri/Valley). Men brought them to work and then came to pick them up. Very few Assyrian women have not worked in canneries. Back in the thirties, wages were 25 cents an hour. Yes, it was a seasonal job. Spinach started in March for six weeks. Then it stopped, and the apricot run began for another six weeks. There were four shifts every 24 hours. So, it was part-time, and that is why women could do both housework and factory work. Mr. Khoubyar cuts in: I worked in the cannery off and on for almost 25 years too. When I was not plastering, I was working in the cannery. I worked on the equipment. During the war, we worked 12 hours a day. Back in the 30s, wages were 35 cents an hour. But when unions came during I, wages went up; $5-6 an hour. (Khoubyar Interview Age 70 Dec. 1981)
Arby Khoubyar has a brother by the name of Luther Khoubyar. He is college educated and has lived for five years in Germany. He is an opera singer.
Another brother, Rev. Robert Sargis Khoubyar has published his memoirs under the title My Boyhood Life in Sieri and Urmia: Persia (Iran).
David Gouryagous
Date of Interview: May 4, ‘82
Introduction: David Gouryagous is from the Ahiret (Independent) tribe of Jilu. Although nominally Ottoman (Turkish) subjects, there were 8 Assyrian tribes indigenous to the Hakkari mountain regions. They lived almost independently in their inaccessible mountain strongholds. They are known as “Mountain Assyrians. Or the mountaineers”. During WWI, they came under the attack of Turkish and Kurdish forces, and with great losses some escaped over the border to Iran and camped in the Salmas region until, together with the other Assyrians, they fled to the Baqubah refugee camp.
David: The Russians were good. Unlike other Europeans who treated Arabs and non-Arabs alike. The Russians liked us, and we wished for the day Russia should establish its rule over Turkey. When the Turkish government began to supply the Kurds with factory-made weapons, they overpowered us. We had homemade weapons only. The Kurds set fire to our houses. So we fled while fighting all the time. In Bshqala, we saw some Russian soldiers. A woman gave birth to a baby girl there. We named her Urisneya. So we had lived in Turkey for thousands of years. But when the Turkish government found out that our Patriarch, Mar Binyamin, had corresponded with Russia to the effect that his nation desired Russian rule overt Turkey, the Turks then armed the Kurds against us and we had to flee in defeat. We stayed in Iran for three years. From 1915-1917 we stayed in the village of Goulounji. Were it not for us, during the war the Assyrians of Urmia would have suffered greatly. They were no fighters. But they were more civilized. This was war time. Refinement had no use. The Assyrians of Urmia were small farmers. They were constantly robbed. They could not afford to support us while we took refuge among them.. So the mountaineers had to resort to plunder in order to support their families.
In the 1917 Russians retreated from Urmia; but they left their ammunitions for us. That helped us to defend ourselves when we came under fire and had to flee as refugees. In the refugee camps we lived like kings compared to the hardships we suffered in the mountains.
The British purchased land for 700 families. But he project did not materialize because of the revolution in Iraq. So some people moved to America. The rest did not have money to build homes on the land; so they sold it.
Those who stayed in Iraq found jobs in IPC (British Petroleum Co.). We lived in refugee camps for four years. After Mindan (refugee camp) we left to live in my wife’s village, Alqosh. We were a large family. The family was supported by migrant work. Women and children would glean grain stocks from what had fallen on the roadside.
1946-1947 was the year when Assyrians who had made Iraq their permanent home, were granted citizenship. Legally we could apply for citizenship. But the government officials made it impossible to get one. I had to pay $100 Dinars as a bribe which was a fortune then (1940’s). So only one in every 50 had a citizenship card; those who had contacts in the government got citizenship. The Iraqi-born Assyrians were not given well-paying jobs on the ground that their parents had not been Iraqis. As time went on, and a second and third generation of Iraqi-born Assyrians grew up, they were again excluded occasionally on the ground that their grand-parents or great grad-parents had not been Iraqis.
We moved to Habaniya and lived there from 1936-1952. After leaving the colonial British army I began to work in a refrigeration supply company. We supplied all embassies and other large offices with equipment.
David and his wife have 12 children; 8 sons and 4 daughters. One of his sons sponsored the family to immigrate to USA.
Jerusha Bourang
Date of Interview: 4/2/’82
My mother bore many children. She used to carry one on her back and another in her belly. I guess there were 12 of us; but only three survived. My dad died in 1913. His brother took us in. We lived in the village of Gavilan. When the warning came that the Turks and the Kurds would attack, my mamou (term for paternal uncle) sent all the children to the nearby village of Gouchie and left us with a Kurdish friend so that we would not be taken into slavery. Shortly after, my Khaloo (term for maternal uncle), had come to the village and had inquired about us. My mother had broken down in tears because she could not move her children to safety into Russia. So my khaloo who had brought a “droga” from Russia, loaded the furniture of three households on it. (This is how many we were.) He put us kids on top, and we started off towards the Russian border. On the way, the wheels got stuck in the mud. Instead of discarding the load and disentangling the wheels, they gave up, and we started on foot. My khaloo begged the Russian cavalrymen who were passing by to snatch the kids before we were taken over by the enemy in pursuit. Those Russian soldiers were kind. Each picked one of us and put us in front of them on the horse and covered us with their mantle. (It was winter.) They fed us their rations, taking for themselves only so much as not to starve. At night, they warmed us up in their bosoms. Thus, they took us across the border into Russia. There we waited until our mothers and uncles arrived. They came empty-handed, having lost everything to the marauders. They had not salvaged a thing. We were left hungry and cold. But for the Russians, refugees and particularly orphans were almost sacred. My khaloo took my mother, my brother, and me to the interior to beg. For a long time, my uncle made money selling the clothes that were donated to us. My younger sisters, my Mamou, and his family stayed back in the border town. They lived off what we brought back from begging, yet my Mamou made out like my mother owed him something. While we were on the begging route, my little sister Youlia had caught pneumonia and had died. She was blond and fair. When we returned, we did not see her around and kept asking for her. They said she is out playing. As it got dark, we continued to ask where she was and they kept giving us excuses, and all the while they had buried her. So finally we found out. My mother cried that night and did not let a soul sleep. As summer came, we returned to our village. The village was in ruins, but the stable was intact. Our two water buffalos and a cow were there, too. They had gone to pasture on their own during the day and had returned to the stable at night. Even our gadroon” (wagon) was lying there in good shape. Our barn was intact, too. How God looks after the orphans! We all went and lived in the barn. The fields were ready to be harvested. That year, all the village people who had returned used our buffalos and wagon to bring home their harvest. One day, my mother cried and cried. She could not stop. My Mamou reproached her for not being thankful to God for His blessings. He asked her to stop for the sake of the only son she had left. She said those were not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy for seeing that her son had grown enough to replace his father. (That season my brother Elia had worked like a man in the fields.) Then my older sister, Shoulamit, came down with diphtheria. She used to get sick every time we moved. Now and then, Mamou took her out for a breath of fresh air. She got pretty bad at one time during the night, and my mother asked my uncle to take her out. But as he was helping her up, her feet wobbled, and she lay unconscious in his arms. Then they stretched her on the floor and faced her towards the sunrise. She was dead. Then my mother started lamenting and supplicating asking God to take her instead. You see, the Sahabi (American Missionaries) were against our way of animal sacrificial rites (Church of the East). They said Jesus sacrificed himself for mankind and let there be no more sacrifices. So mamou would not allow it in the family. He had become a staunch Presbyterian. But mother went on her knees and circled Shoulamit seven times all the time supplicating God to save Shoulamit and take her instead. My Mamou could not stand it anymore. He said “Khanna, you make my heart bleed.” Then he wowed his prize water buffalo as a sacrifice. “Let there be no human sacrifice”, he said. We heard the buffalo gasping that night; it was dying. And uncle said “God has heard me”. But two days later my mother died too and Shoulamit recovered. So we gave two lives for her and were left with no one to care for us. Shoulamit was the eldest, but she was not with us for very long. My Mamou gave her in marriage at the age of 14 to a priest with a long, white beard. On her last day with us, she beat us all up, and then she left in anger. But my eldest cousin Ester, she was good to us. She would sneak into the barn and bring us food. Then I got an earache and kept whining until my mamou got mad and said “Will someone take this girl out and shut her up?” My khaloo was due in town the next morning. He postponed his trip. He put me on the horse and took me to Gouchie. The doctor washed my ear and I got well. But shortly after that Ludia, my youngest sister, started complaining of an earache. They shoved her around and said “Don’t listen to her. She has seen her sister go to town; and wants to get a horse-ride too.” But she kept whining until Ester took her on her back and carried her to Gouchie. It was an hour’s walk. The Russian doctor had washed her ear; but had asked that she be brought back again, and again. A couple of times Ester took her. But then Ester’s mother forbade her and said that the kid is enjoying the back-rides and is using an earache as a pretext. Ester promised she would not carry her on her back. A couple of times, Ester sneaked her out and made Ludia walk until they were out of sight. But when her mother found out, she absolutely forbade the Gouchie trips. Ludia suffered from earache until a lump appeared under the right side of her neck; then another appeared on the left side. They grew until they choked her to death. That is how we lost our Ludia. She was a very pretty girl. She was 9 when she died. This is the fate of orphans….
John Israel:
Date of Interview: 2/23’82
We fled from Iran to Russia in 1915. I was four years old then. My father had come to America in 1912.
We fled behind the retreating Russian troops. I was 4, and my sister was 2. My mother took me on her back and my sister in her arms. But after walking a couple of blocks, my mother returned and left my sister with my grandmother because she could not carry us both. My grandma had a house full of furniture, an orchard, and vineyards. She would not part from them. She thought no one would harm an old woman. But she was mistaken. All those who remained behind were killed. I remember one thing distinctly. As we were walking, my mother fell on her face in the snow. A Russian soldier dismounted and put me on his horse, and helped her get up. He carried me on his horse for the rest of the time. On the way, my mother found a 10-month-old baby left in the snow. She picked him up to make up for the baby she left behind and took him along. He became a physician in Chicago. He passed away a year ago. Once in Russia, we suffered from hunger. My mother had a belt with a gold buckle. We were hungry. She sold it for a loaf of bread. Those were black days….Little children were sent begging. At one time, they made them pick cotton in the fields. My uncle was in Russia. We stayed with him. But war started there, too. We could not get in touch with my father in America for 10 years. We were near Rostov. One year, we were in Leningrad and one in Moscow. The Assyrian refugees in Russia made a living by peddling or begging. The peddlers used to take the cloth to villages and bring back flour. The conditions were bad. There was war. [The reference is to the Bolshevik revolution.] There was famine. But, once the war was over, conditions improved. I used to go to school. We were taught Assyrian half the day and Russian the other half. We found pa. Letters were exchanged through priests. He sent us passage money and we came to the United States in 1923. We went first to London, England; from London to Canada, and from there to Washington D.C. by land.
My father had rented a flat in Chicago. My uncle (his brother) used to live with us. I went to school to learn English and other subjects. I was eager to learn. But my father was not making enough money so my parents took me out of school for four months, and I started working. I worked in a restaurant twelve hours a day. My father used to work in a different restaurant. When they laid him off, I started working two jobs to feed the family. I made $22.00 a week. I was a hard worker.
The Assyrians in Chicago had four Churches: Nestorian, Presbyterian, and Baptist. They were not far from one another. The Assyrians were very friendly and very close in times of hardship and depression. All lived in one quarter: on Chicago Avenue and Clark Avenue. Qasha Hedoo’s Church was there too. Many Assyrians lost their homes during the depression. When they first came, they worked as dishwashers. Later they learned plastering, painting, drove taxis, and became cooks. There were many Assyrians in the painting craft. They were mostly from Taka Aridshay, a village in Urmia.
I was drafted into the army in 1943. I was married then. I married Agnes in 1940. I was in the war for two and a half years. I was sent to France, Belgium, Holland, and England. I met my brother in Germany. He was enlisted, too. I did not recognize him. Because we were always at the front. See, our group- there were five of us-. We were observer scouts. We were to find the enemy. So when you got nervous, they would send you once a month to the back to relax for 48 hours. He was at the back. He was a radio operator.
I was standing there. He came and said, “What are you doing here?” I said I’m waiting to see where they’ll send me. He said, “Bajo, (nickname) don’t you recognize me?” So I recognized him and stayed the night with him. He filled his cap with snow and dissolved some chocolate powder and poured it over it. So we had Slurpee!
Being in the war was no good. Especially because we could not take prisoners of war. Only I survived. All in my group were killed.
After the war, I started driving a taxi because painting materials could not be found. A woman got into my cab. She said her son was in the army, too. She looked so much like her son. I said, are you so and so’s mother? She said, “How did you know? I said we used to share bunk beds and that her son was killed next to me. We were sitting to dine. Suddenly, he said, “A sniper hit me.” So he died.
Her son had talked to me about his mother and her great coffee. So, I started talking to her about her son. She wanted to know how he was killed. I didn’t tell her. I said I was not there when it happened. Ya, they killed them all. I was lucky. It was due to my mother’s prayers.
I returned from the war in 1945. My brother did too.
