By Christ Iskenderian
In April 2025, I traveled to Armenia.
From Beirut to Yerevan, I carried with me an inheritance of immeasurable value: a Hmayil—printed in 1725, entrusted to me by my late great-grandmother, Siroun Varjabedian Aghamanoukian, and preserved across generations as a sacred relic that survived the Armenian Genocide.
It is more than an object. It is a fragment of a confiscated homeland—rescued from historic Cilicia, carried from Aintab to the orphanage of Shimlan in Lebanon, then to Alexandria, Egypt, and back again to Beirut, Achrafieh. From there, it reached Armenia in my hands, before returning once more to Lebanon.
This same Hmayil had been given to its guardian, Dirouhi Mahserejian Varjabedian, by her grandmother—as a protective relic, believed to shield against harm. It accompanied her through the most difficult chapters of her life.
A relic that escaped not only the Armenian Genocide, but also the successive wars of Lebanon.
For years, I preserved it with care and reverence, holding onto the hope that one day it could be restored.
That day came.
Through the Mesrop Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts—its leadership’s decision and the meticulous dedication of its specialists—this restoration became possible, on the occasion of the 110th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide and the 300th anniversary of the Hmayil’s printing.
A decision of national significance, for which I remain deeply grateful.
Today, the Hmayil has been restored.
It stands once again—not as a preserved artifact, but as a living testimony to history and to familial memory. It continues its journey toward future generations, carrying within it the spiritual resonance of its sacred texts.
This restoration surpasses the act of preservation. It becomes a response—quiet yet resolute—to the processes of cultural erasure that formed an integral part of the Armenian Genocide.
This relic, having passed through displacement, loss, and survival, embodies a people who refused disappearance. Its survival—and its renewal today—attest that even under conditions of systematic destruction, memory, faith, and cultural identity endure and are transmitted across generations.
Its restoration is a silent but profound victory—a testament that imposed realities can be resisted and ultimately overcome, even a century later.
To preserve such heritage is no longer merely an act of respect toward the past. It is a conscious moral obligation toward the future.
Perhaps Dirouhi could never have imagined that the Hmayil she safeguarded would one day be restored in Armenia—through the initiative of her descendant. Yet she fulfilled her role: she preserved it, protected it, and passed it on, ensuring its continuity.
A purpose that began in her time—and was meant to outlive her—has now reached fulfillment, affirming that the true strength of heritage lies in the unbroken link between generations.
God willing, this journey will continue.
Each restored relic becomes a bridge between past and future—preserving historical truth, national memory, and the continuity of identity.
The Hmayil is no longer only a witness to the past.
It has become a definition of the future.
A people does not survive by remembering history alone,
but by assuming the responsibility of preserving it.
