A living stone of Jerusalem's Armenian Quarter

Kevork "George" Jansezian, aka Dede

Millions of tourists and pilgrims have flocked to Jerusalem's Old City for centuries to see all the historic, religiously significant and archaeologically dazzling sites it contains. This one tiny swath of earth has, and still draws, attention from all around the world.

And yet for me and my siblings, only two landmarks compelled us to flock to the Old City every weekend: Nene and Dede.

But now, one of those historic landmarks is no longer. After a three-week stay in a hospital Dede has died. He passed away in his sleep on Feb. 27, 2018.

Kevork “George” Jansezian — who was born in British Mandate Palestine, raised in Jordan and died in the State of Israel, all having never left the Old City — died at 82 years old. His parents escaped Turkey during the Armenian Genocide and sought refuge in Jerusalem.

Kevork spoke at least four languages including Armenian, Arabic, Turkish and English. He was orphaned at 5 years old, the youngest of three siblings all of whom preceded him in leaving Jerusalem and this world. After their parents died, the siblings were taken in by the Armenian Patriarch at the time and were raised in and by the close-knit community. Kevork is the only one who remained in the city till the end, while his siblings eventually moved to Dubai and Australia.

The orb of Kevork's existence encompassed a half-kilometer radius. He lived in the Old City, his home since birth, specifically the Armenian Quarter, the smallest of all sections in the Old City in both size and population. Governments came and went, wars raged, but Kevork remained, a living stone in the walls, a rock of the Armenian Quarter and in one of the two social clubs at the Armenian convent.

He was a man true to his word, never fake, extremely friendly and well liked. He was strong in character. Kevork was a photographer for most of his professional life. Later he created designs for ceramics, intricate works comprised of minuscule squares that made up Jerusalem’s walls and colorful floral patterns.

But, of course, his best legacy has to be his son, my dad, Tony.

Now this is truly amazing and rare and speaks of a life worthy of novels and film, but Dede would've been the last person to take note of any of this. Kevork was content with his own status quo and the occasional night out with the guys in Bethlehem.

And us, his grandchildren.

Like warriors of yore, we charged through Jaffa Gate every Saturday and made our way around to Zion Gate stopping just as we came to the height across the massive valley from the Mount of Olives. Right there is our Mecca - Nene and Dede's souvenir shop.

"Hokis," (my soul), Dede's eyes would light up as we rounded the bend and he would scoop us up for a big hug, defying his aching back. We would twirl around the ceramic Armenian pottery, the Hebron glass and other delicate items that children are prone to destroy. Then we would dart out of the shop threatening to jump in front of passing traffic as children are also wont to do. It's amazing Dede didn't die earlier of the heart attacks we caused.

This is our Jerusalem. This is our Old City. The ancient sites are to us as the Statue of Liberty is to mommy who grew up in New York: Taken For Granted.

We have more important things to attend to there. Grandparents.

Grandparents always trump yawning historic sites and churches. Nene and Dede would welcome us and then usher us to a feast prepared at their apartment, which faces the very mount on which they say Jesus will return. From there, he wept for Jerusalem.

Today, we weep for this city. Today one of its Living Stones will be buried on Mount Zion, a memorial to the dwindling but enduring Armenian community. Our beloved grandfather.

Dede and I celebrating Christmas 2012

Services will take place Wednesday, Feb. 28 at Saint James Cathedral in the Armenian convent at 4:00 followed by a procession to the Armenian cemetery outside Zion Gate and concluding with coffee at the club. 

Our last moments with Dede these past three weeks:

At Hadassah Ein Karem three weeks ago

No hospital bed will keep me from you!

A few more weeks and we would've run this hospital

Ushering Dede to an MRI

Passing time while waiting for the MRI

Dispensing drugs, just your every day child activity

Saying goodbye at the hospice Monday night

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Young babies, ancient places

At the Church of the Redeemer

This is how babies living in Jerusalem spend a day off from school: touring ancient churches and other sites that we cannot quantify because we still think 20 is "a lot."

Lucas and Raia, who attend a "coexistence" school in Jerusalem, had the day off for the prophet's birthday. They took the occasion to learn more about Christmas and the history of Jesus in the Holy Land.

They scaled ancient steps like nobody's business, climbed fountains that survived centuries of conquests, surveyed Christmas trees, nativity sets and stained glass windows. And they took stock of the many versions of Jesus on the Cross in paintings, sculptures and trinkets in the nearby shops.

Oooing and Aaahing at the Holy Sepulchre

Joined by three grandparents 

Scaling the fountain at Papa Andreas Square like invaders of yore

We left that gargoyle in shock!

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Breaking News! Albert Pujols Meets Me, Daniel in Israel!

In a bit of breaking news from this side of the world, baseballl star Albert Pujols, three-time MVP and 10-time All-Star, met me yesterday in Jerusalem!

He scooped me up as if I were a hanging curve ball
begging to be launched into the bleachers.

Here I am, sandwiched by amazingness! Dee Dee and Albert Pujols!

And he didn't just meet me and shake my hand, but he scooped me up in his arms and requested someone take a few photos with me. Yes, folks, you read this right. It's not everyday that someone gets to meet famed baby blogger Daniel, but this legendary baseball player did and he recognized greatness when he saw it. Which is probably what makes him great!

The truth is, despite my spin on this situation, I was absolutely enthralled with my new hero. As soon as I got back to school after this amazing encounter, I ran around with mommy's phone showing everyone the pictures of us together. And honestly, it wasn't just Albert, but the true powerhouse of the family, Dee Dee, who stole my heart.

This power-hitting duo bring life wherever they go. All MLB stats aside, here is the real reason  Albert Pujols is my hero: He and Dee Dee are always helping and advocating for people with Down syndrome, a cause close to my heart for genetic reasons. While most people are looking for ways to bring an “end to DS” through detection before birth, the Pujols are trying to help those of us with Trisomy 21 to lead better lives and to help us fit more aptly into the accepted version of society.

I think that is amazing. They know about such challenges firsthand: The Pujols’ eldest daughter, Isabella, is 18 and has Down syndrome.

The couple visited Shalva National Children’s Center in Jerusalem yesterday. Shalva is my old stomping grounds. And being one of the few Christian graduates of the program, I had the honor of welcoming and hosting the Pujols, who are also Christians.

About 40 percent of Shalva’s participants have Down syndrome. The new 200,000-square-foot  center, where I will probably return for the after-school gram in a year or two, includes an inclusive park for all types of children.

The Pujols weren't content with just touring Shalva: Albert gave a 5-minute batting clinic to two participants as well. And several autographs. And made several children and quite a few adults (such as my parents) very happy!

Can you see my shirt? "Future MVP" standing with former MVP!

"And a good day was had by all." Go Pujols!

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Getting in to Medical School

Firefighter Academy? Or preschool? Who wants him?

Last month, mommy and abba found a preschool for Lucas. How nice, right? They did so with still four months to go. No big deal, right?

Wrong!

Registration for ivy league medical school opened and closed in February! Oh, I'm sorry, did I say "Ivy League Medical School"? I meant preschool!!!

In Jerusalem, it is quite easy to mistake the two: The process for preschool registration in Jerusalem is so wrought with stress that is is tantamount to something as major as medical school. Parents unravel from the anxiety as registration day approaches. They consult each other and others about the leading preschools in the city and then lobby their connections to make sure their child can get in. Then, on that fateful day when online registration opens in February, these parents flood the internet and bring the fragile municipal servers crashing down, sending the communal tension that already pervaded the city to a crescendo of angst.

Actual prospective medical school students in Israel won’t even know if they made it into medical school until September and then their lives will be turned upside down in a matter of weeks as they will have to move across the country for university or take an exam for medical school in another country!

But 3-year-old children will have been registered since February or March when they find out which school graciously accepted them (and about 34 others their age). Yes, accepted. And that not based on academic achievement. Or potty skills.

Me: an official preschooler. Joshie: A preschooler in training. 

Here I am, the teacher of my own preschool,
raising up other babies in baby ways

Actually, the process started in December of 2014 for preschool in September 2015. That’s nearly a year in advance for kids who are most likely still in diapers, napping and looking forward to nothing more than a Mickey Mouse birthday cake.

Mommy and abba joined the fray of parental tumult and raced to their preferred preschool for its Open House in December, the day before we were leaving the country for Zemmy’s wedding. They filled out the five-page application, supplied the necessary forms and talked up Lucas as a genius who gets along with all variety of children and exhibits stellar leadership qualities (all of which is true). They handed over the paperwork to the principal with a kiss and a prayer and twiddled their thumbs on the 12-hour flight - and for the next two months.

Registration officially opened two months later, in February. And then a full month after that our parents found out - to their shock and horror - that Lucas was a baby without a preschool! Despite all of their advance efforts, the numbers worked against them and, in May, mommy and abba trudged wearily to the municipality to repeat the process in person this time. And so, with none of the stress and with all of the grace and surprises that God (and the Jerusalem Municipality) had to offer, Lucas was placed into a sublime neighborhood preschool, a veritable hidden gem close by with a reputable teacher.

But wait! Parents must register their children for kindergarten as well and then first grade, so this plays out three years in a row for each child. And then again at high school. And where you go now for pre-K could determine which high school you end up attending.

But the moral of this six-month stress-laden saga is this: While the parents sweated blood, jockeyed for prestigious preschools and then begged for whatever was left over, we babies were oblivious to it all.

As well we should be.

I for one have my own daycare to run as you can see from the pictures. There is a lot of baby shenanigans wisdom to be passed on to the next generation. And adult-run preschools are the least of my worries.

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Catching Up

Taking a nap on my way out of the hospital

It's been awhile since my last blog. I'd chalk it up to my ongoing recovery, but as you know I have convalesced like a superstar and all is quickly becoming a distant memory! It is mommy who is still recuperating and thus went on strike from posting my musings for a few days as she stumbled around the apartment like a zombie. I've heard her wonder things like, "Why does he need only six hours a sleep (a day!!!) while I need at least six in a row?"


I'm suffering from an ICU-induced form of jet lag where my nights and days are confused. As a valiant warrior in the realm of sleep, I have managed to stay alert most of the day and most of the night. But now, a couple of days back into reality, I am slowly adapting to natural lighting once again.


Also, due to my tune-up and my new super-duper functioning heart, my appetite now has the makings of a good Italian mama's boy as I consume copious amounts of baby food and then top it off with whatever is on my parents' plates that I find edible. If my parents thought I was a hungry boy before, they are now worried about keeping up with me. It is a whole new world when mommy has to remember to bring additional food with us as we head out for the day.


And, most importantly in my recovery, I am spending lots of quality time with Mimi and GongGong. Mimi comes running over to our apartment first thing in the morning to get in some time with me before the "Daniel hog" arrives. Because once GongGong shows up, I am "gone gone." Mommy is getting a little concerned over all the holding of me that is happening. She mentioned a word - "spoiled." We'll see what that means next week after the grandparents have returned to New York!

The "Daniel Hog," the "Lap Hog" and me!

Meanwhile, I'm still working to remove all the tape residue from every square inch of my body. While I was in the hospital, all the wires were strategically held in place by tape in order to challenge my resistance against pulling them out. Apparently they needed a lot of tape. Mimi suggested using "goo gone" while GongGong thought gasoline would be more effective. I think they were joking. Thus far, neither has been implemented and we are waiting on the soap and water to take effect.

All the grandparents  in the hospital garden
waiting for me to awake from my nap

I fall asleep in random places, like on
Dee's shoulder totally out of the blue!

I have reacquainted myself with my stroller and have
even traveled to Mordor already

And I am reacquainting myself with my toys

Our "welcome home" shot on Sunday

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Celebrating Life, Remembering Death

Note the Armenian flag in the background.

Today is my first Easter. Happy Easter! Buona Pasqua! Shad Darinerou! 

In a weird twist of the calendar, the same day I say Happy Easter to everyone, I also, as a good Armenian, must urge: Don't forget the Armenian Genocide.

Today is April 24. This year it happens to be Easter Sunday. But every year April 24 is the day we remember the Armenian Genocide and call upon the world to recognize it. More on that in a future post.

Actually there's lots about being Armenian that I've already learned in my eight months, so let's review:

1. All Armenians are proud to be Armenian. And that entails a few significant details:

a. We were the first Christian nation declared such in 301 AD, and thus when we say Shad Darinerou, we have real street cred!

b. We have a secret language, called Armenian. Okay its not a secret, but I guarantee, you know nary a word of it, only Armenians do.

2. We live in communities. For better or for worse. For example, the Armenian Quarter in Jerusalem has been occupied by Armenians since the 300s and some of the original families are still here! We have our own school, church, library and convent, which is a place where only Armenians can live. Wherever you find Armenians, you find A LOT of Armenians together. For example, LA in California stands for Little Armenia.

3. I never have to go to Armenia to be able to speak, eat, breathe Armenian. The first language here in this small sliver of this tiny corner of the world is Armenian, not Hebrew, Arabic or English despite the fact that there are only 1,000 of us here. Our Armenian-ness supersedes nationality and passpo.

4. I'm a baby and I already know what genocide means! Leave it to the Armenians.

P.S. I'm only one quarter Armenian and that = 100 percent in Armenian math. Don't worry, Italian relatives: half also equals 100 percent and my dueling taste buds remain undecided!


Here is a series of photos that further celebrates all things Armenian, namely living in community and spending all of our time in the same/only restaurant where we all hang out. Also, this being Easter, it is our unofficial annual reunion! Well, my first.

Meeting Steve for the first time!

Hanging out at Naro's with Steve and Katia!

More Naro's action. Hi Anjo!

The gang. Why are they all looking at the wrong camera?

Nice try Ohan. That is not Blue Steel!

You know you are in an Armenian house when your fridge is covered with Armenian magnets!

My future babysitters, Tantigs (aunts) Nairy and Shoghig.

She loves me!

A cool Armenian.

An Armenian Easter procession

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Take Your Baby to Work Days

I know adventure awaits me as soon as I am seated in my stroller!

Since mommy works from home, every day is "bring-your-child-to-work" day in one form or another. I watch mommy try to make calls, conduct interviews and write coherently as she also runs rings around me, meeting all of my various needs and demands. One time she even had me draped over her shoulder, bouncing me to keep me quiet, Lucie sprawled across her lap and her laptop balanced precariously on her knees while she typed with one finger and held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she interviewed someone for a story. I have certainly stretched mommy's multi-tasking skills to some all-time lengths in the last eight months.


However, there are some days when her work takes her out of the apartment and to some place exciting, like Mordor (the Old City)! And this being Holy Week, mommy has been out of the house a lot, scouring the Old City for holiday articles and photos. It all started with Palm Sunday, but we missed the palm carriers - oops! Then there was Passover right in the middle, then of course Holy Thursday and Good Friday so far. Lots of time spent chasing pilgrims in the Old City.


How exciting for me! I've been brought deeper into the bowels of the Old City than ever before - even into the Holy Sepulchre!

You could assume I was praying.

...But you'd be wrong.

Of course there are perks to going to work with mommy. It always involves an amazing gastronomical experience for all of us. The gourmet meal du jour yesterday was the best hummus in the Old City: Abu Kamel. They also serve "cheps," whatever that is, as you will see on their sign. And of course, in typical Old City fashion, you eat at rickety tables sitting on plastic chairs in the alleyways. No fine indoor dining here. 

They serve hummus AND cheps!

A delicious but messy affair.

Dining al fresco.

Sometimes bring your baby to work day involves also bringing Abba to work too. Its fun for the entire family! 

Abba strolling me through
the Jewish Quarter toward the Christian Quarter.

Slightly skeptical.

Police patrolling the busy Old City alleys

Me on the Via Dolorosa

Me at the magical chocolate store on the Via Dolorosa

And finally, a trip to the Old City is never complete without a visit with Dede and Nene, the Armenian words for Grandma and Grandpa. 

A historic moment: Dede holding me, fearlessly, for the first time!

Our work day ended thanks to a deluge of Noah-like proportions.
We ran to the car for safety and headed home!

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