Bethlehem and Jericho
347
the earnest hope that I'd break no windows. The face of a
bearded priest became visible behind a pane.
"I'm an Armenian from America," I shouted in Armenian.
"I come with the Patriarch's blessings and bring you news
from Jerusalem."
In a few moments an iron door creaked and an attendant
with a candle beckoned me. He ushered me into the presence
of the Reverend Mesrop Depoyan, spiritual shepherd of the
few hundred Armenians taking refuge at the Vank. I found
myself in a cozy room furnished with a bed, several settees on
which were stacks of Bibles, a desk, and a kerosene lamp. I
found this servant of the church, with flowing beard and gentle manners, in a sorrowful mood. The tragedy of the war was
etched on his face. Prematurely gray strands liberally sprinkled
his beard and wrinkles lined his face.
"Our hearts are heavy in Bethlehem," he said with a deep
sigh, after greeting me and I had told him how I had last left
the Patriarch. "Last night, in this birthplace of Christ, the
heavens and the earth again shook with the violence of war.
All night long guns roared their defiance of the Christian
spirit. The savagery of it all, the bestiality to which man
stoops. I have seen a girl's stomach split open and a rock
placed in it. I have seen human heads rolling down the streets
of Bethlehem. I have seen the skull of the dead broken so
gold could be extracted from the teeth. I have even seen the
dead desecrated with knives and kicked by the boots of maddened men. Once upon a time the Arabs and the Jews lived
like brothers. Now someone comes from the outside, gives
one, then the other, a knife, saying: 'Go, slay your brother!'
. . . Oh, the ways of God are often inexplicable. Perhaps
some good will come of all this evil. Perhaps it is His way of
testing the righteous and rallying them to His side. Asdvadzim, gamkut gadarvi. God, may Thy will be done."
The hour was late. The priest reached over to the brazier
and stirred the charcoals. From a pitcher he poured water into