The Armenian Genocide: Der-Haroutunian and Dermenjian

This is the story of my parents in their own words. There are many more stories published in books similar to my parents’ story. My parents survived the Armenian Genocide of 1915, and they raised eight children, and they all got married and have children and grandchildren, but one and a half million Armenians did not survive.

In memory of all the Armenians who died during the genocide, a church was built in Dayr az-Zawr, Syria. Every year on April 24, Armenians all over the world remember the genocide and pray for those who died.
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I am one of four children in the family. I have two brothers and one sister. We were all born in Marash. My mother’s name was Khatoun. I hardly remember my father, except for the way the Turks killed him in our courtyard. Some of the neighborhood Turks came to our house and dragged my father out to the courtyard by force, and, for no reason, they crushed his head with big stones in front of all of us. This is the memory I have of my father; it hurts to remember and makes me cry to this day.

My mother suffered a lot trying to raise us without my father. We worked hard and continued my father’s business and did well. In 1915, the Turks collected the Armenians and made them march in groups towards an unknown location, and massacred them. This was the beginning of the Armenian Genocide. We left everything behind, our land, our homes, and all of our belongings. The weather was very cold, and there was snow on the way. Armenians died. Some froze, and some died because they were weak, tired, and couldn’t handle the burden of the trip to nowhere.

During the exodus, the Turks killed the Armenians who were strong, because they didn’t want the strong or the educated to survive. There was killing, torture, looting, rape, and beating on the way; they didn’t care who they killed. There was no food to eat or water to drink on the way. If there was any, we had to pay dearly for it. Those of us who survived did so by miracle. My older brother’s wife died on the way, but left behind two children who survived.

I was married at the time and had one child, a daughter. My wife died on the way, and I had to leave my daughter on the side of the road, like many parents did, because we could hardly carry ourselves and could not care for the children; with very little food and water, everybody was getting weak and tired. I can’t remember how many days we walked, but finally we arrived in Syria. I survived the exodus and settled in Iskandaroun after the Turks and the Germans were defeated, and Iskandaroun was under French rule. I established a business and started working in Iskandaroun.

I am one of four children in the family. I have two brothers and one sister. We were all born in Marash. My mother’s name was Khatoun. I hardly remember my father, except for the way the Turks killed him in our courtyard. Some of the neighborhood Turks came to our house and dragged my father out to the courtyard by force, and, for no reason, they crushed his head with big stones in front of all of us. This is the memory I have of my father; it hurts to remember and makes me cry to this day.

My mother suffered a lot trying to raise us without my father. We worked hard and continued my father’s business and did well. In 1915, the Turks collected the Armenians and made them march in groups towards an unknown location, and massacred them. This was the beginning of the Armenian Genocide. We left everything behind, our land, our homes, and all of our belongings. The weather was very cold, and there was snow on the way. Armenians died. Some froze, and some died because they were weak, tired, and couldn’t handle the burden of the trip to nowhere.

During the exodus, the Turks killed the Armenians who were strong, because they didn’t want the strong or the educated to survive. There was killing, torture, looting, rape, and beating on the way; they didn’t care who they killed. There was no food to eat or water to drink on the way. If there was any, we had to pay dearly for it. Those of us who survived did so by miracle. My older brother’s wife died on the way, but left behind two children who survived.

I was married at the time and had one child, a daughter. My wife died on the way, and I had to leave my daughter on the side of the road, like many parents did, because we could hardly carry ourselves and could not care for the children; with very little food and water, everybody was getting weak and tired. I can’t remember how many days we walked, but finally we arrived in Syria. I survived the exodus and settled in Iskandaroun after the Turks and the Germans were defeated, and Iskandaroun was under French rule. I established a business and started working in Iskandaroun.