Syrian prayers - church concert at Førdefestivalen
Syria is currently in the process of complete cultural and religious disintegration. But the refugees who seek refuge in other countries are trying to keep their old traditions alive. For example, in the small country of Lebanon, many have found refuge in various churches and mosques that belong to the same faith they followed where they came from. About one in four people in Lebanon is now a refugee.
Many falls
Erik Hillestad's Church Culture Workshop has visited some of these houses of worship where people call out to the Lord, whether they call him Allah or God.
– Syria is an example of a country where great religious diversity has existed for several centuries without major conflicts. Not until recently. Through the concert in Førde Church, we want to provide an experience of this religious diversity, says Erik Hillestad.
He has sought out the voices of Lebanon, which is also a country with a long tradition of peaceful coexistence between different religious communities. He has recorded the song with Maronites, Syriac Orthodox, Armenians, Chaldeans, Assyrians and a Sunni Muslim imam. In addition to being the starting point for the concert in Førde , Syrian Prayers will be released on record by Kirkelig Kulturverksted (KKV) this fall.
The church concert Syrian Prayers, produced by Erik Hillestad, will give us a tonal journey to the ravaged area deep in the Mediterranean.
Call to be
In the Bekaa Valley, best known to Norwegians through news of war and misery, lies the city of Zahle, nestled between high mountains. Behind one mountain range lies Syria. It is no more than a half-hour drive to Syria's capital, Damascus, but the way the world is right now, it is as if there were an ocean in between.
In Zahle we find a group of Syriac Orthodox Christians in a beautiful little church at the top of the town. The priest in the church is from Syria, but has married in Zahle and now wants to stay there. Many Christians have left Lebanon in recent years. While there used to be about 60 percent Christians and 40 percent Muslims in the country, it is now the other way around. Some feel it as a call to persevere.
Mass among these Christians has a strong Orthodox feel. The altar is behind a curtain, which is solemnly drawn aside when the mass begins. The activity around the altar is great, with several men and small boys in vestments taking part in the actions. They use female cantors during the mass, but the old hymns are sung by men only.
The priest has a beautiful voice, and celebrates mass fervently but with good momentum, as they often do in these latitudes. Together with three of the singers from the church choir, he comes to Førde this summer. They will perform some of their hymns, which have roots back to the 5th century in Syria. The Christians here are responsible for the fact that it was precisely in this area that Christianity began.
Little boys dart back and forth in the church before mass begins. They pray on plastic bags with their chasubles on, and when the curtain is pulled aside an hour later, they stand there in the choir like little angels. They have fixed tasks and adults guide them, so that the little ones do what they are supposed to do when they are supposed to. It is clear that this church noise is stupid for those who come, and when it is time for communion, all the children rush to the altar. They know that they will be the first to receive.
Muslim
In one of the many mosques in Beirut, Erik Hillestad meets the imam Hassan Ali Moraib. He sings traditional prayers full of melisma that would make a singer from Setesdal jealous. True, it is not customary to perform these during the most important gathering of Muslims, the Friday prayer, but at Førde He comes anyway, with his beautiful voice and his white headdress.
Hassan Ali Moraib is a singer who is well known for his beautiful voice, and he has performed several times in concerts in the Middle East. This is his first time coming as far north as Norway.
The recording that Hillestad made with Hassan Ali Moraib in Beirut was made in the Omari Mosque. It is large and magnificent, and is newly restored and stands proudly in the middle of the city. The building was a church during the Crusader era, and before that, it was a temple for pre-Christian religion. But since the end of the 13th century, Muslims have had this as a place of worship.
Imam Moraib stands tall in his white robe and stately headdress under the domes of the huge mosque. The sight of him invites respect. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth and lets the tones flow. The words are about mercy, and that God is great. Afterwards he listens to the recording, nods and smiles. He is satisfied.
Like a family.
The small Assyrian church of St George in Sad el Baouchriye is bustling with activity on the last Saturday in February. Jack Jendo and his choir are gathered to show the music producer from Norway how they keep their traditions alive. The old tunes have been accompanied by various keyboards, which certainly work well in the mass, but when Hillestad asked to hear the versions in pure taping, there is no saying no.
The choir is a true mixed choir, where the youngest singers are 8-10 years old, and behind them they have solid support in adult youth. Most of them come from Syria, but many have lived in Lebanon for several years.
One of the young women, Samar Atto, says she hasn't been home in Syria for four years. She fled with her mother and several siblings when her village, Tal Massas, was attacked by IS. It's been several years since, and he has since been released, so she was able to return home. "But I have nothing to go back to. Our house is gone, and I have nothing left that ties me to my hometown," she says.
Samar is a beautiful young woman, but she prefers not to have her picture taken. She has been a member of the choir for several years. They are like family to each other, she says. But her dream is to travel to Australia. She has an uncle there, who might be able to help her get a head start on her future.
The songs the choir sings are characterized by the monotonous style that belongs to these early churches. The Roman Catholics have their Gregorian chant, with a sense of eternity that rolls forward, and the Assyrian tradition has something of the same, although the tonality is different, colored by the oriental that it is. Sometimes there is an alternation between a lead singer and the choir that responds. We understand that the songs contain a lot of content, and quite rightly so: One of them is the entire history of the Assyrian church! It may seem daring, but the choir keeps up the drive, and one can best liken it to a melodious rap – ongoing and direct.
“ Imam Moraib stands tall in his white robe and stately headdress under the vaults of the vast mosque. The sight of him invites respect. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth and lets the tones flow. The words are about mercy, and that God is great. Afterwards he listens to the recording, nods and smiles. He is satisfied. ”
Cultural heritage
The Assyrians are very aware of the value of their cultural heritage, so a little further uptown, in an Assyrian church on the slopes of Mount Lebanon in the hilly capital, near the presidential palace that has been empty for a year and a half because parliament can't agree on who should go in there, we meet a group of children. They sing with powerful children's voices, tones of sadness and longing. Little girls in the front row, hulking boys' bodies behind.
They are all refugees from Syria, and come here every Saturday because the church invites them to come and learn about their own cultural heritage. A short priest strolls around quietly, listening as they practice. Georgio Youkhanna knows the children, because he visits the homes of new refugees when they arrive. He asks what they need, and tells them about the offerings the church has.
I ask if I can talk to a child and hear their story. He pulls away. Afraid of exposing them to something they might not be ready to handle.
– But there is a sibling in the group standing there singing. They came here a while ago. They came with their grandparents and some uncles. In the turmoil that arose when IS took over their village, they got away from their father, the priest says. He starts crying. It's a while before I hear the rest. In the meantime, the children stand there singing – clearly, monotonously and devoutly.
– After a year, they were allowed to return because the village had become free again. Then they found their father's body. That's how it is.
The priest walks out of the church silently for a while. Even though he has heard many bad stories, they still haunt him.
“
There is loud music and the huge church is packed with young people when we sneak in a little after 12 on a Sunday in February. The windows are open, and some little boys are sitting in the frame, dangling their feet. Later we meet the church choir, a group of young people who joke with each other, play fight and have a high selfie factor, but they sing at the top of their lungs when the leader starts them .
Lagnadar
There are many difficult situations among the refugees who have sought shelter in Lebanon. You don't see it in them. At least not at first meeting. But you can notice something if you take your time and let your eyes open to the secrets in the eyes and ways of others. And what remains in all the places of worship we visit is that the togetherness there is part of what keeps them going.
On his trips to Beirut, Erik Hillestad has visited several different faith communities, but it is not possible to bring representatives from all of them. Førde Therefore, a small selection will be heard during the church concert in Førde church during the festival. But other meetings have also helped to provide inspiration for the concert.
One of them was with the Arameans. In the Armenian Choir there is Garo Najarian. His deep bass sounds delicious when the choir sings the Aramaic hymn from the 5th century. Afterwards he shows me the scar from a bullet hole on his arm. He fled with his brother, George, their mother and two sisters about a year ago, when Garo was shot in the arm, and the bombs started falling dangerously close to their home and one of his sisters' school. It's not that far from Aleppo to Lebanon. The journey took about 20 hours by bus, they say.
“The church means everything to me,” says George. He looks at me with a steady gaze and says:
– I grew up in the church. For ten years I served as an altar boy when we lived at home in Aleppo. It was quite natural for me to continue serving in the church in that way when we came here. I am a kind of deacon, and participated, among other things, in distributing the sacraments during mass. During the holidays I go to church every day, and otherwise between one and four times a week.
The young man who dropped out of a robotics degree program says he was the best student in his class. His brother, Garo, studied art at a college in the city. Now they have both had their lives put on hold. As refugees, they cannot continue their studies, and they have not found work either. For now, they are living off the savings they brought with them, and in the hope that an uncle in Australia will take them in and help them settle in when they hopefully get their papers in order and can travel there. For now, the choir is one of the most important things they do to have a social life.
The Armenian Choir is an offshoot of the Kousan Chamber Choir, which was founded in Constantinople in 1909. Their repertoire is wide-ranging and is a mixed choir, but the branch performs old Armenian church music, and then they are all men.
The Chaldeans are also a vibrant church community in Beirut. But the church we visit does not have its own house of worship. As refugees, they rent from others.
There is loud music and the huge church is packed with young people when we sneak in a little after noon on a Sunday in February. The windows are open, and some little boys are sitting in the frame, dangling their feet. Later we meet the church choir, a group of young people who joke with each other, play fight and have a high selfie factor, but they sing at the top of their lungs when the leader starts them.
Experiencing freedom
The Maronites have deep roots in this area. In an old and very beautiful little church they hold seven masses every Sunday, to give everyone who wants the opportunity to come. This church is popular, because it is centrally located in the city and when we get there at half past six on Sunday morning, it is already filling up for the first mass. Most of the people are well into their years, and take part in the service with heartfelt activity. Crossing and kneeling are quite common in this church.
Later, Erik Hillestad recorded their choir – Choir of the School of Music, Antonin. The conductor Fadi Tawk was the one who a few years ago began arranging the songs in multiple voices, something that was not a tradition before.
One of the choir singers is Rosy Hajj, who has been with the choir for 15 years.
– What does singing in the choir give you?
– I make friends here, and learning more about music and vocal technique is also important, but the most important thing is that it gives me spiritual experiences. What we do together in the choir is not work, it is an experience of freedom, she says.
Marianne Lystrup
