The evening of August 14th, 1999 at Ashkenaz was the beginning of my biggest happiness.
I was living in Berkeley that summer and one day, while riding my bike, I noticed a sign at Ashkenaz (which I had frequented a couple of times before), about a concert of Armenian and Bulgarian music. Since I am half-Armenian and sang Bulgarian music in college (with the Yale Slavic Chorus), I decided that concert had been tailored for me, and I should make a point of attending. I forgot about the concert until around 8:00pm that day. Feeling rather tired, I thought I'd forego it, but something forced me onto my bike to ride the half hour down to San Pablo Avenue. I entered Ashkenaz and walked around the hall a little self-consciously as people cleared the chairs for the dancing part of the event. I noticed a (handsome) young man sitting at the tables and smiled at him, without flirtation, as I thought the woman sitting across from him must be his girlfriend. It was the kind of smile that fit in Ashkenaz, a smile that said, "Here we are, in this healthy place, sharing the joy of our humanity." The circle dancing started, and I took my place in the chain. A full minute did not pass before I felt someone cutting into the circle next to me. It was the young curly-haired man I had smiled at. He is a young Armenian painter who had met one of the musicians on stage in Armenia and had come from Santa Cruz, where he had moved a year before from Armenia, to hear his good friend play at Ashkenaz. After the dance ended, we talked. He was stunned to find out I was half Armenian, since I don't look it, and since, as he had already fallen in love with me, the shared culture made things easier for him, who had been so far from his native culture for a while. He had been sketching the musicians all evening. He made a sketch before my eyes in incredible, graceful, swift movements. He tore off the page to hand it to me, and it was the only time in so long that he had been nervous enough to tear the edge of it. At the end of the evening he saw me off, riding my bike one-handedly, the other clutching the precious artwork. A week later I went to visit him in Santa Cruz, to see his studio… and we have never parted since. We married a year and two weeks later. I have since learned to speak Armenian, and his English had improved enormously. We now live our happy artistic existence in New York City (he painting; I acting) and make a pilgrimage to Ashkenaz whenever we can.
- Alexandra Tekerian and Kevork Mourad