Nareg Seferian
My name is Nareg Hovsep Seferian.
It ends in “-ian” – characteristic for most Armenian surnames, also with its other spelling, “-yan.”
“Seferian.” That means “traveler.” My ancestors were probably merchants. Little surprise there for any Armenian. The sefer part is ultimately an Arabic root, but it surely became a surname for Armenians under Turkish or Persian rule. “Safarian” is another version. So, alongside the Armenian suffix, that surname reflects the mark of medieval and modern empires and neighboring cultures.
“Hovsep,” my middle name, is Armenian for “Joseph” – a name from the Bible, Hebrew via Greek. This is an indication of how Armenians have long formed part of the broader cultural landscape around the Mediterranean and Middle East. It also indicates the Christian heritage which forms a significant part of the Armenian identity. It is my father’s name. And my nephew’s name – the first-born grandson of my immediate family. That tells you something about naming practices prevalent in Armenian culture.
“Joe,” by the way, is my restaurant or coffee shop name. It can be convenient to have one of those.
“Nareg.” Now there’s a rich story, set a thousand years ago, featuring a monk at a monastery near Lake Van. He is known as Grigor-Krikor Narekatsi–Naregatsi, depending on your preferred Eastern Armenian or Western Armenian pronunciation. Among many works, St. Gregory of Nareg is most celebrated for writing The Book of Lamentations, a series of mystical prayers. It is considered the holiest text after the Bible in the Armenian tradition. The Nareg, as it is more commonly called, is invoked to cure illnesses.
My full name tells a story. It tells an Armenian story – a multi-cultural and multi-geographical story, with both religious and mundane elements, a story highlighting both Homeland and Diaspora.
I grew up in India, where I was most probably the only Nareg out of literally a billion people. When I went to college in Yerevan, there were four other people in my class with my name. At first, I felt like I had been deprived of something special. But very soon, it occurred to me how wonderful it was to find myself in a place where that name is known and cherished, where St. Gregory and The Book of Lamentations is venerated, where I didn’t have to repeat my name or spell out N-A-R-E-G when introducing myself. Where I do not need to have a restaurant or coffee shop name.
According to Hrachya Ajarian’s Dictionary of Armenian Personal Names (Հ. Աճառյան. «Հայոց Անձնանունների Բառարան», ԵՊՀ, 1942), “Nareg” appeared as a masculine given name only in the early 20th century. Think about your own name, how you relate to it and how it forms part of the cultural landscape where you are. Maybe your surname does not end in “-ian” or “-yan.” It could end in “-uni,” “-oglu,” “-ov,” “-nts,” or nothing in particular. What does your surname mean? Do you know how your family received it? What about your name? Why was it chosen?
To find out about your own name, you can access Ajarian’s dictionary and a whole lot more on Nayiri, perhaps the richest resource of the Armenian language online. You could also ask your parents and the elders in your family.
(Here’s another layer to it: how are your name and surname spelled? Armenian families have passed through so many Middle Eastern and European languages that a diversity of transliterating Armenian have come up in the Latin alphabet. For example, “Meguerditchian,” “Mkrtchyan,” “Migirdicyan,” and “Mkrtschjan” are all the same surname.)
Many Armenians have multi-faceted names, middle names and surnames. Maybe your name is common in English, Russian, French, Spanish or Portuguese. Maybe it is something from those cultures with a private Armenian equivalent. Perhaps you have a public name only in Turkish. Part of the legacy we bear causes us discomfort or pain. All of it makes us who we are.
Tarkmanchats – the Feast of the Holy Translators – is celebrated in early-to-mid-October every year. In 2022, it is on Saturday, October 8. More than one person has told me that the Armenians are the only people who set aside a special day to commemorate translators – Mesrop Mashtots and his students above all, who, by tradition, produced the Bible in Armenian in the early fifth century AD. We emphasize how that translation was a seminal event in the crystallization of the Armenian cultural identity and, certainly, the language. Mashtots is credited with creating the Armenian alphabet, after all. It was in his time that Classical Armenian was codified or standardized as a literary language. There is a strong Armenian tradition of translation that goes far beyond holy scripture. As a global nation, many Armenians experience multilingualism and translation in their day-to-day lives. We also tend to trans–late quite directly, “carry-across” meaning and culture from continent to continent.
Tarkmanchats is also the day the Armenian church remembers St. Gregory of Nareg. That makes it my name day. In the past, many babies were named for saints and other figures commemorated in liturgical calendars on or near the days of their birth. A name day and a birthday were often conflated. The traditional greeting to someone on their name day is, «անունովդ ապրիս», anounovt abris, “May you live with your name” – i.e., may you have a long life, true to your name.
Nowadays we have many interesting and rich names which may not feature on church calendars, so many of us cannot claim a name day of our own. I say let’s go with Tarkmanchats for all of us. I doubt Mesrop Mashtots would mind, and I expect all the Mesrops out there would be glad to share the celebration. I know I would, as a Nareg myself.
So on Saturday, October 8, discover and celebrate your name, and – if you feel inspired – post something with the hashtag #ArmenianNameDay. You could add #ՀայԱնուն too. (That’s HayAnoun – Armenian Name.)
At this moment, when the Armenian nation is facing serious challenges, it may seem trite or even insulting to go about posting something with a hashtag. I hope, however, that Tarkmanchats this year – and every year – can serve as a reminder of a significant part of our identity, that no matter how distressing the situation in Armenia or Artsakh, we not only carry, but celebrate our Armenian heritage. Something so fundamental to how we think about ourselves attests to the pathways of our culture. It reflects the resilience of the Armenian identity.
My name is Nareg Hovsep Seferian. What’s yours?
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