From Paradise to Yettem, California

The word for “garden” in Classical Armenian was bardez (պարտէզ). It came from the language of the old Iranian sacred book, the Avesta, which had the word pairidaeza (“park”). This word has kept the same meaning in our current language. However, it is interesting to note that English paradise and Armenian bardez are actually first cousins, but with different meanings. The English word came from Old French, which at its turn had Latin paradisus as its source. The source for Latin was Greek paradeisos, and the latter came again from Avestan pairidaeza.

However, we do not say bardez in the case of the Paradise. The book of Genesis tells us that Eden was actually a region where God planted a garden and placed Adam (Gen. 2:8). The Armenian word corresponding to “garden,” in the translation of the Bible, was trakhd (դրախտ), which was borrowed from the Iranian languages, where it actually meant “tree.” In the same way that the “garden of Eden” became, over time, Eden (Paradise), its Armenian equivalent trakhd yetemagan (դրախտ եդեմական) became simply trakhd (“Paradise”), and gradually lost its meaning “garden.”

Nevertheless, we also have the Armenian word Yetem (Եդեմ), which is the same as the English Eden. You may recall that the Californian town of Lovell, at the beginning of the twentieth century, was renamed Yettem due to the overwhelming presence of Armenians there. Yettem, located 18 kilometers north of Visalia, has a population of 211, according to the U.S. Census of 2010, and few, if any, Armenians nowadays, but St. Mary Armenian Apostolic Church, founded in 1911, is still active there.

Please, Bear in Mind

We have spoken in the past about the risks of thinking in English and speaking in Armenian. Sometimes this creates impossible situations. For instance, when you try to use a very plain sentence like, “Please, sit down.”

We have to always remember that English has only ONE pronoun for the second person: you, both for singular and for plural. When we read the sentence “You’re right,” we cannot be sure whether the “you” in question is one person or a dozen, a family member or a complete stranger, and, therefore, how that “you” applies. However, in other languages, like French, Spanish, or Armenian, there is no such problem. They have TWO pronouns for the second person, and then it is very easy to understand to whom one is addressing. In the case of Armenian, we have tun (դուն) in singular and tuk (դուք) in plural, and each has a totally different way of conjugation.

To give only one example, if you want to say “please”:

a. When you address your friend, you say hajis (հաճիս);
b. When you address a stranger or a crowd, you say hajetsek (հաճեցէք).

This also means that you cannot mix the singular to address a friend with the plural to tell him what to do. For example, if you intend to say, “Please, sit down,” you HAVE to say Hajis, nsdeh! (Հաճիս, նստէ՛), you can NEVER say Hajis, nsdetsek, which is a very common mistake among American-born Armenian speakers. (Of course, you can also say Khntrem, nsdeh [Խնդրեմ, նստէ՛]).

Otherwise, if you want to address a stranger or a crowd, you HAVE to say Hajetsek nsdil (Հաճեցէք նստիլ), where instead of the imperative nsdeh we use the infinitive nsdil. Why? It is a matter of style. If you were to say Hajetsek nsdetsek (Հաճեցէք նստեցէ՛ք), it would sound utterly ridiculous. (Otherwise, you can say Khntrem, nsedetsek [Խնդրեմ, նստեցէ՛ք], which sounds perfectly normal).

Language is communication, but the better you speak a language, the better it reflects on you.

What Happens When You Misread a Word?

Greeks went up to Oriental Asia to get a very valuable fabric from the Seres, and called it Serikos. The Roman borrowed the name from them and turned it into sericum. As many other Latin words, this one also traveled up to the British Islands and entered Old English, where the sound r turned into l. The resulting name, seoloc/sioloc, later became the well-known silk of today.

The same Oriental source for silk also gave an Armenian word that, interestingly, does not mean “silk,” but “silkworm”: sheram (շերամ). However, it is assumed that the function of middleman was not carried by the Greek language, because Greek does not have the sound sh. It was probably Syriac, which has the word šeraya (š=sh) “silky material.”

The Armenian language, it appears, borrowed the word in the fifth century A.D. and applied it to the insect that produced the “silky material.” However, the Armenian word appears in all manuscripts until the eighteenth century as շերաս or շէրաս (sheras). The same word was also used in some Western Armenian dialects, such as Akn and Kharpert, until 1915. How did it become sheram?

Sometimes, new words (or old words with a different look) are created by human mistake. The first attempt at a complete dictionary of the Armenian language was undertaken by Mekhitar of Sebastia (1676-1749), the founder of the Mekhitarist Congregation, and his disciples. The massive, two-volume Dictionary of Classical Armenian Language (Բառգիրք Հայկազեան լեզուի) was published in 1749 and 1769. The first volume was authored by Mekhitar himself (it went off the press a few days before his death). The erudite monk, who collected much of his materials from unpublished manuscripts, appears to have found the word in a sentence where sheras was followed by the punctuation sign put (բութ)—ՇԵՐԱՍ՝—and misread it as ՇԵՐԱՄ (SHERAM).

Almost a century later, the New Dictionary of Classical Armenian Language (1836-1837), prepared by a new generation of Mekhitarist monks, superseded the work of Mekhitar. The second volume printed the word as sheras. However, for some reason, subsequent authors chose to follow Mekhitar’s dictionary and this is how the Modern Armenian word for “silkworm” was artificially created.

Of course, after two centuries, it is a little late to make changes.

Be a Candidate, but Don’t Run for Office

Almost two centuries ago, in 1826, the expression “to run for office” appeared for the first time in American English. As one can grasp, it indicated the sense of a competition between various candidates for an elective position.

In the case of elections, we frequently hear the word vazel (վազել “to run”) in colloquial Armenian. For instance, “s/he runs for the parish council” is something like an geh vazeh yegeghetsvo hokapartzootian («կը վազէ եկեղեցւոյ հոգաբարձութեան համար»). Does this sound right?

No, it does not. The problem is that “run” is a figurative expression that cannot be conveyed with a literal translation. Anyone who does not know English would think that the person in question is physically running to enter the parish council. How many days he or she would run before getting exhausted?

This is one of those many cases when you have to think in Armenian to render the English expression. The best solution is the simplest one: An yegeghetsvo hokapartzootian tegnadzoo eh («Եկեղեցւոյ հոգաբարձութեան թեկնածու է», “S/he’s a candidate to the parish council”).

The candidate may enter office walking or running, but this will not change the outcome. However, if you don’t use vazel in this case, your Armenian proficiency will change a bit.

When an Anniversary is Not a Birthday

2015 is particularly filled with feelings and thoughts inspired by the hundredth anniversary of the Medz Yeghern, the Armenian genocide. On the eve of the symbolic day that commemorates the most catastrophic crime in Armenian history, it is appropriate to revisit the meaning of “anniversary.”

We usually use “anniversary” in English for a date of foundation, a marriage, or a certain event, something that returns yearly (Latin anniversarius, from annus “year” and versus “turning”). The English word has its counterpart in Armenian, daretartz (տարեդարձ), which sounds like a calque: dari (տարի “year”) and tartz (դարձ “turning”).* However, this word is not an exact translation. It has one more and one less meaning than in English.

Indeed, both languages say amoosnootian daretartz (ամուսնութեան տարեդարձ) and “marriage anniversary,” as well as angakhootian daretartz (անկախութեան տարեդարձ) for “anniversary of independence.” However, while the Armenian language uses daretartz to mark the anniversary of the birth of someone who is alive, and hence we say yerchanig daretartz (երջանիկ տարեդարձ) or shunorhavor daretartz (շնորհաւոր տարեդարձ) to greet the person, the English language, as we all know, uses birthday and happy birthday.

There is a difference in birth, as there is a difference in death. It would sound ridiculous to call the 100th anniversary daretartz or “birthday.”  The Armenian language has a special word to commemorate the anniversaries of tragic events. Whether it is the death of millions or a single person, the word in that case is darelits (տարելից). It is another compound word, formed by dari and lits, the root of the verb ltsnel/letsnel (լցնել/լեցնել) “to fill.”

In conclusion, if you want to say “100th anniversary of the genocide,” it is tseghasbanootian haryooramea darelits (ցեղասպանութեան հարիւրամեայ տարելից). However, if you prefer to say “centennial” instead of “100th anniversary,” you can do it with one word: haryoorameag (հարիւրամեակ).

(*) Many compound words are linked by the connective a (ա): dari + a + tartz. In the cases when i and a come together in composition, it is a rule that they turn into e (ի + ա = ե), hence dariatartz becomes daretartz.

A Very Public Word

The Armenian word enthanoor (ընդհանուր) has quite a ubiquitous meaning. It is an adjective that usually means “general,” as it appears in the name of various Armenian organizations. For instance, such is the case of the Armenian General Athletic Union (Hay Marmnagrtagan Enthanoor Miootioon, Հայ Մարմնակրթական Ընդհանուր Միութիւն), usually known by its acronym ՀՄԸՄ (Homenetmen).

Now, we know that the English word general comes from the Latin generalis, meaning “relating to all, of a whole class, generic” (from genus “stock, kind”). The Armenian word enthanoor has a meaning quite close to Latin generalis, and it comes from Classical Armenian or krapar (Yeznik Koghbatsi used it in his Refutation of the Sects). Every Sunday, the faithful join to recite the Credo of the Armenian Apostolic Church, written in Classical Armenian, where it is said: “We also believe in only one, universal, and apostolic holy Church.” Here, the word for “universal” is enthanragan (ընդհանրական).

Now, the word enthanoor is actually a compound of an adverb and an adjective: ent + hanoor (ընդ + հանուր), where ent means “together, under” and hanoor (“all, every”). Literally, it would mean “altogether.” Ent is an adverb that did not enter modern usage, but hanoor has been used at times, and one can find it here and there, for instance in the expression hanoor martgootioone (հանուր մարդկութիւնը “the entire humankind”).

Hanoor, composed by the prefix han, more commonly used as ham (համ), which means “all,” and the familiar adverb oor (ուր “where”), is particularly interesting for its many derivations. For instance, the same as the English public (from the Latin publicus, meaning “of the people; general”), the Armenian language created the noun hanrootioon (հանրութիւն “public”) and the adjective hanrayin (հանրային “public”). Consequently, republic (from Latin res publica “public affair, the state”) became hanrabedootioon (հանրապետութիւն, which literally means “the state of all”).

Another example is omnibus, from the same Latin word that means “for all.” The English word came from the French voiture omnibus (“carriage for all”), which was probably the inspiration for the Armenian version: hanragark (հանրակառք “carriage, vehicle for all”).

In the end, here are a few more usual terms that come from the very prolific hanoor, despite being a word that has fallen from usage in colloquial language:

Hanrakidaran (հանրագիտարան “encyclopedia”)

Hanrahashiv (հանրահաշիւ “algebra”)

Hanrakve (հանրաքուէ “referendum”)

Hanrakoomar (հանրագումար “grand total”)

Oil Doesn’t Come From Oil

You use oil to grease the motor of your car, but also to prepare a salad. In both cases, you should call it yoogh (իւղ) in Armenian. Indeed, yoogh also means “fat,” but this is not strange, since oils are basically liquid fat.

Both oil and yoogh have a distant ancestry. The Armenian word was borrowed from some long-lost Mediterranean language, which was also the source for Greek ἔλαιον (élaion) “olive oil” and ἔλαια (élaia) “olive tree,” and Latin oleum “oil.” Latin became the source for a variety of Latin and Germanic languages, including English oil.  Incidentally, the Armenian word karyoogh (քարիւղ) is a literal translation of Latin petroleum (“stone oil”), the technical term for what we use to fill the tanks of our cars, e.g. “gas.”

Knowledgeable readers are also aware that there is a specialized term in Armenian, tzet (ձէթ), which designates olive oil. It already appeared in the Armenian translation of the Bible, probably borrowed from Syriac zaita. Tzet would become the root of many compound words, such as tzitabdoogh (ձիթապտուղ) “olive,” already present in the fifth century. In the same way, Arabic zait “olive oil” would become the source of Turkish zeytin “olive” much later.

Generally speaking, Armenian names for fruit trees have their origin in the name of the fruit, with the addition of the suffix –eni; for instance, khntzoreni (խնձորենի) “apple tree” or geraseni (կեռասենի) “cherry tree.” Some flower trees share this rule; for example, varteni (վարդենի) “rose tree.” The name of the olive tree is an exception. Its root was not the fruit, but the oil produced by the fruit. Thus, we have tziteni (ձիթենի), which literally means “olive oil tree.”

The names of oils derived from various fruits and plants are composed in the same way as in English; for instance, armavi yoogh (արմաւի իւղ) “palm oil.” However, the word tzet has given birth to a long-standing misuse in colloquial language. Apparently, many Armenian speakers (and dictionary writers, unfortunately) tend to think that tzet means “olive” and use the incorrect word tzitayoogh (ձիթաիւղ) as if it meant “olive oil.” It is funny, because if they gave it a thought, they would realize that they are actually saying... “oil oil.”

Conclusion: if you use olive oil, rely on tzet. For other oils, go to yoogh. Never trust tzitayoogh.