July 23, 2024
This project was done in collaboration with GISHRU, an organization that conducts humanitarian and education trips for Assyrians in the diaspora to Turkey and Iraq.
In March, dozens of young Assyrians from Australia, Canada, Sweden, and the United States traveled to Iraq through the organization Gishru to visit the Assyrian homeland. For some, it was their first trip. Others return each year. For everyone, it seemed to leave a memory that will last a lifetime.
The Journal asked them to write letters addressed to the homeland recalling their visit, the people and places that stood out and how it made them feel. Here’s what they wrote (click the box to read the full letter):
“I could not bear to reach into my pocket and grab my phone to record the fireworks for fear of missing a second of what was happening around me.”
Sydney
Dear Athra,
It’s not that I had never seen fireworks before, on the contrary this might have been the most humble display of fireworks I had ever seen. Behind them, a tall unfinished concrete building, a crane and some power lines. Their pace was slow, the break between fireworks long and the brightness understated. All this in mind, I could not bear to reach into my pocket and grab my phone to record the fireworks for fear of missing a second of what was happening around me.
I look to my left, I lock eyes with Ashur, a brother from Gishru. No phone in his hand either and after a quick knowing smile we look back up to the humble fireworks above a sea of purple Zowaa flags. It’s night two on our Gishru trip and we are officially welcoming in the Assyrian New Year in Duhok.
It is not what we see on the Gishru trip that make the experience so necessary but the feeling of being in Athra in the first place that make it so. To behold the beauty, and be enveloped by a profound affinity simply because you are there. You arrive in a country (the first time for most of us) that our parents fled ‘for a better life’. What we know of Athra is informed by conflicting accounts from the media and from family. If your family is anything like mine, you expected beauty. Lush valleys, warm people and music that permeates your heart and soul. The media accounts, I will not waste time on here — we know what they are.
I could never have anticipated how I would feel. Our country is beautiful, our people are beautiful, our culture, our traditions, our food. All of it. What’s ours is beautiful, but what’s ours is also in great danger. What Gishru does is expose us to our responsibility as Assyrians. We visit villages and churches and take part in festivities that exist because of the will of our people who have remained in Athra and the fight of those who return and contribute from afar.
So why not pull my phone out on that night if I’m scared that one day what we experience and love will be gone? It comes back to what makes Gishru the essential trip that it is.
A few days later, Ashur and I have our first real conversation of the trip. I say to him immediately, “Hey did you notice we were the only ones without our phones out the other night?” And he says “Yeah, I wanted to say something but I knew you knew. The most important thing was just to be there.”
Ishtar
“There is something very captivating seeing the reliefs in their original spot, stuck to the ground where they were first created, instead of in a museum. In that moment, I felt that everywhere you dig under your feet, you’ll find Assyria.”
Stockholm
Dear Atra,
For 25 years, I’ve lived and breathed on this earth. I was born far away from where I was supposed to. For all my life I’ve longed for my feet to touch the land of my ancestors, my lungs to breathe the air of Assyria, my eyes to see the mountains and rivers that are my inheritance.
It is impossible to encapsulate all the memories, experiences and emotions of visiting Assyria. However, one feeling has stood out to me, namely connection. Seeing the vast mountains, valleys and green landscapes gave me a strong sensation of connection to my Assyrian forefathers. I could imagine the ancient Assyrians living, working and building in that land, creating the world’s first civilization. I felt this especially when visiting the Assyrian relics at the Faida archaeological park, where we saw parts of the fantastic hydraulic system built by the Assyrian king Sennacherib, a canal with extraordinary reliefs of seven of the main Assyrian gods and goddesses. There is something very captivating seeing the reliefs in their original spot, stuck to the ground where they were first created, instead of in a museum. In that moment, I felt that everywhere you dig under your feet, you’ll find Assyria.
Furthermore, visiting the Assyrian villages made me feel connected to our more recent ancestors, my great-grandparents’ generation, the ones that survived the Assyrian Genocide, were forced to leave Hakkari and restart their lives from scratch. Nahla is surrounded by incredible mountains, and whilst visiting, all I could think of was that this was the view that my maternal grandparents grew up seeing every day. This exact view, because the mountains don’t move. My grandparents saw these mountains, and the mountains saw them. The mountains have witnessed every laughter, every tear, every birth, every death, every wedding, every funeral, and everything in-between. It was as though the mountains allowed me to picture my great-grandparents and grandparents going through it all.
After 25 years, I finally made the journey home to Assyria. There are no words profound enough to describe this extraordinary journey. Needless to say, this has been the most important trip of my life. This was not a vacation or an exotic holiday. This was a pilgrimage. This was a homecoming. This was the return of a daughter, and Assyria embraced her as though they had never been apart.
Esagila
“I wrote in an old journal, call it an affirmation or a dream, that ‘I will go to Iraq someday.'”
New Jersey
Dear Atra,
In July of 2014 I wrote in an old journal, call it an affirmation or a dream, that “I will go to Iraq someday”. I then found the old entry in 2022 after getting back from my first trip to Iraq – atra d’Ashur – finally, 8 years after putting pen to paper and a lifetime of wondering about this land and my relation to it.
I think of this moment a lot lately – remembering to remember the things we used to wish for once we end up getting them. It’s fitting, as I’ve now returned from my third trip and am attempting to slow down enough to process what I’m feeling, remembering how I used to long to visit the sites and community that’s now so familiar to me.
My relationship with Atra has shifted and developed the last few years, how could it not. One example is my understanding of “home.” My mom’s family is originally from Iran — and left when it was still Persia — but remember, all of these are merely man made, recently drawn borders. The land is, and has been Assyrian for thousands of years.
I understand this, and all of our relation to it — in a deeper way now. I remember a few of my family members’ feedback when I first wanted to go on Gishru — some remarking “well we’re not from Iraq, and Urmi is our tribe.” It’s been very beautiful to not only personally expand my understanding of this and unpack how that thinking is limiting/untrue, but also to see their mindset shift too. The heart of our nation was and is here – I am walking on it, not just once like I used to dream of, but now on my third trip, and this time returning with my brother. I am walking the same land my ancestors did and it’s surreal every time, you can truly feel it.
I was not born in Atra but it is my ancestral home, and it’s your home too. I hope every Assyrian in the diaspora has the chance to return, and return again. The land remembers you.
For now, Sarah
“These sights could easily be in California or Colorado, they didn’t seem so distant or foreign.”
Chicago
Dear Atra,
Growing up in America, whenever I would hear you being described, it was mostly in a negative context. Most Americans are taught and then led to believe that you are a desert wasteland, riddled with warfare. Upon telling those in my community that I would be traveling to see you, I was often met with surprise and shock: “Why would you go to Iraq?” “You’re going there on purpose?” “Are you sure it’s safe?”
Yes there are unfortunate circumstances and issues that need to be resolved, but what I ended up discovering is that you are filled with beautiful peaks and valleys and lush fields of green. I would catch myself often stopping, looking around, and just wanting to be present with your landscapes. Every day I was with you there would be something scenic to take in. A continuous thought I had was that so many of these sights could easily be in California or Colorado, they didn’t seem so distant or foreign. Within these places, I met locals who are proud and resilient; people who are so in awe of you that they refuse to leave. Now that I have personally spent time with you, I understand why people have felt this strong connection millennia after millennia. Atra, you are so beautiful and sacred. Our time together will leave an impact on me for the rest of my life.
Until I see you again, Lucas
“Seeing the worn-down equipment and lack of resources at our schools versus our neighbors’ well-funded schools infuriated me.”
San Francisco
Dear Atra,
Before our journey together, I only had the pleasure of knowing you through the folklore Baba Sawa would tell me, the cultural traditions passed down through generations, and the familial ties coursing through my veins. Despite this, I immediately recognized you as my truest sense of home once we met.
I had many hopes for what I wanted to gain from visiting you. Aside from strengthening my cultural identity, my biggest hope was to kindle a fire that would further propel me into becoming an activist for the Assyrian cause, and that is exactly what happened. Some of the most formative experiences were witnessing the numerous disparities between our people and our neighbors firsthand, specifically when visiting the Assyrian Aid Society schools.
Seeing the worn-down equipment and lack of resources at our schools versus our neighbors’ well-funded schools infuriated me. At that moment, I couldn’t blame our people for abandoning you in search of an easier life. The privilege I held as an Assyrian-American suddenly hit me in the face and the phrase I had heard throughout my life rang in my head: “ganan qa ganan” meaning “us for ourselves.” Atra, I hear your cries for help, I feel the pain our people endure, and I recognize the urgency for us in the diaspora to amplify your voice. I hope that I can return during my future studies as an aspiring physician and leader, helping on the frontlines to heal, advocate for, and educate our community. It was moving to witness that despite our people’s struggles, they still radiated pure happiness, welcomed us with open arms, and did everything they could to make us feel at home. I will always remember the joyful tears, the delicious feasts of home-cooked food, and the endless singing and dancing.
Since leaving you, I have spent every waking moment replaying all of our memories together in my head. Though California mirrors your lush, rolling hills, dotted with poppies and herds of cattle, the feeling you gave me can never be replicated and I look forward to the day we meet again. The external forces driving us away from you will never overpower the internal force that guides us back to you and I can’t thank GISHRU enough for awakening that force in me.
Love, Nicole
“The first of my family to be back in Atra since my parents fled from persecution and corruption.”
Sterling Heights, Michigan
Dear Atra,
March 29, 2024, a day I will never forget. The first of my family to be back in Atra since my parents fled from persecution and corruption. Upon arrival, I had the feeling of being home even though it was my first time. It was a brand new environment but everything felt natural. It felt as if I had been there before.
Not once during this trip was I ever anxious about where we were going, but rather excited to walk the same grounds as my parents and grandparents. I was able to witness first hand the struggles that they faced growing up and sympathizing with what they really had to go through. Both parents have been open with me about how life was growing up in Atra, my father glamorizing it, talking about how amazing life was. Meanwhile, my mother would talk about the lavishes of Atra but also mention the dark times of war and having to witness buildings collapse around her as a child. Being here, I got to experience a mix of both the glamorous side of things while also witnessing the rebuilding process of villages.
While walking around villages, we were welcomed with open arms by locals that we would pass. They would invite us to sit down and have a cup of chai and tell us that we are welcome into their homes whenever we want. The feeling that you get from a proper community is something that really stood out to me and is not the definition of a community that we have in the west. This was most notable in Alqosh when walking through the village. Every local we passed, we held conversations that always ended in inviting us over for chai and welcoming us in with open arms. One thing that stood out to me and will stick with me forever is witnessing locals crying that other Assyrians from all over the world are coming back to where we come from and want to learn more about who we are, but also how we can help make a better impact for those living in Atra and preserving the Assyrian name.
I would like to thank Gishru and everyone that is involved on the backend in making an amazing trip but also for leaving the impact of a bridge between Atra and I.
Abraham
“I prayed to feel my sister’s presence with me.”
Toronto
Dear Atra,
The only Atra I knew before my journey to you was the one I saw in grainy photos in family albums or from stories that my parents told me about so fondly, with lumps in their throats, knowing that the Atra they left behind all those years ago wouldn’t be the same if they ever returned.
I can’t even begin to explain how beautiful and overwhelming it was to return home. We spent two beautiful weeks exploring the land of our ancestors. We traveled through the rugged mountains of Nohadra and the beautiful, warm Assyrian villages nestled in their embrace. We visited ancient monasteries and churches, but the true heart of this pilgrimage for me was the connections I made with the locals.
I have no family left back home, yet all of the villagers treated me with such genuine kindness and warmth that it felt like everyone was my family. I smiled at a woman while on a walk in Sarsing, and she invited me into her home for tea and cookies. I was a complete stranger to her, but being Assyrian meant that I was welcome, and I left feeling like I’d known her my entire life.
I met a girl named Maryam at one of the schools who was incredibly kind. I complimented her on her beaded phone chain, and when our group arrived in one of the villages later on in our trip, I saw her again. She remembered our conversation and made me my own beaded phone chain to take home.
The most emotional part of my journey was at Rabban Hormizd Monastery in Alqosh. There’s an old cross etched into the walls of the monastery, and legend goes that if you pray for something, close your eyes, and manage to touch the middle of the cross, your prayer will come true. I prayed to feel my sister’s presence with me. She’s my only sibling, and she passed away a few months ago. The moment I stepped outside the monastery, I was greeted with a ladybug. I’ve been seeing ladybugs back home ever since she passed away, and they’ve become a symbol of her.
As I leave you, Atra, I carry with me not just memories, but a deep sense of purpose and belonging. I feel bittersweet and nostalgic when I think of the life I could have lived if I were born here or if our people were not persecuted and driven out, but my gratitude and love for our land run as deep as the fiery resilience of our ancestors. My gratitude knows no bounds for this life-changing journey. Being Assyrian means something different now. It’s not just my ethnicity; it’s ingrained in every fiber of my being, and my pride for our land and culture will always be intertwined in everything that I am.
Samantha
“We walked in the same steps and prayed at the same altars that our parents and their parents had once called home.”
London
Dear Atra,
After spending most of my life dreaming of the place my mom told me the sweetest memories of, I finally had a chance to experience it myself. From the bougainvillea flowers and the strong smell of orange blossom, to the flat roofs and village greenery – I felt like I was walking alongside my family. The one thing I heard the most about while growing up, though, was the tenacious faith of our people.
From the earliest days of the Christian church to now — Assyrian believers have understood the call of Jesus, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” Luke 9.23-24. My grandfather was a devout believer and passed this fervor for spiritual growth and wisdom down throughout the generations.
Through Gishru, we were able to visit countless churches and monasteries that have withstood interdenominational conflicts, natural disasters and wars. We walked in the same steps and prayed at the same altars that our parents and their parents had once called home.
Seeing this first hand, I know that the blessings and privileges we have now were built on the sacrifices, service and faith of our ancestors before us. In the west, it is easy to think of our faith as something personal, hidden, not for this day and age. But in Atra, we find communities of faith like the Rabban Hormiz monastery that was founded in the 600s or Mar Odisho in the 300s AD.
For centuries, our people have walked through these ancient walnut and olive trees with prayers for fertility, healing, peace. Now in 2024, part of the diaspora community returned to these sacred sites and found that we are more connected than we could have imagined. My grandfather’s prayers planted a seed and prepared the foundation for a deep understanding of inheritance and the beauty that comes from a rich heritage of faith. For those who live in the diaspora and those who have held the ground and continued to build, revitalize, and sustain our history by remaining in Atra, we find that community is one of the biggest blessings we have.
With all my love, Grace
“That night, we went to Easter Mass at St. John the Baptist ACOE in Ankawa, and I immediately felt like I was home.”
Santa Clara, California
Dear Atra,
It’s hard to articulate how it felt knowing I’d be seeing you for the first time after an entire lifetime of only hearing reasons we couldn’t. That, on top of circumstances that had pushed my family and others out of the country left me perplexed at how easy it was for me to arrange a visit and return to the place my parents were once forced out of. I knew there was a community, connection and purpose waiting for me, and I expected that you’d mirror my life in the diaspora to some extent.
I spent the first day anxious and unsure of my surroundings. That night, we went to Easter Mass at St. John the Baptist ACOE in Ankawa, and I immediately felt like I was home. We had just traveled across the world and landed in a church with the same services, hymns, and celebrating the resurrection of Christ the same way I had always done. The faces in the crowd resembled the faces of my family, friends and loved ones. It hit home that they are my people and I am theirs. From there, the already immense connection I felt to my people and homeland intensified by the day.
I have spent my entire life serving you and our people. From cultural initiatives, youth, church, language and more, my personality has always been rooted in Assyrianism and being a source of good for my community. Seeing the passion and desire to build better lives from our people in the homeland was a recharge that not only validated every effort given to that point, but created a renewed sense of urgency to be a productive contributor to our people in all ways, all the time.
I knew I was where I was meant to be by the hundreds of connections I had made in the short time I was there. You gave me a new family and new friends, all who opened their homes and hearts to us. Though by name you’re not our country anymore, everything I experienced there showed me you are. From the history to the people, and the aspirations to be fulfilled, you gave me a new sense of purpose to work towards.
The impact you’ve made on me has been hard to process. The only word that would express how I feel about you is that you are home. You are ours and we are yours. While I expected you to mirror my life at home, what I found was that the mirror has always been in America, and my heart has always been in the homeland. Thank you for showing it to me.
Sincerely, David
“The chorus still echoes in my head, ‘My sweet homeland for you I await, My sweet homeland for you I sing…'”
Turlock, California
Dear Atra,
There are many moments I can think of that stood out to me during my trip. It was immeasurably memorable and impactful, filled with unforgettable experiences and some of the most wonderful people I have ever met from all over the world. One moment that stood out to me may seem negligible at first, but it’s a moment that has been rattling in my head like a catchy song. Funnily enough, it was a certain song that made this moment memorable. It happened at the beginning of the trip on the ride from Erbil to Duhok.
We were traveling in coasters on a two-hour trek to officially kick off the trip. Excitement was buzzing in the air from all the people aboard from the bus driver, the alumni, and the first-timers including myself. As I looked out the window, gazing upon the landscape, it eerily resembled the land back home in California. Great rolling hills of green speckled with bushes, trees, and shrubs, valleys teeming with livestock, and flowing streams of water cutting across it all. The Mediterranean climate incarnate; just like home. As I looked out the window, taking it all in, a certain song came on over the coaster speakers.
Assyrian music had been blasting the entire drive, putting everyone in a dancing and celebratory mood but this song shifted the air. It was an older song with tinny audio but the melody was hauntingly beautiful mixed with feelings of melancholic nostalgia. It manifested a longing for something that was once had but is now long gone. The combination of descending major and minor notes resonated and struck a chord with me as I gazed upon the land my ancestors once walked upon. My newly reunited cousin was running the playlist and after asking her what song was playing, I learned its title was “Atree Khilya Bet Nahrain” by David Esha. I also learned that Esha was jailed and tortured by the Ba’ath Regime for singing this song along with three other songs he made. The chorus still echoes in my head, “My sweet homeland for you I await, My sweet homeland for you I sing…”
This newfound troubling knowledge of this piece of Assyrian music combined with gazing upon the outside view set the tone for the trip; an unforgettable experience with peaks and valleys that resembled the land we looked upon, our home.
Mark
“I learned one very important reality about being Assyrian: it means learning to balance the sad and dark parts of our history with the most beautiful culture, tradition, celebrations, and music of our people.”
Los Angeles
Dear Atra,
Before visiting Assyria, I expected Gishru to be two weeks of non-stop fun and excitement. Not that it wasn’t. It was the best two weeks of my life. But there were serious and sad parts of the trip regarding our people’s history in our homeland. At first, it was hard to deal with. When we were at our debrief about Simele, I could not stand still, I was so upset, pacing back and forth trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen. But like all things, it got easier. Yet I’m thankful for the hard parts of the trip like Simele because learning about the tragedies and seeing where they happened in the homeland bring me closer to my roots; something that is very difficult for me in the diaspora. Without our struggles, we would not be who we are. We would not be as proud to be Assyrian.
From all the sad and grim realities of Assyrian persecution in our homeland to the celebration of our new year and the bus rides full of Assyrians singing our beautiful songs in the motherland, I learned one very important reality about being Assyrian: it means learning to balance the sad and dark parts of our history with the most beautiful culture, tradition, celebrations, and music of our people.
Balancing the highs and lows and still being hopeful for the future of our people while reading our history and looking at the current state of Assyrians today makes that seem impossible. The two weeks I spent in Assyria have been the most impactful and memorable I think I will ever have. I was the youngest participant this year, having turned 18 on the first day of the trip, and I could not think of a better way to spend the start of my adult life than being surrounded by my people in the motherland celebrating our heritage. My most sincere gratitude to Gishru for bringing me home.
Luke
“You breathed life into all my ancestors, their stories and their struggles.”
Los Angeles
Dear Atra,
From the moment my feet first touched your sacred soil, a lifetime of regret surged through me, as if I had spent all my years betraying you only to seek your forgiveness. The noises drowned out the crowds around me, and I could hear Jermain Tamraz singing “Purify Me.” It’s surreal how I grew up hearing tales of you, yet had never truly met you. Your legends have been etched into my very being and they guided me towards you.
In the course of three years, I’ve traveled your majestic mountains, roamed your expansive plains, delved into your lush valleys, and traced the curves of your flowing rivers. And in each of these moments, more layers of family stories unfolded. My perception of my parents shifted: I no longer saw them as guardians, I saw them as souls I yearned to protect. I could see them in front of me—young and innocent, trying to survive bloodshed and tragedy. I could see their youth in the face of every Assyrian child playing, but behind that joy, a backdrop full so much of that shared pain. But I always knew of this suffering, I just never understood the gravity of it until I touched you and felt the true weight of our traumatic history. And suddenly, their journey and personalities made perfect sense.
Driving up Rabban Hormizd, I was not prepared for your energy to envelop me. I bared my soles upon your ancient rocks, remembering a grandmother I never knew, envisioning her prayers and footsteps through your monastery mazes. Emotions overwhelmed me, I felt my grandmother behind me, embracing me tightly in her arms. In that moment, my tears flowed freely. You brought her to me because you loved me. You breathed life into all my ancestors, their stories and their struggles. The loved ones I yearned to know, to touch, to feel—they were all there with me, surrounding me, because I was finally home.
I realized it was no coincidence I heard that song flow through my mind—it echoed the emotions swelling inside of me. I truly understood what I came here for. It was so very clear. Just like that song, I wanted you to purify me, to cleanse me of my sins of neglecting you, and to renew my Assyrian spirit to honor you. Each glimpse of you steals a piece of me — to you, I give it willingly. And I’ll return again and again until you claim me whole, you will forever be my home and have my soul.
Love, Ashuriena
“You’ve given me a new version of me, the version that has been missing, the chunk you held until I came to claim it.”
Sydney
Dear Atra,
Well, it has been 37 years and the craziest long distance relationship of our lives.
I’m glad we finally met. It may have been a short visit, but I can honestly say you were worth the wait.
I heard so many stories about you!
Stories of family, filled with joy, happiness, laughter, connection and unwavering love.
Stories of history spanning over 6770 years, culture rich in history, a history I’ve grown with, read about, obsessed about and fallen in love with!
Stories of sadness, loss, death, famine, war, corruption and genocide through family, friends and strangers.
All I ever wanted was to see your beauty, your soul, and if I could take anything back with me to diaspora and never return, taking the memories of the moments I cherished will give me happiness.
My most cherished moments with the people I met, strangers who become my friends because we shared something with you. Our love for you.
All the other moments seem like a blur: the villages, churches, mountains, rivers, people and food. These blurred moments wouldn’t exist without the photos/videos we took and will be the most cherished moments of my life.
I expressed so many emotions when I visited you, emotions I haven’t expressed in a long time to myself let alone other people.
Within two days of meeting you, I cried tears of joy, an overwhelming feeling I hadn’t felt in longer than I could remember.
Kha b’Nissan’s celebrations and the people truly left a mark on me.
You brought me in and the people who have lived with you loved me the way you love them. Singing, dancing and dressing in our traditional clothing was a beautiful moment!
All in all Atra, you’ve given me a new version of me, the version that has been missing, the chunk you held until I came to claim it.
Now that I have claimed it, I feel more whole, more loved, more in touch with you, and a true Atouraya!
Now that I’ve returned to you, Atra.
Returning to diaspora I can officially say I’m now a TT!
I love you Atra. Ashur
“And just like that, the tire was fixed, and it was time to go.”
Boston
Dear Atra,
I found myself thinking of you today, as I often do, reminiscing our time together.
It was a Saturday, we were on our way back from your beloved Nahla when one of our bus tires popped. Within minutes, Ashur and George hopped off the bus and got to work helping the drivers change the tire.
While they were busy, Courtney and I took the opportunity to lighten the mood, playfully teasing them about their impressive display of manliness.
Soon after, Sarah, Elizabeth and I wandered off and spotted fresh orange clay by a nearby stream. We collected handfuls.
We then found Sargon picking from an almond tree. We joined him, harvesting enough to share.
You, just always effortlessly nurturing our spirits and filling our souls with sustenance and ease.
Before we knew it, Karlos, our resident drummer, began playing his davola and everyone joined in singing and dancing. A sense of belonging and oneness filled the air, our voices rising in harmony with the rhythm of our homeland.
And just like that, the tire was fixed, and it was time to go.
I cherish this fleeting moment for many reasons, mostly because it captures the essence of our Assyrian people: resilience, generosity, resourcefulness, and electric spirit. It’s in us, woven into the fabric of our very being. Without even thinking, we’re able to do so much with so little, just as we always have.
Until next time, Atra.
With love, Hailey
“Having lost my father to cancer just 11 months prior, I found myself consumed by responsibilities, neglecting my own grief. His final wish, echoing in my mind, urged me to visit our homeland.”
Phoenix
Dear Atra,
Returning to Atra for the third time held a significance I never anticipated. Previously, my connection to my Assyrian heritage was tenuous at best, preferring to identify as Chaldean due to my lack of understanding. However, immersed in the community over the past two years, I’ve undergone a transformation. As an Assyrian content creator, I’ve delved into our history and traditions, embracing my true identity.
The journey back to Atra carried a weight of personal significance. Having lost my father to cancer just 11 months prior, I found myself consumed by responsibilities, neglecting my own grief. His final wish, echoing in my mind, urged me to visit our homeland. In America, amidst reminders of him, I felt a profound absence. But in Atra, surrounded by his essence, I discovered a tangible connection to his spirit.
Every corner of Atra seemed to whisper his presence, offering solace amidst the pain. It was here, in the land he held dear, that I chose to immortalize his memory with my first tattoo. This act, a testament to our bond, brought both sorrow and comfort. Knowing he would have been proud filled me with a bittersweet joy, a reminder of the enduring love between us.
Journeying through Atra with Gishru, I found healing in unexpected moments. Visiting holy places and experiencing the spiritual richness of our homeland helped me strengthen my faith in God, providing solace in times of doubt. Don’t get me wrong, being here with gishru, connecting with locals, was also a huge part of my trip. I had a great time with my fellow Gishru family and the locals who made me feel so welcomed and truly at home. I was reminded by many around me that he is always with me, and experiencing so much out here with everyone was also a highlight.
In Atra, amidst its timeless beauty, I discovered a sense of rejuvenation. This journey, dedicated to honoring my father’s memory, reaffirmed the everlasting power of love. Departing from Atra, I carried treasured memories and an unbreakable bond with my father, a connection that extends beyond earthly confines. I am profoundly thankful to God and Gishru for granting me the opportunity to fortify my faith, strengthen my ties to my heritage, and find acceptance in my father’s absence.
Heaven