“My Destiny to Live in Jerusalem Was a Great Privilege”: John Rose and the Armenians of Jerusalem

The memoir Armenians of Jerusalem: Memories of Life in Palestine is a fascinating and charming account of social and political conditions in Palestine from 1924 to 1974, during which the country was wracked by the calamities of British imperialism followed by Israeli settler-colonialism. Told from the viewpoint of a perceptive observer who felt deeply rooted to Jerusalem and its Palestinian community, the book offers a compassionate account of the lived experience of Palestinians during this tumultuous period. It is also an account of the author’s mother’s Armenian family and the Armenian community that settled in Jerusalem many centuries ago.

John H. Melkon Rose was born to a British father and a Jerusalem Armenian mother, and he describes himself as being “deeply rooted in two different cultures.”1 Yet, throughout the narrative of his life during the Colonial British Mandate, the 1948 War, the establishment of the State of Israel, and Israel’s occupation of the rest of Palestine in 1967, what comes out most strongly are Rose’s deep roots in Jerusalem and in Palestinian culture itself. He responds to events not as a privileged Westerner like the expatriates around him, who could leave whenever the situation became unpleasant, but rather as a Palestinian Jerusalemite, who sees his fate as linked to those with whom he grew up. Here is how he describes it:

Rose begins with an introduction to Jerusalem’s Armenian community, which took root in Palestine by the fourth century. He gives a detailed account of his Armenian mother’s relatives and their lifestyles beginning in the early 19th century. He tells their stories with compassion and insight. The Armenians who had lived in Palestine for centuries (kaghakasti of Jerusalem) used the Arabic word zuwwar (visitors) to refer to Armenians who arrived in Jerusalem in the early 20th century, fleeing Turkish massacres.3 The “newcomers” resented the established community, viewing them as more Arab than Armenian, since many (including the author’s mother) could not speak Armenian.4 And indeed, the easy comingling of communities described by the author suggests that Jerusalemites were a multicultural lot and attached little significance to ethnicity at the time—something that refugees fleeing persecution triggered by their ethnicity would be very aware of and even resent, as the more recent Armenian refugees did.

Rose’s observations of Armenian-Palestinian interactions are charming, beginning with the matter of names. Armenians were referred to by alternative names when their given names were found to be too difficult for their neighbors to pronounce or remember. So, for example, an Armenian family whose ancestors had traded in Calcutta became known as Dar al-Hindi (Arabic for “the Indian house” or “family”); a family of builders became known as Dar al-Banna (“the builders’ house” or “family”); and a dark-skinned Armenian family was known as Dar al-Samra (“the dark-colored house” or “family”). The author’s aunt was christened Takouhie, the Armenian word for “queen,” but she too was soon known (and in the memoir, is exclusively referred to) as Malakeh, which means “queen” in Arabic. These details give the impression of communities that were open to one another and using common sense to facilitate their interactions.

Reading this in 2025, when about 900 Israeli checkpoints block Palestinian movement within the fraction of historic Palestine known as the West Bank, and when the Arab world itself has been shattered and dominated by colonial powers, it is stunning to learn of the ease with which two single Armenian sisters went from Jerusalem to Beirut, and later to Aleppo and Cairo and Beersheba, in search of educational and job opportunities. Margaret and Malakeh did that, graduating from the American University of Beirut as nurses by 1914, and then going where their network of friends told them they could find work. Malakeh later went to Berlin, Germany, and earned another nursing degree and then underwent training as a midwife. Her older sister, Margaret, found a job in the city of Jaffa as a nurse.

In 1920, Margaret married Harold Rose, a British soldier who entered Palestine with General Allenby in 1917. Rose was released from the army and joined the civilian government set up by the British Mandate authorities. Their union was a mixed marriage that was frowned on by both families. The Rose family had never heard of Armenians and viewed them as no better than Arabs, whom they regarded as being low on the hierarchy of foreigners. The established Armenian community did not approve of one of their own women marrying a foreigner.

Years later, when the couple had children whom they sent to British schools, their son would recall how his teachers clearly discriminated against him and his sister, favoring the full-blooded British students. His mother and aunt had faced similar discrimination when they worked for a British family and did not receive the same courtesies that were extended to their Western coworkers.

About one-third of the way into the account, John Rose is born (in 1924), and the account becomes his own. He is an interesting narrator because of the perspective he has on a region that is undergoing momentous changes: He is half-British, and so he sees the British role in the country but does not identify with that group; he is greatly influenced by his mother’s relatives, who are Armenians with deep roots in Jerusalem; and his friends and neighbors are Palestinian, among whom he feels completely comfortable, no doubt due in part to his ease with Arabic. He sees himself as part of the Palestinian community, and as such, he intuitively understands and conveys to the (Western) reader unfolding events during this turbulent period from a native point of view.

Idyllic as his childhood was, there was a darker side too, of which he gradually became aware:

Summer vacations were spent visiting his aunt and grandmother who lived in Ramallah. He retained fond memories of walks to the countryside to pick wildflowers and enjoy breakfasts outdoors.

Rose attended St. George’s School in the then affluent Palestinian neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah, which had been built in the late 19th century.

At school, he formed a close friendship with Issam Nashashibi and spent enjoyable evenings at the family’s home not far from the school. The YMCA provided sports facilities and a large swimming pool that he and his friends used.

He describes a Nabi Musa celebration he attended one year:

He had a foot in both worlds, Palestinian and British, a fact he relished because it made his life “much more interesting” than it would otherwise have been.8 He describes field trips to Petra and Madaba in Jordan, theatrical performances at the YMCA, and an exhibition of crafts from the Arab world held in Jerusalem in 1933 featuring textiles, foodstuffs, woodwork, soaps, and furniture.

The Great Palestinian Revolt began in 1936, when Rose was 12 years old. Here is how he described it decades later:

The British retaliated massively and brutally, dynamiting houses, imprisoning men, deporting leaders, and destroying food supplies: “Villagers lived in fear of the British army.”10

Rose notes that Arab leaders tried repeatedly but unsuccessfully to raise their concerns with the British authorities over the years.

The first sign of strife to affect Rose personally took the form of bombs placed in a desk at the British-sponsored Palestine Broadcasting Service, killing a staff member who worked on the children’s programming. Rose is probably referring to an attack in 1939 that in fact killed two employees, the woman familiar to Rose and a Palestinian employee. (He does not mention whether the perpetrators were ever identified or caught, but an internet search shows that three time bombs were placed on the radio station premises, killing two people, and that suspects included the Zionist terrorist groups Lehi and Irgun; the same article mentions the possibility that a German Nazi group might have been responsible for targeting a British facility during that period.11) The attack was deeply upsetting to the community and from then on, the unrest was a constant undercurrent.

Rose graduated from high school in 1943 and worked as an accountant. He describes his extracurricular activities, which most likely were similar to other young people of his class. He had access to about five movie theaters in the area. People socialized in open-air cafés in the suburbs—the Viennese Tearoom, Café Vienna, Attara, Alaska, and Café Europe. One could drive to Ramallah and head for the Grand Hotel (still operating as of this writing). Young people went to the beach for the day or headed to the Dead Sea at night.

And then there were the activities and facilities offered by the YMCA. (The other sports facility in town, the Jerusalem Sports Club, catered to Westerners, and applicants had to be vetted. Rose clearly felt more comfortable with the egalitarian Y, which his Palestinian friends could use.)

By 1946, the mood had changed, and Jews and Arabs were self-segregating, each group in its own part of the city. People dressed in ways to identify themselves so that they could work in their own neighborhoods without question; for example, some women wore large crosses or headscarves; some men wore fur calpacs. Random bombings were more frequent. Armored-plated buses ferried Arabs between the Arab suburbs and the Old City. As Rose put it: “We became used to living precariously.”12

Conditions worsened. The bombing of the King David Hotel hit the Rose family hard; his father had attended to a mechanical problem in the hotel and left just moments after the explosion, and John worked nearby. He knew many of those killed: “The whole city reeked of death, and it was days before the last body was recovered. We attended funerals daily.”13 By January 1947, the British government hastily evacuated its citizens in nonessential roles. The order was hard for John because he feared not ever being able to return to Jerusalem, a city he loved. But he had to leave.

The evacuation itinerary took him from Jerusalem by bus to Sarafand on the coast, to Cairo by plane, to Port Said one month later by train, and then by sea to Liverpool. His description of snobbish British women who wanted to have nothing to do with foreign wives might remind readers of the movie The Titanic, where doomed passengers thought their class should shield them from the worst outcome. In this case, no one risked death, though the prejudice against women like Rose’s Armenian mother helps explain why he felt little kinship with the British expatriate community in Palestine.

With one month to wait for passage to England to materialize, he used his time to explore the sights in Cairo. He responded to the city’s attractions like any Arab man his age would, smitten by the city known throughout the Arab world as Umm al-Dunya, the mother of the world. In his words, “Cairo exerted a tremendous magnetic hold on me.”14

The six months he spent in England gave him a sense of what Palestinian political figures who had been deported by the mandate authorities to places like the Seychelles might have gone through. Deportation was a punishment the British used liberally, and the colonial power that succeeded them, Israel, continued the same brutal practice. Rose did not compare himself to a political figure who was banished from a country he wanted to help thrive, but he came to understand what an awful punishment deportation was. Jerusalem was where he wanted to be, and England was just an unavoidable holding space until he could return, which he did in October 1947.

During his absence, Jerusalem (with the exclusion of the Old City) had been divided into four zones, each of which could be accessed through a limited number of gates. British subjects were able to go to all the zones, but the indigenous population were restricted to the zones in which they could prove they lived or worked, and they had to show passes to enter. Like the Arab Palestinians, Rose found it hard to believe that the British would really terminate the mandate on May 15, 1948, as they repeatedly announced they would.

What were the last months like? Rose tells us that it was a violent time, a time of anarchy. Nevertheless, everyone expected the violence to be brief and that any evacuation, even if voluntary to escape imminent violence, would be temporary. Clearly writing for Western readers, who are mobile by choice, he explains why the separation from one’s home and land were psychologically and economically devastating for Palestinians. The British Mandate authorities did not try to stop the violence; their strategy seemed to be to simply wait out the clock.

By the time the British issued their mandatory evacuation order for their nationals, Rose had decided he would not leave. He explained his decision: “My overwhelming fear was exile from Jerusalem, which I found difficult to explain and which no one could understand. Above all I wished to remain with the people I had been so happily part of since childhood.”15 One might say that he became a Jerusalemite by choice.

By mid-March 1948, the Jerusalem neighborhood of Qatamon was the scene of heavy fighting and Palestinian houses were dynamited by the Stern Gang. By April, it was hard even for Westerners to move between the zones. By the end of the month, he recalled, it was unwise to leave home unless it was “absolutely necessary.” When it became too dangerous to even step into the garden, he reluctantly decided to leave home and move in with relatives who lived in the nearby al-Baq‘a area of Jerusalem’s New City and planned not to leave; the Red Crescent and Cross occupied part of their building, and they thought the flag offered some protection. His aunt, who normally lived in Ramallah, had joined him to check on her nephew, and when he left for al-Baq‘a, she went with him. That decision resulted in her being trapped in what became West Jerusalem, which suddenly found itself seized and declared part of the newly announced State of Israel. She was unable to reach her home for the next 19 years.

By May 16, Zionist militias controlled al-Baq‘a, and it was turned into a ghetto zone.

By June 11, a truce had been agreed to. Arabs were still restricted in their movement, but Jews were free to move about freely. Rose recalls:

For several months, the looting continued. After picking clean all houses whose owners fled the war, they turned next to homes with residents. Groups of looters pounded on doors and demanded entry, claiming to be looking for illegal arms. After the first attempt, residents learned to bury in their gardens whatever items they wanted to hold on to. Rose was spared further searches because he knew the military governor and was able to get written notice (which he taped to his door) that his home was under the protection of the military governor and was not to be searched.

For non-Jews in what became West Jerusalem, the property problems were just beginning. Rose explains the byzantine workings of the newly established Custodian of Enemy Property, which didn’t recognize home ownership rights of Palestinians and demanded back rent. Owners with extra space had to find tenants they might not have wanted under other circumstances but found that they needed to prevent having strangers imposed on them by the state.

By October 1948, the rules had slightly relaxed, and people were able to move about in their immediate neighborhood. It was a slim improvement. For Rose, it meant he could visit his home in the Greek Colony. To his dismay, he found that it had been ransacked with family photographs thrown around and his father’s sheet music thrown into the garden. By December, many of those stranded like Rose decided that the situation was unlikely to improve, and that it was time to leave permanently.

Rose watched while neighborhoods he knew and homes he had visited were slowly occupied by immigrant Jewish families, who turned them into slums; elegant homes were subdivided, often haphazardly to accommodate more families. But the loss went beyond the deterioration of the neighborhoods; as Rose puts it with elegant simplicity: “to me the saddest part was the lack of familiar faces.”17

But he held out a bit longer. He left his accounting job and started working for the YMCA in a variety of roles—switchboard operator, floral display arranger, and pianist. He describes most of the staff as being Arab in the early 1950s. The mood was congenial. He describes a trip he took to Jaffa with his friends in 1952:

Holidays were difficult; he was separated from relatives and most of the people who had lived in his neighborhood. His aunt Malakeh lived on the Jordanian side of Jerusalem, and so in 1951 he decided to apply for permission to pass through the Mandelbaum Gate to spend Christmas with her. (Initially, when the gate was put in place in late 1948, the only people who were given permission to use it for Christmas services were US marines, consular officials, UN personnel, and people affiliated with religious orders.)19 He described the experience:

Rose left West Jerusalem for good in 1954 after securing a job in Amman at St. George’s Close, which after nine months transferred him to St. George’s Hostel in Jordanian-controlled East Jerusalem. There he was appointed warden and soon transformed the hostel into a comfortable and elegant hotel with an Arab atmosphere.

In 1967, Israel occupied the remainder of Palestine. For Palestinians this was the second disaster to befall them in just 19 years. Rose describes the fear of hearing the battles in the area and (for the staff at the hostel he managed) the terror of being separated from loved ones. He mentions without much elaboration some of the consequences of the war. Palestinians suddenly had the opportunity to return to the areas they had been expelled from in 1948. He shared the impulse and made that pilgrimage, dismayed to see the overgrown and neglected gardens, so unlike the well-tended expanses he remembered from his childhood. Some of his prescient observations, noted without elaboration, pertained to the linking of the Palestinian life to the Israeli economy and to the construction that encircled the city “with a noose of concrete.”21 The uncertainty of the situation and the strikes and violence of the period had a concrete consequence for him: an inability to take botanical excursions into the countryside. He felt the first steps toward the immobilization of Palestinians, which would become a strategy of Israel in subsequent decades.

Rose left Palestine for good in 1976 and settled in England.

The memoir ends as it began, with reference to the Armenians of Jerusalem, numbering about 300 at the time he wrote. With the deaths of his mother and her two sisters, the family lines of their parents came to an end. Judging by the title he chose for the book and the level of detail with which he described their lives, one can surmise that he felt a sense of responsibility to document what he knew of their (and their ancestors’) lives. No one else was left to tell their stories. He likely completed the writing of the manuscript in the early 1990s (judging by a reference he made in the text to the Gulf War). He died unexpectedly in 1995. His memoir leaves behind a warm, rich, and nuanced account of life in Palestine in an era that is all too often whitewashed or erased in mainstream narratives.