Ottoman History Podcast - Embodied Archives of the Armenian Genocide

Episode Date: September 22, 2026

with Elyse Semerdjian hosted by Matthew Ghazarian | How can feminist approaches to the body and embodiment change the ways we approach the history of violence? In this episode we discuss these topics with Elyse Semerdjian, author of Remnants: Embodied Archives of the Armenian Genocide (Stanford University Press 2023). Rather than ask about the official intent, geopolitics, or international legal implications of this violence, Semerdjian shifts the focus onto the bodies, skin, and bones of Armenians targeted for removal and extermination. Her work sheds new light on the efforts to recover Armenians taken into Arab, Kurdish, and Turkish households in an attempt to rebuild the body of the nation; the tattoos that marked the bodies of Armenians among nomadic pastoralist communities in the deserts of the Jazira region; and the role of bones and bodily remnants in sustaining and complicating commemoration of the Armenian genocide. « Click for More »

Just a heads up for our listeners before we begin that this episode contains discussions of bodily harm, mass violence and sexual violence. Hello, this is Ottoman History podcast. I'm Matthew Gazzarian. In this episode, we're welcoming Professor Elise Samergen for a conversation on embodied and feminist approaches to the study of mass violence and genocide in general, as well as the Armenian genocide in particular. Elise is the Robert Aram and Marianne Kulustian and Stephen and Marian Mugar chair of Armenian Genocide Studies at the Strassler Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Clark University. Her work focuses on social history in the Ottoman Empire with a special focus on women and the empire's Armenian subjects. Her first book, Off the Straight Path, Illicit Sex, Law, and Community in Ottoman Aleppo, came out on Syracuse University Press in 2008, and her most recent book is Remnants,

embodied archives of the Armenian Genocide, winner of the Association of Middle East Women Studies, and the Institute for the Study of Genocide, Raphael Lemkin Best Book Prizes, and it was out from Stanford University Press in 2023. Remnants takes up the aftermaths of the expulsion and extermination of Ottoman Armenians, ordered by the Committee of Union and Progress,

members of which had recently taken over the Ottoman government in a coup and cast its lot with the central powers of World War I. Leading up to the war, during the war, and in the years that followed, not only Armenians, but also Assyrians, Greeks, Kurds, Olives, and others faced accusations of being disloyal and were ordered to be expelled, massacred, or worse. Historians often mark the Armenian chapter in this broader unmixing of peoples in 1915 as the Armenian genocide, when the Ottoman government began to disarm Ottoman Armenian soldiers, round up Armenian intellectuals and political leaders, and exile the mass of Ottoman Armenians into many

different places, including the deserts of eastern Syria. Today we'll be talking about different sources, topics, and methods for approaching the Armenian genocide, how using embodied archives and feminist approaches can expand the way we look at these violent episodes, and also into the methodological approaches that Elise has brought to this work. Elise, I wanted to start out with a question about embodied archives. So this is something in the subtitle of the book, and the book is asking how the history of violence changes when we ground it in embodied archives. That is, if we look at the skin, the bones, and the bodies of those who were lost and

those who survived, how do we better understand the processes and effects of genocide? Basically, embodied archives, it is just a way of talking about embodiment, which of course has a very long feminist tradition, embodied ways of knowing. And I was trying to bridge that also with the material turn that's happening in the study of history, but many other fields, to think about the materiality of the body, to think about the wounds and the primary wound that has become a preoccupation of Armenians is actually the tattoo. But of course, in the course of thinking about the tattoo as wound, I also thought about the bones as also a form of Armenian post memory. So the archives here are many different formats, but it also includes oral narratives

and people's memories and some of it's written, some of it's not written. So I blended together historical methods with ethnography in order to try to trace what I'm calling embodied archaes. and also thinking about our memories as having a kind of value, even if they're not perfectly accurate. Because one of the things that I trace with regard to bones is how people, when they encounter Armenian bones in the Syrian desert, are actually, they're actually seeing visions of what transpired in 1915. And I'm not taking that as literal, but thinking about the power of memory and the materiality of the bone as sort of triggering that memory, the bone becomes a mnemonic device of a sort. Embodied archives is just one way of trying to describe this process.

So you mentioned post-memory, this term, I think it's Marianne Hershey's, about the experiences and memories of subsequent generations after mass violence. She's talking about the descendants of Holocaust survivors. Could you talk a little bit about how post-memory as a methodological or a theoretical frame was useful for you in approaching the Armenian genocide? Definitely. Post-memory, of course, there are Armenians talking about post-memory works. And one of the primary ones for thinking about the materiality of the body was Suzanne Hardalia and Svara's tattoos came out in 2011 and really focused on her memories of her grandmother, but you realize in the course of her exploration that we're also learning a great deal about her

or this kind of transmitted trauma. And Marianna Hirsch and Leo Spitzer are two scholars that have dealt with that extensively. And Hirsch began that by looking at Art Spiegelman's work of mouse as an example of post-memory, where we really do see that kind of inherited trauma of Spiegelman in the process of cartooning a work about his father's survival at Auschwitz. And one of the things that Hirsch and Spitzer both talk about is how these memories feel very much firsthand. So I saw that in Cardalian's work, but I also was able to see that when I interviewed people about their experiences at Derazoo. where they saw themselves as a woman being slaughtered in Der Zor, or they felt they were seeing their ancestors

or their grandparents in the killing fields. And it doesn't mean that we can't critique that, by the way. You know, of course, I could have debunked many of these narratives, but that wasn't my goal. My goal was to document it because the book itself is intended to archive those experiences. And I'm sure that there will be many other works that will take it in different directions, but this was just one attempt

to make those stories of Der Azur, for example, into an archive of its own. I was wondering if you could talk a little bit more about approaching the history of violence in the late Ottoman Empire. You know, how does this fit into ongoing conversations about the Armenian genocide or this broader moment of violence at the end of empire? We're talking about the Ottoman Empire, not the American Empire, because one of the things about writing this in this period, of time and thinking about the type of tortures that Armenians experienced. I was thinking about the Abu Ghraib photographs from 2006. And since Gaza in 23, thinking about, well, October 7th, I mean, reports of sexual violence against Israelis, and now we have sexual violence against Palestinians. And so thinking about rape as a tool of conquest, that history also goes way back.

I mean, we can think about indigenous feminists who have been talking about rape and conquest for much longer than we have. What I felt with regard to the late Ottoman Empire, though, and the Armenian genocide was that we often have this listing, like women and children died or women were raped. And I felt like that needed to be analyzed. What work is that doing? And I call it genocide's body work. What work is that atrocity or sexual atrocity doing in that moment? how does it facilitate the unraveling of the genos or the community that's at the center of the word genocide and now rape is a tool of genocide since the 2008 ruling on Rwanda we now know that

rape is a weapon so how can we analyze this differently and there's been some movement in genocide studies and Holocaust studies that really helped me analyze differently or what I propose as a feminist analysis this type of violence to really think about the kind of communication that's happening between men when these things are done. And that includes violence on men. One of the silences in the record are rape experiences of men, and only this week the rape experiences of Palestinian men has been shared by Nicholas Christoph in the New York Times. However, I only found one man who actually narrated what happened to him, and that was Rupin Gavur, who I learned about in a kitchen in Chicago. So he did record his testimony and I found it and there's nothing like an old man wailing between narrating

how he was raped in a barn by a Kurdish man who just closed the doors and attacked him. But that's the type of listening that I wanted to do in the historical record. And it does situate sexual violence and atrocity at the center of the genocide project. Like your other research, this book also, it draws on a rich feminist tradition. and brings that front and center to this history, which too often, as you point out, is something that gets a nod and then sort of glossed over and moved on.

And I was wondering if you could talk also more about centering gender on a history of violence where it often isn't the center. Yeah, I'm thankful to everyone who actually wrote about this, and there have been authors, Arasarafian, Ali. Sonsarion. There were authors 30, 40 years ago that I read who wrote essays about gender and the Armenian genocide. But the field of genocide studies outside of Armenian studies has really deepened our ability to analyze this further. And I wanted to blend those together. The stories that I know that we know about atrocities and bring it front and center. And it was born out of

a frustration. I mean, I teach, you know, survey courses on the Armenian genocide. and I teach a book and then when it comes time to talk about gender, I have to pause and tell the students, put the book aside, we're going to do this. And it's because it's really about making space to talk about it because you can't find it in any of the books that we're often using to teach the Armenian genocide. It has to be taught separately.

And I guess the next question I would have is what does it look like if these types of issues are blended into the narrative? for example we go back to the 1880s and 1890s and there was an epidemic of abduction of Armenian women that goes further back than 1915 and and the question is like what does that reveal about communal life you know living especially it's often in the eastern provinces among Kurds where you have like a Kurdish aga sees a girl takes her and how difficult it was for communities to retrieve those girls except in like some intents instances like the story of Gullesar that I share. But there were so many countless women. We don't know their stories or their names, but it does seem like especially the connection between bodies and territory are really central. And those are things that feminist analyses can offer us as tools to understand the connection between body and territory. Remnants is a really personal book. It draws on memoirs, diaries, personal letters. It follows Armenian women, children.

into the households of people around the globe. So there's that aspect of it being personal in the sources. And then it's also a very personal book in that your own experiences, your family ties, they're woven into the scholarship. How did you approach writing these often intimate and private stories, inserting your own experiences? What was challenging about that?

I would say that it's very different than the earlier work I did as an autumist, where I felt like I had to completely exclude myself from the story. I think we're all in some way moved by, we're moved to write history because of our experiences. And the field of history has not always been transparent about that. We're not like anthropologists who do the subjective placement. However, there is in the feminist tradition, again,

the idea that the personal is political. I would say the personal is also historical. So, you know, how is it that I'm approaching this? and to disclose that perhaps the pursuit for information about these women is connected to my own lack of information about my own family. The fact that, I mean, genocide is surprisingly effective. We really don't have many members of my family, just a few scattered members, and we don't really know much about what happened to our family.

The kind of archives that some families have are really a kind of treasure that mind does not have. So I felt like I had to disclose that or that I just have this one artifact, this one photo of my family pre-genocide as a way to disclose coming back to that idea that the personal is historical as well. And by disclosing that, I'm not pretending to be objective. I'm not pretending. See, I'm not going to both sides rape for you, for example. And, you know, if some people want to do that, they're welcome to. You want to take the side of the perpetrator and explain his motivations. But I wasn't. interested in that. I wanted to sort of disclose a positionality. And this was mostly a kind of

unlearning of how I was trained, which is where I am now. I will never write history like I did before. Could you talk a little bit more about gathering these sources? The source work here is outstanding. There's just, we have the textual archives of all sorts from Armenian sources, American missionary sources, European missionary sources, the oral histories, the, I guess I would call it auto-ethnography in the deserts of eastern Syria. How did how did the research process unfold? I would say also about auto-ethnography. I didn't mention that with the, so a lot of auto-ethnography is also feminist. And unusually, like a lot of this literature is about feminists and their dogs, I swear there's a whole genre. And I got exposed to it being in a liberal arts college at Whitman,

doing these reading groups through global studies, and all of a sudden we're reading about, you know, inner species intimacy, feminists and their dogs. And I said, okay, this is weird, but then we did an experiment where we all experimented with our own auto-ethnography, and it was the first page that I wrote. So I would say it can get a little icky

at times when there's too much auto-ethnography, but I wanted to be just careful to use it where it made sense, and for me it made sense at the beginning. beginning of the book and during Derzor and sometimes a very short interlude because it's not about really centering myself but to show that I have a positionality vis-à-vis the topic and to remind the reader that I'm there. With regard to the gathering of the sources, I would say, well, some of this territory has been treaded upon, right, especially the League of Nations archives have been used by many. But what I noticed was the, you know, the photographs aren't really analyzed, for example,

like the fact that the tattoos are extremely legible and that I started reading some Turkish ethnography on tattoos and realized, wow, there's actually messages in these tattoos that could be illuminating in some way. Yeah, so some of the sources had been used before, Keith Wattonpah and others have used these League of Nations archives, but I wanted to blend them with some of the Armenian material in order to show Armenians as agents also in rescue,

and I was very inspired by Khachik Moradian's book on that, to say, oh, I cannot just talk about rescue from the European side. It has to be the Armenian efforts. And then I stumbled upon Rupin Harian's archive in Yerevan, where he collected everything, little cards and notes that he wrote to himself. And you realize that there were largely unknown humanitarians who in their collections had letters from captive women, for example. And that was the real prize, was finding Kaganusha's letter from Raka,

which is reproduced in the book. That is her story of how she was sort of remarried to an Arab and wanted to leave the household, but was writing her father. And we find that she had been corresponding with him back and forth, and he was in Aleppo, and she was in Raka, so close and yet so far. using the Armenian sources as a way to flesh out the victim so that the victim has agency instead of being this absolute victim Armenians resisted and there's all sorts of stories of resistance but then also Armenians conducted their own humanitarian campaign that

Chachik is illuminated and I wanted to push further by including some of these stories of women within it. Many of the chapters follow different efforts early on by American humanitarian, European humanitarians, Armenian, I suppose we'll call them humanitarians, like Rupin Herion, who are working on this project of Vorpahavak. The gathering of orphans, literally, would be the translation. At the time, unmarried women and children were included in the same category of orphans. What key differences did you notice among these different humanitarian projects? I would say one of the first distinctions would be Karen Yapé's project, in Aleppo is extremely formal.

Karen Yeppe is the Danish humanitarian? Yeah, the Danish humanitarian who actually survived the siege of Urfa and went back briefly to Europe and then arrives in around 1921 in Aleppo and sets up her own mission. But she is a league commissioner. She's a commissioner of the League of Nations. And so it's extremely formal. And so the beautiful register that you see in the opening pages of the book

where you see a woman's photograph. and you can see some writing that I narrate around that details the experience that this person had is it's a very modern register where there's a form and your name and your location and your date of rescue and so you get this kind of modern rationality to the humanitarianism that Keith Wattonpaw actually has pointed out in his own book, bred from stones. However, there's a lack of formality in the Armenian case with some of these rescuers like Harian, who he was constantly getting in trouble with the British because he was walking up to the doors of houses dressed as a Bedouin and buying back Armenians. So it's kind of the mirror image of how Armenians were kind of auctioned off or

divvied up as surplus labor in these houses. He's buying them back with gold as an Armenian-American rescuer and it's half hazard. There's no form. There's no lists except a few scraps of paper he had in his pocket or maybe something scribbled on the back of a business card. So there's that kind of difference in the humanitarian project. Armenians are doing it, but they're doing it differently. And ironically, he rescued nearly as many people as Karengipa did. And he did it in like a two-year period, rescued about 2,000 people, women and children. He even brought nurses, doctors, food parcels, clothing. It was very much idiosyncratic.

It was of his design. So that's what humanitarianism looks like in these two different ways. And then, of course, I mean, there are other projects like to talk about the church in their role, and there's a lot of letters exchanged between the churches, and also they are coordinating with people

like Rupin-Harian and Yapa. So it's a web, but again, some of it is very cold and rational in the sense that it has forms and official photographs for each rescued individual. And Samas is really just a note saying, yeah, this particular Sirannush is a little overweight and has blue eyes and is 13 years old.

And that's basically what Rupin Herrian had in his pocket when he was looking for someone like that in Derizor. It might be worth mentioning also that during this brief period, King Faisal was supportive of the Vorpa Havok when it originated. King Vaisal of the short-lived Hashemite kingdom in Syria. Exactly. So he was supportive and he allowed it and he facilitated it.

And, you know, he published in his own newspaper that if any households were holding Armenians, they needed to hand them over to the Armenian community. And many complied with that. It was an official order. But there were also tensions because Muslims saw these children leaving Muslim households going back to the Armenian community. And for them, it looked like apostasy or a violation of Muslim. Muslim patrimony. So it was a very delicate matter. And there were moments in which there were

outbursts of the Muslim community over this. So the gathering process is complex and to a large extent fraught, getting into people's homes. How about once the people who were brought back into the Armenian fold, when they're being reintegrated into Armenian communities, what are some of the major challenges that they face? Well, I mean, there are, terrible stories, and they're in the league of nations, documents, and also memoirs of rescuers like Yota Nachparian and his memoir talks about, I mean, the children would often deny that they were Armenian fearing for their lives, or maybe they would have a faint memory, but they would sometimes violently resist reintegration. It was not a smooth process at all. I mean, there's

certainly room for error, too. Some of these children were kept. in these League of League homes. And each day there would be people talking to them. And the next thing you know a few weeks later or a few months later, they're remembering Armenian. But to me, it's not clear what happened there. And so it's opaque. Was it a memory or was a memory being introduced?

And certainly people like Halle de Adip Advar and some of these Muslim neighbors in Aleppo really did believe that some of these kids were Muslim kids being converted back to Armenian. And I would say also Lerna Ekmekhtiolu and Vahitazian have worked on this subject as well. It's not new to me. I just used some different material to talk about this phenomenon. But there were also kids, you know, there's one that always stands out to me, a shepherd boy who said that while he was a shepherd for a Muslim household during the period of the genocide. And before he fled and went to Aleppo to the rescue home that Yapa was running, that he used to speak Armenian to the sheep to remember.

his Armenian. So there's fragments like that. And again, I'm embracing fragmentary information. I'm also embracing the fact that we can't know everything, that there's ambiguity. And, you know, there is also sort of a limit to what the archive can tell us. One way I think you handle that quite well in the book is through the inclusion of what you call remnants, these standalone primary sources in translation distributed among the chapters. Could you talk a little bit about this this decision to include sources and sort of interspers them between the chapters rather than as an appendix at the end or in the body of the text itself? Yeah, I would be glad to talk about that. The first draft of the book was 30 chapters long and it was all fragmentary. I submitted it to

Kate at Stanford and she said something on the lines like you've spent too much time with artists and it was true. I'd spend a lot of time with artists, architects, one of my art historians. And I thought, why does there have to be a coherent narrative? There isn't in the record. Like in some cases, there's just sometimes a fragment. What would it look like if it were more like a scrapbook?

And what would it look like if you could start from the back and work your way forward or start in the middle? I was asking all these unusual questions of the book because the book is a body. It's a body. It has a spine. It has an appendix. It has bones of its own, I guess.

It has skin, which are the pages. And that sounds really conceptual and freaky, but that's where I was. And that was my headspace. Then I had to kind of form it into an academic book. So the remnants are basically what's left of the scrapbook that I had originally envisioned, where people would just encounter the primary source and have to sit with it. And maybe there's not a whole narrative or a complete narrative. And there's a lot of unresolved things, like the letter of the,

captive woman in Raqa, Khaanush. I don't know what happened to her. There's no notation on that letter to tell me whether or not she was ever rescued by Harian, but her letter ended up in his pouch. So yeah, the remnants are meant to kind of confront the reader with these detailed first person narratives, and they were just meant to sort of be a form of disruption. Mostly because I feel like right now, especially considering the state of the world, we academics, intellectuals, we need to disrupt

and we need to press on what's possible and within the discipline and extend it as much as we can to reach people because mostly I wanted to move people with the stories I wanted them to feel something in a world that has desensitized us largely to this form of violence

because we can open our phones and see it firsthand. One of the remnants really stuck with me. It was a 1922 piece from an Istanbul-based Armenian journal, Hi Pujag, the Armenian healer. It contains instructions intended for Armenian women to remove tattoos by rubbing a carbonic acid solution on their faces. This made me wince when I read it, but it also burned a memory into my psyche. What were some of the patriarchal structures among Armenians that affected women as they were being reintegrated? What was the society that would prescribe medicalized self-mutilation to women

brought back into communities that they'd been ripped from? Yeah, I mean, that's just a great question because part of talking about tattoos was an attempt to try to get us to look at it differently. The violence, of course, was inflicted on women, but how women became tattooed, there are many stories. I mean, some women like Serpo Hitavukchian describes very vividly that gendarm kept walking through Rosalayan and they would look at her twice because she wasn't tattooed. And those were stories that I don't think I had heard before and that we needed to think about what motivated the tattoos. It's clear in some instances that there was a sense of urgency.

But largely, Armenians have adopted the sort of Western orientation towards tattoos, which is that, you know, there's signs of having been in contact with the other or been Islamized. And those are old discourses that are colonial in nature. So there was stigma introduced to these women when they rejoined the Armenian community. That's when the shame sets in and many women were very desperate. There are stories from missionaries that women were using lemon juice and other things to try to remove their tattoos when they were in these homes. and there were medical solutions, some of them surgical, and then the carbonic acid is also another. And there were also Armenian women doing these in Istanbul, Marzavon, Aleppo, and the surgeries were very, very expensive.

But they were also developing techniques in the United States. But not everyone could afford them and not everyone had access. But it does tell us something about the tattoo as stigma that women were willing to undergo such extreme pain again. to have them removed. And we know that these women were not outcasts. I have one sort of unusual story of a woman in Kessab who was forcibly married to a deaf man because she was stigmatized in a small community. But many of the women who were tattooed were married.

But I still feel that there's more to think about the stigma and how these women were revictimized in a way by the community who saw them as having been. touched by the other in the form of their tattooed skin. In the later chapters of the book, you talk about trips that pilgrims take, Armenian pilgrims mostly, or perhaps entirely, take from Syria, from Lebanon, perhaps from points farther, to eastern Syria to see the bones, or at least the mass grave sites.

And these chapters really delve into the ethnographic so far as you're there. You're with some of the people who live there who are unofficially guides for people who come to see these places. What's that trip like? When did you first take that trip? Could you set the scene a little for us? Well, my first trip was in 2000, and that's when I first met Saad's, or sometimes called the Sheikh, as he was called in the region of Shadda. And so I document historic, he really wanted to be remembered and unfortunately he died during the war. So, but we became friends over the years. So every time I win, I would go see him in Shadade. He also came to Damascus frequently. And he served as a guide for many Armenians. And his, you know,

his dream was to go to Yarravan and to see Zedanerkeberd. He never got to go. But he really wanted to, he really wanted to represent what in his view he saw as the saving of these girls what others would see as something else as part of this process of transfer because it certainly was the transfer of Armenian girls into Muslim homes in Shadadde village where this incident happened where these girls were gathered on a tell and were slated to be murdered the next day but some of the villagers took the girls into the home and then I got to meet his family and his mother, who that was revelational too, because not only did I get to go with her son

to where the sites of bones are, but also to see her tattoos, which were crosses, two large crosses tattooed on her thighs, and she said that those were from her mother, who was Armenian. And I started to think there's more to the story. Like this, it was my first encounter in Syria

with what you could call an Islamized Armenian family, although there wasn't the openness of claiming Armenianness, as you might find in the case of Turkey, where it's very much kind of a political moment in Turkey where I think people felt they could disclose that. So going back to the bones, yes, I wanted to include myself in this only because I have bones and I've encountered bones and I've witnessed others and wanted to collect their stories. And yeah, there is something very haunted about Derizur. So many uncanny experiences happen there, whether it's people having visions of virgins flinging themselves from the bridge or you know filmmakers like fati akin who got really ill

in d'ersore and wouldn't even talk about it i had to clean the information from his crew and so i had to use different techniques to try to get at some of these stories but people did want to share what they experienced and i just scratched the surface the archival trail can take you back to even harian while he's collecting live armenians is collecting bones and sending them to America into Silesia. He corresponds with a relative in America named Mirac, and that's just a nickname Mirac, and sends bones. And then he's also in his letter envisioning to whom those bones might have belonged to.

So there is something about the bones trigger what I'm calling a prosthetic memory for people to imagine to whom the bones belonged. And their anonymity actually facilitates that, because to the untrained eye, bones could belong to virtually anybody. And then the collection of bones eventually result in monuments. All of the monuments in Dersoor today are destroyed. The one in Dersor, the one in Margeta. I don't know when they will ever be rebuilt.

However, the desire to collect the bones and create monuments, well, we have examples of that from 1928, monuments that never survived, where local community members are digging up bones of mass graves in trying to build their own monuments. So this idea of memory and post-memory kind of continues with the throughline. into Derr-Zur. Do people still go? Today, no, not that I know of. Stopped with the war? It's actually about sleeper cells. There are many Islamic State sleeper cells in the area, and so one of the last groups to go to try to rebuild the monument they were

gunned down and murdered. Oh my God. They were coming from comishly. And this is when it was under Kurdish control. I mean, I don't know when that monument will ever be the martyrs church museum will ever be rebuilt. And I also call into question whether it should be rebuilt in the same way, because there's been so much murder, whether Yazidis or also Sunni tribesmen who resisted Islamic state during the occupation. I don't know if there will ever be a monument there or should it be in the same form. I think I would love to be part of a project that decides what it should be. Elise, thank you very much for joining us on the podcast today. Thank you for having me.

For those of you who like to find out more, you can check out our website, ottomanhistorypodcast.com, where we will list a number of the scholarly works that we've mentioned here in a bibliography. There will also be images related to the book and, of course, more information on remnants, embodied archives of the Armenian Genocide out from Stanford University Press in 2023. Thanks so much for being with us today and more soon.