Abbot Eliyo Atto (1940–2026) did not obtain his driver’s license until later in life. When he was stopped at a green traffic light, he would first let all the other motorists go ahead. More than once, his own light had turned red again by the time he was ready to proceed. For the Syriac Orthodox monk, patience was a core value. His inner calm and serenity stood out.
The German student Hanna noticed this as well. She spent three months at the Mor Ephrem Monastery in Glane to master the art of calligraphy. As abbot (head of the monastery), he taught her and encouraged her to speak Aramaic—his mother tongue. As a beginner she searched for words, but whereas others impatiently corrected her, the monk waited as long as necessary until the language came naturally. He spoke thoughtfully, but effectively.
The monk, born in Tur Abdin (southeastern Turkey), had lived at the Syriac Orthodox monastery in Twente since 1979. In his modest and gentle way, together with Archbishop Çiçek and later Bishop Polycarpus, he helped the Mor Ephrem Monastery flourish into a busy religious and cultural center. That Eliyo Atto would become so important to the faith community was not self-evident.
Church school
His parents, Atto and Zero Dbe Misqo, lived in the village of Mzizah, and Eliyo was the fourth of eight children. The family was close-knit and warm, and the church played an important role. Especially after his parents had escaped the genocide of 1915, during which seventy percent of the Christian minority was murdered by Turkish troops and Kurdish paramilitaries. Afterward, everything revolved around rebuilding and cherishing their Syriac Orthodox faith; threat and fear remained part of their lives.
The family was self-sufficient in everything they needed: yogurt, grain, and grapes. His father cultivated everything himself and was a deacon in the church. Eliyo inherited his gentle nature and admired his mother’s resilience. He preferred attending the church school to helping in the fields: intelligent and diligent, he learned to write on pieces of leather. As a teenager he lived for three years with his aunt Zahre in Marbobo, where he was taught by various priests and teachers.
Even then, his religious destiny was not yet visible. Eliyo completed military service and discovered a completely different world in Izmir and Istanbul. It was a difficult period: as part of the Christian minority he was often beaten in the army, and at the age of twenty his father died. In the years that followed, he worked with his brother Isa in the administration of the Greek hospital in Istanbul. Although not materialistic, he certainly appreciated beautiful things. With their first salary, the brothers had custom-made suits tailored. He was also fond of technical gadgets.
The art of calligraphy
Whenever he visited his native village, he always brought gifts and sweets—a habit he maintained throughout his life. This time he brought a “manual cinema” with still nature images and cartoon figures. The entire village came out to see it.
He had come that day to say goodbye to his family: the curious Eliyo wanted to explore Europe further. But his younger sister Seyde, who had recently entered a monastery as a nun, asked him: “Wouldn’t a life in the service of God be something for you?” In response, Eliyo changed his plans and entered the centuries-old Mor Gabriel Monastery in Tur Abdin.
Throughout his religious life he would remain together with his sister. They formed a unit: she the active one, he the quiet one. Seyde took care of him and made sure that he did not forget to eat while working.
In those first years he learned the art of calligraphy and was trained by many well-known clergy members. He also copied manuscripts. With his patience, warmth, and humor he developed into a beloved teacher. He treated his students as equals in their studies and in bookbinding—unusual in the Middle East at that time.
He continued his studies in Syriac Christianity in Atchaneh, Lebanon, and there he conceived the idea of opening an orphanage. Doing good for the poor and vulnerable was deeply rooted in him. It never came to that, because in 1977 the patriarch in Damascus sent him to the Mor Markus Monastery in Jerusalem; he certainly did not show his mild disappointment. In Israel he walked many kilometers every day to conduct services at Golgotha and visit the community.
Monastery in Twente
An even greater upheaval came two years later when Archbishop Çiçek, whom he knew from Mor Gabriel Monastery, asked him to help build up the church community in Europe. First in Hengelo, and later they purchased the monastery in Glane. Together with his sister he took Dutch lessons and began the considerable challenge of supporting all the parishes in the region, for example in acquiring church buildings.
In those early years the two of them did everything themselves: cleaning, cooking, and receiving visitors. He even welcomed uninvited guests with open arms. Once, late at night, there was loud banging on the monastery door during a fierce storm. The abbot opened the door and saw a group of leather-clad motorcyclists standing there. He did not hesitate for a moment, let the men in, and served tea in the middle of the night.
Abbot Eliyo’s role was always one of service, somewhat in the background, humble toward the bishop whose imposing personality was the public face of the church. He respected all protocols, but personally did not care much for all those rules.
He never became preachy. Rather than quoting scriptures, he preferred to demonstrate his modest way of life to believers. Being equal to everyone was his ultimate goal. For example, he did not feel it necessary to have his hand kissed—a custom among Syriac Orthodox clergy. And at communal meals he chose a seat among ordinary churchgoers rather than beside the bishops.
Gentle jabs
Young people enjoyed seeking him out. Until the very end he sat among them in his wheelchair, listening to their stories and occasionally offering advice. That pastoral role suited him. His humor—including subtle jabs—and his warmth made him likable. This was certainly true among his many nieces and nephews as well. In the 1980s all but one of his brothers and sisters fled to the Netherlands.
Sadly, nearly all of them died relatively young, and time after time he had to accompany a family member to the grave. At the death of his eldest brother Galle in 2008, he called on the community during his sermon to commit themselves to the Netherlands.
“See this country as a place where you can build something. Make use of the opportunities life gives you!”
It was one of the rare occasions on which he spoke out publicly.
Eliyo’s curiosity about countries and cultures took him to many places in India, America, Australia, and the Middle East, where he visited church communities, says his good friend, Father Samuel Gümüş, who traveled frequently with him. They visited fellow believers, but also former students whom he had taught in one of the monasteries, such as George Kiraz, author of many books on the Syriac written language.
His favorite place of all was the Indian state of Kerala. There he enjoyed both the piety and the warmth of the Christians. He loved to share and launched charitable projects such as building an orphanage, water wells, and homes. He returned many times.
Hoarse voice
During such trips he was relaxed and felt less pressure. His responsibilities in Glane had increased significantly after he became a priest in 1989 and an abbot in 1994. Occasionally he received assignments elsewhere, such as helping to establish a newly acquired monastery in Switzerland for two years. He was asked several times to become a bishop, but respectfully declined.
The political maneuvering that accompanied the position did not suit him. Whenever conflict arose, Eliyo made sure to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible. Once, when someone deeply insulted his family, he did not become angry. Instead, he waited a few seconds and then said: “Thank you.”
As abbot he fulfilled his duties without complaint and understood that God has a purpose in everything. Thus he conducted church services three times a day together with Monk Sait in the little St. Ephrem chapel. He himself believed he could not sing well, but churchgoers thought he had a beautiful hoarse voice.
Modern gadgets
Deep down, however, he would have preferred simply to remain a monk, with all the time in the world for prayer and calligraphy. He maintained extensive and profound contact about these subjects with experts and professors around the world.
He copied manuscripts in the traditional manner, using a wooden board strung with threads over which he stretched paper to create straight lines. Even long after digital methods existed for copying biblical texts, he continued to reproduce them meticulously by hand. After many years this resulted in the beautifully decorated Syriac Gospel lectionary that he left behind. He was certainly not old-fashioned, however, as he owned the latest laptop and modern gadgets.
Besides his faith, nature was an important source of inspiration. Around the monastery stand fruit trees planted by him: apples, pears, walnuts, cherries, and figs. There are also two mulberry trees that he grew from cuttings brought from his native region. When several trees were cut down for practical reasons, he said nothing, but the pain was clearly visible in his eyes.
After his sister Seyde died in 2020 and, because of the coronavirus pandemic, received only a small funeral, he was deeply affected. Seyde had always felt safe in his presence. In turn, he admired her strength and her willingness to speak out. After her death he felt alone, and his health declined more quickly than expected.
Beehives
He fell more often, suffered a transient ischemic attack (TIA), and was frustrated by becoming dependent and less mobile. He missed his freedom. After a few moments of resistance, he entrusted himself to the care of monastery employee Robert Aktan. The two became very attached to one another, and his daily jokes in particular provided some lightness.
In his final weeks he still enjoyed a cup of coffee in the monastery garden or a walk to the beehives, accompanied by one of his devoted nieces, who visited him almost daily. If they brought him a herring sandwich, he was completely delighted.
For a little while longer they could draw from his spiritual wisdom. He had been more than an uncle; he had shown them that every life is worthwhile, whatever one’s destiny may be.
Surrounded by his spiritual and biological family, he passed away peacefully in early April. More than two thousand believers and interested visitors from all over the world traveled to Glane to attend the interment of Abbot Eliyo Atto in the crypt beneath the Cathedral of the Holy Virgin Mary.
Eliyo Atto was born in 1940 (exact date unknown) in Mzizah, Tur Abdin (southeastern Turkey), and died on April 8, 2026, in Glane.
Editors note: This article was originally published in Dutch in trouw.nl. Copyright Dagblad Trouw/Dana Ploeger.
