Hıdırellez: The Night That Divides Winter from Summer

There's a memory I keep coming back to, though it isn't very clear anymore. I was young, maybe five or six. Something was going on in the street outside. People were talking, there was smoke, something was burning.

I remember going to the window and looking out. There was a fire. People were jumping over it, one after another. Some were laughing, some were quiet. Someone picked up a child and carried them across. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. I was the only one trying to make sense of it.

The next morning there was ash on the ground. I remember noticing it and still not really understanding what had happened the night before.

Later, someone told me: Hıdırellez. The night between May 5 and May 6.

That was all. No long explanation. It felt like something people didn't need to explain to each other.

Today is May 6. That night ended a few hours ago. What stays with me isn't the legend or the rituals. It's the feeling that was in the street. People standing around a little longer than usual, talking without rushing. No one seemed in a hurry to go back inside. Winter had been long. You could feel that people were ready for it to end.

Being outside felt enough on its own.

The Name and What It Holds

Hıdırellez is two names pressed together: Hızır and İlyas. The belief behind this night is simple in how it's told. These two figures meet once a year, on this exact night, under a rose tree. Hızır, known in Arabic as Al-Khidr (the Green One), is connected to spring, water, and things coming back to life. İlyas, Elijah in the Biblical tradition, is linked to rain and the sea.

People say that when they meet, things open up. The containers left open overnight fill. A wish tied to a branch might come true. Not every time, but often enough that people keep repeating it.

People talk about it like a normal part of the night. Someone says, “Leave it open, Hızır may pass by.” So you leave it open. In the morning, you look at it again.

People always mention the rose tree. That’s where it happens. In May it’s already in bloom, the branches full again, and people tie their wishes there without thinking too much about it.

A Figure You Don't Recognize Until He's Gone

Hızır doesn’t show up in a way you’d recognize. He might sit with you for a bit, eat something with you, or stop and give you directions. Then he moves on.

Later on, it crosses your mind: O muydu acaba? Was that him?

People don’t really try to answer that. It just stays there.

There isn’t a way to arrange a meeting with Hızır. You go through your day as usual and treat people well. That’s what people hold on to.

In the Quran, he appears indirectly. In Surah Al-Kahf, Moses travels with a man who has been given knowledge and mercy from God. Along the way, the man damages a boat, helps rebuild a wall for people who had turned them away and does a few things that don’t make sense at the time. Moses questions him, but the explanations come later. Each action has a reason, even if it isn’t clear in the moment.

The text doesn’t call him Hızır. That name comes later, through hadith. In the Quran, he’s just a man who has a kind of knowledge Moses doesn’t have.

That part stays open, and over time people start calling him Hızır.

In everyday belief, he shows up in ordinary places. On the road, out in the countryside, in moments when someone needs help. You hear about his makam in different regions, from the Caucasus to Bosnia. Each one belongs to its place. There isn’t a single center.

Where the Calendar Breaks

Hıdırellez falls on a clear turning point in the year. In the traditional Anatolian calendar, this is where the year splits into two.

From May 6, Hızır Günleri begin and continue until November 7. This is when pastures open, animals move up to the highlands, and the days start to stretch out in a way people notice. From November 8 until May 5, Kasım Günleri take over. The name comes from the Arabic qasama, meaning to divide. These are the colder months, when food is stored and the days stay short.

May 5 is the last night of that period. The people I watched jumping over the fire weren’t just welcoming spring. They looked relieved. You can see the difference.

In the old Julian calendar, which some communities still follow, this same point falls on April 23. That date is also Aya Yorgi in the Greek Orthodox tradition and Saint George’s Day for Catholics. Different traditions, same moment in the year. The shift toward warmer days was already there, something people could see and feel, long before it was named in different ways.

What People Do

On the night of May 5, people leave things open. The pantry door stays slightly open, a purse isn’t closed all the way, a jar or some water might be left outside. The idea people talk about is simple. If Hızır passes by, things fill. So no one closes everything that night.

Last night, someone tied a piece of paper to a rose branch. It might be a wish, it might be a small drawing. Not everyone writes. Some people bury coins. Some plant beans, sometimes seven for each person in the house, and then they watch how they grow over the next few days. It’s small things like this, and they come back every year.

The baht açma ritual happens together. Women and girls bring something small, a ring, an earring, something they wear often. They put them into a covered clay pot and leave it under a rose tree overnight. In the morning, they open the pot. They take the objects out one by one, and while they do that, they say maniler. Short verses, with rhyme, sometimes a bit playful, sometimes more quiet. Whatever verse comes up when your object is picked stays with you. Some people take it seriously, some don’t. What matters is that moment, everyone paying attention.

In Edirne and in Roma communities, this night is called Kakava. The word comes from Romani and points to a shared gathering, something done together. People meet by the Tunca River. They light fires along the bank and take turns jumping over them. The music keeps going through the night, all the way until morning.

How Old This Is

There isn't a single clear origin for Hıdırellez. Different traditions meet at the same point in the calendar. The oldest written records of spring threshold rituals in this region come from Mesopotamia. Ur, in what is now southern Iraq, held rites at the end of winter tied to the flooding of the Euphrates and Tigris. Pre-Islamic Turkic communities in Central Asia marked the same seasonal change with fire ceremonies and outdoor feasts. Anatolian agricultural traditions older than both Islam and the arrival of Turkic peoples observed this same passage with animal sacrifice and communal meals.

Hıdırellez absorbed from all of these. Professor Alimcan İnayet of Ege University describes it as a cultural composition built through thousands of years of synthesis.

The word is Arabic-derived. The fire in Edirne is older than the texts that frame it. The rose was already there in May, blooming on its own schedule, long before anyone attached a name to the day.

UNESCO added Hıdırellez to its List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2017, following a process that began in 2010.

This Morning

The part I remember most isn’t the fire. It’s what came after. People started going back inside, slowly. The street got quieter. In the morning, the ash was still there. No one rushed to clean it. Summer had already begun. No one said it out loud.

Hızır yoldaşın olsun is something people say around this time. It means “may Hızır be your companion.” Just a simple wish for the months ahead, for things to go well.

The rose tree looks the same this morning. The paper is still tied to the branch, a bit damp from the dew. At some point, someone will take it down, read it again, and bring it back inside.

The day is already warm.

Vocabulary

Hıdırellez – the name of the spring festival, formed by pressing together the names Hızır and İlyas. May 6 in the Gregorian calendar. The same day is marked under different names across Turkey, the Balkans, and Central Asia, with related traditions also found in parts of the Middle East.

Hızır – Al-Khidr in Arabic, meaning the Green One. In folk belief, he travels the earth in a form no one recognizes and appears in moments of genuine difficulty. People usually only realize who he was after he's gone.

İlyas – Elijah in the Biblical tradition. In Turkish folk belief, he's connected to rain and the sea, and he meets Hızır on the night between May 5 and May 6.

ab-ı hayat – the water of immortality, the source Hızır is said to have drunk from. The phrase turns up in classical Turkish and Persian poetry, usually when a poet is reaching for something that can't be held.

Hızır Günleri – the warm half of the year in traditional Anatolian reckoning, from May 6 to November 7. Pastures open, animals move, the days are long.

Kasım Günleri – the cold half, from November 8 to May 5. The name comes from the Arabic qasama, to divide. Stored provisions, short days, ground that won't give.

makam – a local sacred site associated with a holy figure. Hızır has makam sites from Anatolia to the Balkans. Each is specific to its place. None claims to be the original.

baht açma – translated roughly as "opening one's fortune." Personal objects are placed in a covered pot under a rose tree overnight. The next morning, they're drawn out one by one while folk verses are recited. The verse that comes up when your object is drawn tells you something about the season.

mani (pl. maniler) – a short rhyming verse, usually four lines. The form used in the baht açma ceremony. Sometimes playful, sometimes quiet. The content depends on who's reciting and what mood the morning has.

Kakava – the Roma name for this celebration, primarily in Edirne and Thrace. The word comes from Romani and refers to a cauldron or communal gathering. Fires at the Tunca River, people jumping, music until morning.

Aya Yorgi – Saint George in the Greek Orthodox tradition. His feast falls on April 23 in the Julian calendar, which is the same seasonal moment as Hıdırellez. Different tradition, same point in the year.

dilek – a wish. The word is plain and common in everyday Turkish. Tying a dilek to a rose branch is one of the simplest gestures of this night.

gül ağacı – a rosebush or rose tree. The site of the yearly meeting between Hızır and İlyas in folk belief. Roses bloom in May in Anatolia. That's not coincidence — it's why the rose tree is the rose tree.

Hızır yoldaşın olsun – may Hızır be your companion. Said around this time of year as a wish for the warm months ahead. Older feeling than İyi Hıdırellezler, closer to the original spirit of the day.

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Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)

Q: Why is Hıdırellez on May 6?

A: In the traditional Anatolian calendar, May 6 is the first day of the warm half of the year. Pastures open, temperatures shift, the ground becomes workable again. Agricultural communities tracked this point carefully. In the Julian calendar, the same threshold falls on April 23.

Q: Is Hızır a prophet?

A: There's no settled answer. In Quranic commentary, the figure identified as Hızır receives knowledge directly from God, but isn't named Hızır in the text itself. Islamic theology has discussed his status for over a thousand years without resolution. In folk tradition, the classification tends to matter less than the behavior: treat strangers well, because you won't know which one he was.

Q: Is Hıdırellez only Turkish?

A: No. It's observed across the Balkans, in Azerbaijan, parts of the Caucasus, and communities in Iraq and Syria. The Roma festival called Kakava shares the same night. Orthodox Christians celebrate Aya Yorgi on the same date. It belongs to a geography more than to any single country.

Q: What does jumping over fire mean?

A: It marks the passage from one half of the year to the other. You leave the cold months on one side and land in the warm ones. In the Kakava festival it's communal — people jump, the music keeps going. It's not solemn.

Q: What happens to the wishes tied to the rose tree?

A: The person who tied them collects them the next morning. That part matters too. The wish goes out into the night and comes back in the daylight.

Q: How do you wish someone a happy Hıdırellez in Turkish?

A: İyi Hıdırellezler! is common. Hıdırelleziniz kutlu olsun! is more formal. Hızır yoldaşın olsun, may Hızır be your companion, is older and carries more of the original feeling.

Q: Is the song “Ederlezi” connected to Hıdırellez?

A: Yes. “Ederlezi” refers to the same seasonal celebration known as Hıdırellez. In Balkan Roma communities, the festival is called Ederlezi, while in Turkey it is known as Hıdırellez. Both mark the same night and the same transition into spring.