The Palestine we know today because of our phones constantly buzzing with breaking news, and the Palestine that existed before the world knew about its war-torn, dystopian state are divergent. Mohammad Tarbush’s My Palestine widens our perspective from the perspective of a native who moved across foreign lands with both ease and vigour, but had a Palestinian heart beating within him throughout.
In exile
Beit Natiff, a small village in Palestine and young Tarbush’s home, is violently destroyed by Zionist forces, turning Tarbush’s world upside down as his family is forced to flee their hometown. Through his memories, we are taken into an existence which was once studded with family gatherings and olive trees, but was suddenly changed into a forced march from Beit Natiff to Jericho, and then to Bethlehem. The once proud Palestine and its people were reduced to ration lines and overcrowded shelters.
Tarbush’s grandfather, whom he loved deeply, succumbed to the pain that exile brought with it, and reading the story made it feel like a personal loss. Tarbush’s writing here is dramatic, highly illustrative and emotional, turning these into some of the memoir’s most heart-wrenching pages. The reader understands far more than what is said explicitly – such as the cost of forced exile and the isolation of being one amongst many. Tarbush clings painfully to his past, nurturing a hope against hope, until he decides to take control of his own fate and hitchhike to Europe for access to a completely different world.
The second part of the story is bittersweet, with Tarbush constantly struggling to become worthy enough but still feeling hollow because his little achievements could not reverse his family’s sufferings in Palestine. He dreams of studying in Europe and finding a place where his Palestinian identity might be acknowledged. We must remember that this story is from a time when Palestine was not a daily conversation in our homes or on prime-time news.
To be heard
Tarbush finds himself lost amidst the bustling cities and daunting buildings of his new location, frustrated by the microscopic number of people who know about Palestine or its state. He realises that his story, like those of a million other Palestinians who are stuck in those refugee camps, is erased – or, worse, unknown to other people. His strong Palestinian identity is overlooked by European indifference. Tarbush is a young man, lonely in unfamiliar locations, working odd jobs to pay for his education and survival, and someone whom almost no one around him can relate to. His successes feel empty, and he carries the weight of invisibility when all he wants is to be heard.
Tarbush uses every platform to voice the plight of Palestinians. The world is still indifferent to him, but this section is a testament to the unshakeable strength of those fighting for themselves and their people. Through Tarbush’s life, the fight for Palestine was not just about fighting for land and identity, but fighting to be seen. People may have human rights, but those rights are futile if one does not belong to a state that can guarantee those rights. Tarbush’s vision of Palestinian and Israeli children playing together is optimistic but also utterly heartbreaking.
On reading this book I realised that, like many others, I have been a part of the majority that has stayed unaware of Palestine and its struggles. But now, at any rate, when Palestinians and the world need more empathy and human stories from war-torn areas, Tarbush’s book is crucial reading. The war on Palestine suddenly feel personal, and this book will not leave your heart for a long time.
This memoir has the power to transcend time and space, paying tribute to the past and sending an urgent message to the future for justice. Let this book move you, for it is a human story from someone who failed to be treated as one.
My Palestine: An Impossible Exile, Mohammad Tarbush, Speaking Tiger Books.
