ABSTRACT ALMARHABI, MAEED., Ph.D., December 2020 ENGLISH

CULTURAL TRAUMA AND THE FORMATION OF PALESTINIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY IN PALESTINIAN-AMERICAN WRITING (192 PP.)

Dissertation Advisor: Babacar M’Baye

This dissertation examines the relationship that the Palestinian diaspora maintains with

the motherland of Palestine. Specifically, it studies the factors contributing to the fostering of

such a sense of affiliation among Palestinian diasporic communities despite the absence of a

Palestinian political entity that could undertake such a process. This dissertation proposes that

the Palestinian master-narrative plays a significant role in maintaining and enhancing the

attachment and affiliation of Palestinian diasporic communities with their original homeland.

The Palestinian master-narrative, it is contended, is one of the main vehicles through which

Palestinian national identity is built within and beyond the geographical realm of historic

Palestine. This research claims that Palestinian diasporic writing (including Palestinian-

American writing) has been circulating the Palestinian national narrative, which plays a

significant role in enhancing the connection between Palestinian diasporic communities and their

original homeland and helping them build a national identity. In addition, the circulation of these

national narratives establishes the Nakba as a traumatic event in the collective imagination of

post-Nakba Palestinian generations, making them equally traumatized as those Palestinians who experienced these events firsthand.

Specifically, this dissertation focuses on representations of two main Palestinian national

narratives in Palestinian-American writing and their role in building Palestinian national identity.

The first narrative is that of the right of return and it is traced in Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in

Jenin (2006). The second one is the narrative of sumud and it is examined in Randa Jarrar’s A

Map of Home (2008). In addition, the relationship between memory and Palestinian identity- building via national narrative is explored in Shaw Dallal’s Scattered Like Seeds (1998).

CULTURAL TRAUMA AND THE FORMATION OF PALESTINIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY IN PALESTINIAN-AMERICAN WRITING

A dissertation submitted

to Kent State University in partial

fulfillment of the requirements for the

degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Maeed Almarhabi

Dissertation written by

Maeed Almarhabi

B.A., King AbdulAziz University, 2007

M.A, Kent State University, 2014

Ph.D., Kent State University, 2020

Approved by

Dr. Babacar M’Baye , Co-Chair, Doctoral Dissertation Committee

Dr. Yoshinobu Hakutani. , Co-Chair, Doctoral Dissertation Committee

Dr. Christopher Roman______

Dr. Amoaba Gooden______

Dr. Paul Haridakis______

Accepted by

Dr. Babacar M’Baye , Chair, Department of English

Dr. Mandy Munro-Stasiuk______, Interim-Dean, College of Arts and Sciences

TABLE OF CONTENTS TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... III

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... V

INTRODUCTION...... 1

CHAPTER ONE ...... 18

RECONSTRUCTING THE PAST THROUGH MEMORY IN SHAW DALLAL’S

SCATTERED LIKE SEEDS ...... 18

1.1 MEMORY AND IDENTITY ...... 23

1.2 THE INDIVIDUAL MEETS THE COLLECTIVE ...... 26

1.3 REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING ...... 40

1.4 IDEALIZING MEMORIES OF THE PALESTINIAN PAST ...... 53

CHAPTER 2 ...... 68

NARRATIVE OF RETURN AND PALESTINIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY

CONSTRUCTION IN SUSAN ABULHAWA’S MORNINGS IN JENIN ...... 68

2.1 NOSTALGIA AND THE CONTINUITY OF NATIONAL IDENTITY ...... 74

2.2 CONCEPT OF RETURN AND EMERGENCE OF THE NARRATIVE OF RIGHT OF RETURN IN THE

PALESTINIAN NATIONAL CONTEXT ...... 77

2.3 RESISTANCE, HOPE, AND CONTINUITY OF NATIONAL IDENTITY ...... 106

2.4 ESTABLISHING A NOSTALGIC BENCHMARK AND CONTINUITY OF PALESTINIAN NATIONAL

IDENTITY ...... 112

CHAPTER 3 ...... 127

iii

REPRESENTATIONS OF PALESTINIANS SUMUD IN THE DIASPORA IN RANDA

JARRAR’S A MAP OF HOME ...... 127

3.1 SUMUD IN RANDA JARRAR’S A MAP OF HOME ...... 140

3.2 RESISTANCE THROUGH CELEBRATING TRADITIONAL CLOTHING IN THE DIASPORA ...... 146

3.3 NATURAL ENVIRONMENT AND PALESTINIANS’ SUMUD IN THE DIASPORA ...... 151

3.2.1 Reproducing Home in Exile and Through the Olive Tree ...... 159

3.3 PALESTINIAN TRADITIONAL CUISINE AS A FORM OF SUMUD ...... 163

Conclusion ...... 171

CONCLUSION ...... 174

REFERENCES ...... 178

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, I would like to thank my advisor Prof. Babacar M’Baye for his advice

and continued support throughout my graduate career. His guidance helped me in all the time of

research and writing of this thesis. I could not have imagined having a better advisor and mentor

for my PhD study.

Besides my advisor, I would like to thank the rest of my thesis committee: Prof.

Yoshinobu Hakutani, Prof. Christopher Roman, and Prof. Amoaba Gooden, for their insightful

comments and encouragement, but also for the hard question which allowed me to widen my

research from various perspectives.

Thanks also to my family, especially to my mother, Salha Alhulasi, and to my older

brother, Yahyia Almarhabi for always encouraging me to move forward with the degree and

motivating me in times of desperation when I wanted to quit.

Many thanks are also due to my colleagues and friends at Kent State University whose

support has sustained me through this project. In particular, I’d like to thank Sonali Kudva,

Dexter Zirkle, Mathieu Hudnall, Moad Aldabbagh, Majid Nasser, Ali AlNawaiseh, Rawan

Alshareef, Abdualrahman Abushal, Nisreen Yamani, Ammar Aqeeli, Savanna Wagner, and

Megan Feezle.

For Mannar, Yara, Mohammad, and Maya

INTRODUCTION

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is no different from other conflicts throughout history; it has two sides, and each side has its own story, to which it clings tightly. The interesting thing, however, about this war of narration is that both parties assume the position of victimhood

(Enns 12). The Israelis, on the one hand, see that the Jewish people have been the target for oppression and persecution through the centuries and are entitled to establishing their own state, where they can live peacefully and securely. According to this narrative, the horrors of the holocaust and the concentration camps suffered by the Jews in Europe during the Second World

War are a meager part of a history of racial prejudice and religious repression that befell their wretched People. In addition, the establishment of a Jewish state in the “Land of Israel” is seen by the Israeli narrative as a fulfillment of the biblical prophecy of their return to the holy land. In fact, the Jewish Myth maintains that the Jewish people were exiled from Jerusalem at the hands of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in 586 B.C. Their return, therefore, to their ancestral homeland is a justification corresponding with the prophecy of the reunification of the Jewish race in Jerusalem.

The Palestinians, on the other hand, believe that they fell victim to a global conspiracy against their defenseless people – a conspiracy led by the world's superpowers, and carried out by Zionist organizations in Israel. Moreover, the SikesPicot-agreement and the British mandate is seen by Palestinians to have paved the way for Israel to take over their homeland and their displacement out of Palestine (Chiller-Glaus 72). Hence, they see their struggle to restore their homeland as a legitimate right guaranteed by all international conventions and norms, especially

1 by the U.N. resolution of 1947 that decreed the establishment of two states: one Jewish and one

Arab. At the same time, the Palestinian narrative places the blame of losing the 1948 war on

Arab inaction in the face of the Israeli violations against the Palestinian people (Pappé 13).

Major Arab countries like Jordan and Egypt, according to the Palestinians, advanced their own interests at the expense of the establishment of a Palestinian state, indicating collusion of these

Arab countries in the loss of Palestine.

Neither narrative, however, is accurate or provides a full picture of what happened during the events of 1948. In fact, each is formulated to advance particular social and national objectives. The Israeli narrative, for example, forwards the idea that Palestine is a “land without a people”, reclaimed and inhabited by the Jewish people after their suffering at the hands of the

Nazis in Europe (Hassan 108). And in so doing, the Israelis deny the charge of forcefully displacing the Palestinians from their land or taking over their cities and villages. On the other hand, the Palestinian side of the story denies the Israeli story altogether, claiming that “Palestine is for the Palestinians” and that they were displaced forcefully from it at the hands of the Zionist forces, and that their right to Palestine is sacred. According to this narrative, the Jewish immigrants took advantage of the gullibility of the Arab population in Palestine to control large areas, either through the purchase of land or the forcible seizure of the Palestinians' properties.

Therefore, it is hard to say which of the two narratives is more accurate or presents the history of the Arab-Israeli conflict without any subjective interference that could compromise its credibility. Ivan Jablonka reminds us of the relativity of historiography, remarking that “history is a point of view” (Jablonka 64). This subjectivity in narrating the Nakba, or as the Israeli’s wish to call it the “war of independence”, has underpinned how both parties have relied on shaping attitudes and affiliations of their people. The Palestinian narrative has made the Nakba

the main constitutive event and point of departure for the construction of Palestinian identity, as

well as being the motive for strengthening Palestinian national affiliation (Kassem 8). Likewise,

the Israelis have forged their national identity around the myth presented by their master-national

narrative.

This research, however, is not concerned with establishing which of the two narratives

provides a more accurate account of what exactly happened before, during, and after 1948. It is,

rather, interested in the way in which these narratives are formulated, the objectives that they are

meant to achieve on the social and national level, and the ways in which they are represented in

the literary output of each group. In addition, this research specifically focuses on examining the

relationship between these narratives and constructing the Palestinian national identity within the

diaspora. “How have these narratives managed to enhance Palestinians’ attachment to their

homeland without the existence of an independent Palestinian political entity that undertakes this

task?”, “What social groups undertake the task of formulating these national narratives?” “And

what role do Palestinian writers within the diaspora play in highlighting such national

narratives?”

The Palestinian national narrative(s), which emerged following the Nakba are not only

intended to be a mere counter-narrative to the Israeli one or debunk its allegations of Israel’s

historical ownership to Palestine, but also serve to achieve objectives related to the Palestinian

people as a collective. In fact, one of the main objectives set for the Palestinian master-narrative is to bring back cohesion to this community and formulate a distinct national identity for its people. The mass-migration resulting from the events of 1948 caused a major rift in the

Palestinian social fabric. Two-thirds of the Palestinian population who comprised 70 percent of the inhabitants of historic Palestine found themselves refugees overnight (Barghouti 45). Only a

small percentage of the Palestinian-Arabs managed to stay in their villages, forming what later

came to be known as the “Arabs of 48,” or the Israeli-Palestinians. This division in the

Palestinian social fabric prompted the emergence of national narratives to bridge this gulf and

reinforce the connection of these diasporic communities with their Palestinian homeland

(Gandolfo 111). Consequently, several sub- narratives have emerged in the past few decades

targeting Palestinians in all three areas —diaspora, Israel, and Palestinian territories—, such as

sumud, right of return, dispossession, expulsion and others. These sub-narratives have come to

represent a “backbone” on which the Palestinian carrier-group have relied, in promoting the

connection of the Palestinian diaspora to their homeland in the absence of a Palestinian political

entity that assumes this role. The narrative of the right of return, for example, has been the main

factor in the continued attachment of the Palestinian diaspora for the idea of returning to

Palestine —despite its difficulties— and their challenge of international laws that negate the right of these refugees to return to Palestine. Irris Siger in his essay comments on the importance of this narrative to the Palestinians’ sense of attachment to Palestine, writing that “abandoning

our narrative of the right of return to a previous home means loss; loss of internalized, safe,

idealized illusion and its replacement with reality of precarious existence and anxiety about an

uncertain future” (Siger 241). In the same vein, the Palestinian narrative of dispossession,

reinforced Palestinians’ attachment to their land, prompting thousands of them to demand their

return to their villages and cities in Israel. This attachment is evident in the practice of

maintaining keys and land-deeds to homes in occupied territories in the Golan and in Palestine

(Shannon 93).

This research argues that similar to Palestinian diaspora writing elsewhere, Palestinian-

American writing plays an important role in highlighting Palestinian national narratives and

advancing it as an important pillar of building a national identity in the diaspora. In addition, this

body of writing represents an integral part of the Palestinian carrier-group that emerged in

response to the Nakba. It plays an important role in highlighting the social discursive practices

that followed the events of 1948, in which Palestinian society identifies the agents responsible

for putting their collective identity under threat, the ways in which this collectivity ought to

respond, and how to protect Palestinian society from further destruction at the hands of this

threat. The scope of this research study, in addition, does not address the question of how

Palestinian-Americans develop the American component of their hyphenated identity, but rather

only examines the role of involuntary migration and national narratives on the attachment of the

Palestinian diaspora to the land of Palestine.

There is already a considerable amount of literature on Arab-American identity, so why

write another study? While researching Arab-American literature, it turned out that themes like transnational belonging, nostalgia for homeland, and identity negotiation are among the most discussed themes in the Arab-American writing. The salience of such themes in Arab-American literature raises many questions on the relationship between contemporary Arab-American writers and their ancestral homelands, and the ways in which these writers develop their sense of their transnational belonging.

Most Arab-American writers develop their sense of transnational belonging and Arab identity, either while residing in their original homeland, or have it passed on to them through their parents or their close familial networks. However, Palestinian-American writers, although stateless and having no access to what migration scholars call emotional refueling (an important constituent in identity construction), exhibit a sense of national identity as well as a strong desire to return to the land of their forefathers. This unique relationship between Palestinians in the

diaspora — including Palestinian-Americans and their homeland, raises a range of questions

relating to the role that migration patterns play in the continuity of nationalist feelings that

immigrants and their offspring maintain with their original homeland. The conclusions of this

research study will shed light on the construction of a national identity within diasporic

communities as well as on the ways in which these groups of immigrants build their

transnational connections with their original homelands.

In addition, this study will assist in clarifying the erroneous image in American society about Arab ethnicity in a number of aspects, among which is promoting the notion that presents the Arab-American community as a diverse community in whose folds are individuals from various cultural backgrounds. Emphasizing the diversity within this community would to some extent lead to de-centering the pressure exerted on the Arab-American community in moments of crises, and highlight the difference between Arab ethnicity and the Muslim religion, which are often confused as being the same.

Literature Review

Similar to other postcolonial writers, Palestinian writers in the diaspora, especially

Palestinian-Americans, harness their writing in service of the Palestinian cause. They not only see themselves as writers, but also as defenders and freedom fighters against injustice and the

Israeli occupation of Palestine. The poetry and fiction by this group of writers have always been central in this cause and sparked the spirit of protests, not only in the Palestinian people against colonialism, but has also inspired a whole generation of Arab writers (Cooke 452). Ahmad

Qabaha comments on this point in his book of Palestinian American writing, remarking that

Palestinian writers in the diaspora take upon their shoulders the task of advancing the Palestinian cause, explaining that Palestinian authors do not posit exile as a position to be desired or

searched for, but a position to be challenged. In most cases, “the cultural advantages Palestinian

writers gain in exile, aim to contribute and advance the Palestinian cause, abolish exile altogether

and return the Palestinian refugees back” (Qabaha 61). In addition, Palestinian writers in the

diaspora represent a crucial segment of the Palestinian “carrier-group,” which plays an important

role in highlighting the Palestinian master-narrative through their fiction and non-fiction writing.

Palestinian writers in the diaspora ensure that their duty towards the national cause serves

three main purposes. The first purpose is utilizing their writing to alter the distorted image in the

West and America about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The Western perspective of this conflict has been trapped for decades within the Israeli narrative and the politicized American media coverage of it (Halperin 159). Through these past years, the Palestinians in the U.S. could not change the image drawn in the Western imagination about them. In the Western imagination,

Palestinians are “terrorists'' and leaderless groups, incapable of organizing themselves (El-

Nawawy 49). This misperception worsened following the events of 9/11, and the ensuing

American wars in the Middle East. Although enmity against Arabs and Muslims existed long before 9/11, many scholars believe that these events consolidated sentiments of hate against this ethnic group and rendered Arab-Americans and Muslims as the racial “Other” to Americans.

Lori Peek argues his book, Behind the Backlash: Muslim Americans After 9/11, that several surveys carried out following the 9/11 attacks suggested that a significant number of Americans felt mistrustful toward the Arabs and Muslims living in their midst (Peek 67). These sentiments

have translated into a stark prejudice against people perceived to be Arab-Americans or

Muslims. Therefore, Palestinian-American writers believe that it is their duty to communicate the

Palestinian point of view about the conflict in a form that understandable and comprehensible to

the Western public. Edward Said reminds us about this distorted image in the West about

Palestine and the conflict in the Middle East in his book, The Question of Palestine, writing that:

A considerable majority of the literature on the Middle East, at least until 1968, gives one

the impression that the essence of what goes on in the Middle East is a series of unending

wars between a group of Arab countries and Israel. That there had been such an entity as

Palestine until I948, or that Israel's existence-its "independence," as the phrase goes-was

the result of the eradication of Palestine: of these truths beyond dispute most people who

follow events in the Middle East are more or less ignorant, or unaware. (Said 5)

In addition, the Israeli distortion of the Palestinian image is not only limited to the

pressure it exerts on Western media and political officials in America, but also in its disavowed

moral and political responsibility towards the events of 1948. The second purpose, which

Palestinian-American writers see as one of the ways in which they support the Palestinian cause, lies in their quest to treat the Palestinian Nakba as a traumatic event similar to the Holocaust.

Regarding the Nakba as a catastrophic event holds Israel morally and politically responsible for the damages resulting from these events on the Palestinian people. Therefore, Israel strives heartedly against the inclusion of the Nakba in trauma studies or its regarding as a catastrophic event. In an essay entitled, “On the Exclusion of the Palestinian Nakba from the Trauma Genre”,

Rosemary Sayigh writes that although the Palestinian Nakba meets all the conditions that qualifies it to be regarded as a catastrophic event, it has been excluded from the “trauma genre” and from being considered a catastrophic event on the Palestinian people. She holds that Western racism and Israeli lobbies’ pressure on research centers are responsible for this exclusion (Sayigh

58-59). Ghayde Ghraowi observes that the exclusion of the Nakba in trauma studies produces a negative feedback loop that only recycles the violence it assumes to avoid, in a comment on the

exclusion of the Nakba from trauma studies in his essay on trauma in Ghassan Kanafani. He

explains that because the Palestinians are denied their place in the discourse, the traumas will

“remain repressed and the international community perpetuates its ignorance of the true nature of

the conflict and unmitigated violence is thus exchanged in both directions, ultimately blacking

out the future altogether (Ghraowi 85).

Due to the systematic exclusion of the Nakba, Palestinian-American writers take upon

themselves the task of communicating their suffering and national narrative about this defining

moment in their history to the world. Today, similar to Palestinian writing elsewhere in the

diaspora, Palestinian-American writing is centered around the Nakba and home, making it a

reference event for the Palestinian people. In his discussion of Arab-American writing and

cultural translation, Wail Hassan writes about the importance of the role played by Palestinian

writers in the U.S. for the Palestinian cause, remarking:

For Palestinians exiles publishing in the U.S., the chief sponsor of Israel and where

Zionism has acquired a monopoly on public opinion and the foreign policy establishment,

writing and speaking has been a far more urgent-and sometime perilous- task of cultural

translation than it ever war for Arab Americans who wrote and spoke against settler

colonialism in Palestine before the 1940s, such as Ameen Rihani and Abraham Rihbani.

(Hassan 113)

The third purpose to which Palestinian-American writers employ their writing to achieve is re-narrating the history of the Nakba, as well as delivering the Palestinian point of view about this catastrophic event to the world and to future generations of Palestinians. This is important to do because Palestinians have previously failed to document the massacres and crimes committed against their people during the 1948 war, specifically the history of their villages and cities that

they were displaced from during the war. Many of these cities and villages were given new

names and traces of its original settlers were erased. Rochelle Davis confirms the Palestinians'

failure in documenting the spatial history and geographical memory of Palestine in his book,

Palestinian Village Histories: Geographies of the Displaced, pointing out that the Palestinian

historians lacked a clear methodology during the process of documenting Palestinian villages

before the events of 1948. Some of those history writers, as he points out, highlighted aspects at

the expense of more important aspects of the history of these villages (Davis 95).

Therefore, Palestinian writers seek to rectify this error by producing literary work dealing

with the untold history about the Nakba. There are many social and cultural projects today that

aim at re-narrating the Nakba from the Palestinian perspective. Through their re-telling of the

Nakba and its consequences, Palestinian-American writers have sought to narrate the history of

1948. Asaad Al Saleh confirms this point in his study “Displaced Autobiography in Edward

Said’s “Out of Place” and Fawaz Turki’s “The Disinherited,” suggesting that Palestinian-

American writers identify themselves as Palestinians through their literary writing and try to re- narrate the history of the of the Nakba (Alsaleh 80).

Palestinian-American women writers are fighting their own war through their writing.

Although this war is not directly related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it has to do with empowering Palestinian women and giving them voice and agency, placing it at the heart of the

Palestinian cause. This war is represented in their quest to break free from male domination and gain recognition for the importance of their role in the struggle for liberation of their homeland.

Like other women in the Arab-American community, American women of Palestinian background face many difficulties related to expressing their religious and social identity. For decades, Palestinian women in America have been stereotypically portrayed to be submissive

and unable to change their situation or to say “No” to patriarchal systems and laws. This image

has rendered them, as Lisa Majaj writes, “a minority within the minority” and rendered their

efforts and struggles against the colonization of their homeland unseen. On the one hand,

Palestinian-American women are expected to marry Palestinian men of the same religion and be excellent housewives, who are good at managing the affairs of their family and husbands.

However, not many women fulfill this expectation as the men from the community often marry outside the community, pushing the women look for Palestinian men in Palestine or among recent immigrants (Hammer 212). On the other hand, they are too Americanized for the

Palestinians at home, leaving them with the image of being too liberal and difficult to control.

Marginalization of Palestinian-American women doesn't stop at this point. They are often denied what Edward Said terms the “permission to narrate” when it comes to the “task of formulating a critical or imaginative account of Palestinian history”. Narrating the Palestinian history, or the history of the Nakba specifically, is seen as an arena of struggle with the Israeli enemy in which the perspective of men should have the upper hand. Anna Ball confirms this point in her book entitled, Palestinian Literature and Film in Postcolonial Perspective, arguing that the Palestinian perspective of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is predominantly gendered and narrated from the man’s perspective (Ball 18). The dominance of the men’s perspective on narrating the Nakba takes many forms. On the one hand, Palestinian women’s efforts in liberating their homeland are often marginalized in many literary and historical works discussing the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, whereas men’s efforts are emphasized within this conflict. Fatma

Kassem confirms this point, remarking that “Palestinian national narratives, such as those that represent the land of Palestine as a beloved geo-female body, also portray Palestine as a country that was raped by Israeli invaders in 1948” (Kassem 98). Joseph Massad make a similar claim

that the Palestinian nationalist movement “has signified the conquest of Palestine as a rape; by so doing they disqualify women and subordinate them to young male Palestinian nationalist liberators” (Massad 469).

In the same vein, the loss of the Palestinian homeland in the literary context is associated with femininity and is often portrayed as a female figure who needs saving from the clutches of her ruthless kidnappers. Meanwhile, Palestinian men are often represented as protectors of the land who are defending their sharaf (honor) against the foreign enemies. In her book, Suicide in

Palestine: Narratives of Despair, Nadia Dabbagh writes about this association between Palestine and femininity, remarking:

In poetry and art, a link is sometimes made between land (al-ard) and honor (al-ird) since

Palestine is often represented as women while the word land in Arabic, 'al-ard', is

feminine. The symbolism is that with the loss of the land of Palestine (ard filisteen), the

Palestinians man has lost his honor, in this case 'ird", because the honor is lost through a

woman - the land. This is powerful symbolism, and has associations with the rape of a

woman, the phrase for crimes of rape being hatk ird. (Dabbagh 181)

Between these conflicting currents, Palestinian-American women writers have had to find a balance between their nationalist agenda and feminism. They don't want for their feminist commitment to overshadow their nationalist struggle for liberating their nation or emancipating themselves from the tyranny of patriarchy at the cost of undermining their nationalist project.

Lisa Majaj comments on this point, that to write as a Palestinian women “is to write not only from an understanding of the personal as political (that-tried-and-true dictum of feminism) but also from understanding of the political as personal. It is to write out of recognition of the ways in which the multiple layers of history and politics, exile and displacement situate and shape

individual lives” (Majaj115). From this standpoint, Palestinian-American writers see that the liberation of Palestine begins with emancipating themselves from the clutches of patriarchy. This explains the fusion of feminist and nationalist themes in many of their works. Today, many of the literary works by female Palestinian-Americans writers explore side-by-side nationalist and feminist issues, making them focal points for their writing. Take, for example, the literary works of the Palestinian-American writer Naomi Shihab Nye and her tackling of the Palestinian issue in a feminist framework. In much of her poetry, Nye explores her Palestinianness and connection to

Palestine through speaking about her grandmother and the difficulties she experienced through her lifetime. Nye, for example, in a poem entitled "My Grandmother in the Stars'' narrates the suffering of her grandmother during the Nakba and her forced displacement from her homeland.

The poem reads:

Just now the neighbor’s horse must be standing patiently, hoof on stone, waiting for his day to open. What you think of him, and the village’s one heroic cow is the knowledge I wish to gather. I bow to your rugged feet, the moth-eaten scarves that knot your hair. Where we live in the world is never one place. Our hearts, those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us moons before we are ready for them. You and I on a roof at sunset, our two languages adrift, heart saying, Take this home with you, never again,

and only memory making us rich. (Nye 45) This blending of national and feminist discourse in Nye’s poem resurface frequently in

Palestinian-American women's’ writing, which makes us repeat what Majaj has pointed out

earlier, that the personal is political, and the political is personal in Palestinian-American women's’ writing.

Methodology

While going over some of the existing Arab-American literature, it was startling to find that a significant number of first- and second-generation American writers of Arab background, especially Palestinian-Americans managed to develop a strong sense of identity and attachment to their ancestral homelands. Although this sense of national identity varies from one Palestinian

American generation to another depending on many variables, I was especially interested in the impact of Palestinian national narratives on the development of these diasporic communities to their sense of national affiliation to Palestine, and its reflection in their literary and non-literary production. Given that Palestinian migration to the United States has historically shown a large variation in pattern, the scope of this study is purposefully limited to examining the ways in which Palestinian-Americans, who were forced to leave their homelands, have developed a sense of national consciousness to the identity of their original homelands and its reflection in the literary output of these groups of immigrants.

This research study explores the selected literary texts through the theory of cultural trauma. This theoretical concept refers to the social process by which individually experienced traumatic events, such as wars, genocides, or natural disasters, are socially constructed into a shared traumatic experience in order to maintain or form a collective identity of a particular group. Jeffery Alexander, the developer of this theory, maintains that this social process is noted

when “members of a collectivity feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrevocable ways” (Alexander 1). According to him, major catastrophic events are discursively formulated to be perceived socially as threats to collective identity requiring specific procedures in order to keep that collective identity intact and safe from similar threats in the future. The socially produced discursive practices (narratives) are aimed at countering the threat targeting their identity through identifying its causes, outcomes and the agent(s) standing behind its occurrence.

However, these discursive practices are not produced randomly or by chance but systematically. There are specific social groups that are capable and responsible for producing such narratives, which Alexander terms the "carrier groups". These carrier groups apply to a wide spectrum of the society, including lawyers, poets, writers, thinkers, etc. Moreover, the discursive practices are not only meant to target those affected by the catastrophic event firsthand, but also those who weren't affected by it. Many catastrophic events have no or limited discernible impact on the lives of subsequent generations, which makes it difficult for many of them to internalize and realize the impact of that event on their collective identity. However, these discursive practices have the ability to similarly traumatize and affect these generations who weren't affected by the catastrophic event as if they lived through that themselves.

In light of Jeffrey Alexander theory on cultural trauma, the Nakba of 1948 is looked upon in this research as constituting a catastrophic event to the Palestinian people and existential threat to its collective identity. Although there are several scholarly works that do not see the Nakba as a catastrophe in terms of the magnitude or human impact, this research looks upon the 1948 events as traumatic due to the cumulative impact that these events left on Palestinian society

through the past seventy years. In fact, the impact of these events has been massive on the

Palestinian people. Julian Hammar remarks in his book on the Nakba that there is no Palestinian family that has not been gravely harmed by this catastrophe, adding that the Palestinian people paid a heavy price due to this war at the social, economic and political level.

The huge fracture in the Palestinian social fabric required the ‘carrier group’ to make

some serious reforms to avoid the collapse of the Palestinian society altogether. Consequently,

the Palestinian liberation movement was formed in the 1960s to be a political representative of

the Palestinian people. Yet, the newly formed liberation movement needed a master-national narrative in order to recruit its members and create a grassroots incubator for the organization.

As a result of this, the Palestinian master-narrative was born, and the events of Nakba transformed into a center event around which this narrative is structured. Bojorn Krondorfer confirms this point, remarking that the Nakba has become a reference point for Palestinian suffering (Krondorfer 29). Many Palestinian-Arabs, who used to identify themselves according to their clan, ethnicity, or ideology began to identify themselves as Palestinians and developed an awareness of the geographical dimension of their identity. The Palestinian territory as a whole

became part of the Palestinian people’s identities, instead of viewing themselves as inhabitants of

Jaffa, Hebron or Jerusalem.

The first chapter of this thesis examines textual representations of the role of memory in

building the Palestinian national identity in Randa Jarrar's novel Mornings in Jenin. It

investigates the role of three methods of collective memory reconstruction and their relationship

to construction of Palestinian national identity. These three methods are (A) forgetting and

remembering, (B) harmonizing the personal and collective memory and (C) idealizing and

mythologizing the Palestinian past. The second chapter looks at representations of the narrative

of the right-of-return in the literary writing of Palestinian-American novelists, and the ways in which this narrative has been used as a tool in the construction of Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. It traces representation of this narrative in Shaw Dallal’s Scattered Like Seeds and aims at showing the important role played by this narrative in constructing the war of 1948 as a traumatic experience in the Palestinian collective memory. The third and last chapter in this study examines the role of narrative of sumud in maintaining a connection between the

Palestinian diaspora and their original homeland in Palestine. This aspect is explored through a close reading of representation of the sumud narrative in Randa Jarrar’s A Map of Home.

CHAPTER ONE

RECONSTRUCTING THE PAST THROUGH MEMORY IN SHAW DALLAL’S

SCATTERED LIKE SEEDS

The Palestinians do not need to be reminded of the events that took place and lead up to the Nakba, for the tragic and heroic stories continue to be told. — Mahmoud Darwish, (2001)1.

Every year, on May 15, Palestinians from around the world commemorate the

anniversary of the Nakba Day2; this is the day when Britain ended its mandate on Palestine, and

when Israel proclaimed the rise of its independent nation-state on the land of historic Palestine.3

More than seventy years have elapsed since these events and yet, their repercussions continue to overshadow both peoples, the Israeli and the Palestinians. For Palestinians, these events represent the cruelest moments of pain and suffering that had befallen their nation in the twentieth century. In contrast, the Israelis look upon these events as moments of immortal glory in the history of their nation.

It has become an annual custom for Palestinians to take to the streets in mass- demonstrations on the anniversary of Nakba day, chanting national songs and brandishing the

1 These lines are taken from Mahmoud Darwish’s letter to the Palestinian people on the 53rd anniversary of the creation of the State of Israel. 2. The Arabic word Nakba means “catastrophe.” It is often used by Palestinians to refer to the events that took place in Palestine before, during, and after 1948. 2 The Arabic word Nakba means “catastrophe.” It is often used by Palestinians to refer to the events that took place in Palestine before, during, and after 1948. 3 Historic Palestine refers to all the regions extending from the red sea to the river Jordan, which is the area on which the State of Israel and Palestine are located in present time.

keys of their houses from which they were expelled during the 1948 war. The Palestinians’ main objectives behind undertaking these yearly marches and demonstrations is not only to mourn the loss of their homeland and lives of their people who died during the 1948 war, but also, as Hillel

Frisch asserts, “to keep the memory of these events alive in the collective imagination of future

Palestinian generations as well as to assert the Palestinian people’s right to self- determination and to establish their independent nation-state on their national soil (Frisch 123).

Although the commemoration of Nakba Day was not formalized until it was inaugurated in 1998 by the former Palestinian Authority President, Yasser Arafat, it quickly became a major event in the Palestinian national calendar, and one of the most celebrated events in Israel and areas under the control of the Palestinian Authority (Roberts 178). The importance accorded to the commemoration of this day stems from the political and social symbolism of this event, and from the historical implications associated with this day among Palestinians. For Sa’adi and

Abu-Lughod, the importance of commemorating Nakba Day lies in the fact that it represents a challenge to the Zionist narrative about the creation of the state of Israel as well as the legitimacy of its establishment in the Middle East region. They suggest that the observance of this day represents a nagging counter-memory to the myth of the birth of Israel as a struggle against

European racism, and a challenge to the ongoing Israeli attempts to obliterate the Palestinian identity and silence the Palestinian narrative of the 1948 war (Sa’adi and Abu-Lughod 6). In fact, from the very first moment of its inception in 1948, Israel has sought to find justification for its sudden appearance in the heart of the Arab and Muslim worlds by linking its existence to two fundamental narratives: the first connects the rise of the state of Israel with the fulfillment of the biblical prophecy of returning to the Promised Land; and, the second narrative connects Israel with the creation of a homeland for Jews to unite in their dispersion and to protect them from

growing European hostility. The American social psychology professor, Phillip L. Hammack, writes in his commentary on this aspect, in his book, Narrative and the Politics of Identity: The

Cultural Psychology of Israeli and Palestinian Youth, that Israel, and the Zionist movement in general, have employed the narrative of “victimhood” and the experience of injustice to which

Jews have been subject in Europe, not only to create an Israeli national identity, but also to justify its occupation of Palestine and its aggressive treatment of the Palestinians (Hammack

122-123). Therefore, in the past decades, Israel has been keen to prevent the emergence of any

Palestinian counter-narrative that holds it directly responsible for the suffering of the Palestinian people resulting from the 1948 war. Israeli historian, Ilan Pappé, points out in this regard that permitting the emergence of a Palestinian counter-narrative would undermine the Israeli narrative of victimhood and would send an implicit message to the Jewish community in Israel and the world in general that “Israel was born in sin” (Pappé 87-88). As a result, Israel has stayed keen on crushing any Palestinian narrative that connects Israel with the expulsion of the

Palestinians in 1948 in the past decades by any means possible. Israel's imposition of laws and regulations criminalizing the commemoration of any Palestinian national events in Israel has been among the means used by its government to deny its responsibility of the mass-exodus that resulted from the 1948 war. For decades, these laws have proven successful in reinforcing the

Israeli master-narrative of its war with the Palestinians and instilling the notion that Israeli violence is legitimate self-defense, not only in the minds of Israelis but also in the imagination of the Western society in general. In her article on the Israeli denial of the Nakba, Teodora

Todorova cites, for instance, that in 2011, the Israeli authorities passed the so-called anti-Nakba law, through which all forms of commemoration of Nakba Day have been outlawed in Israel.

The Israeli pretext for passing this new law was the prevention of outbreaks of violence between

Palestinians and Israeli settlers. However, Todorova suggests that the main objective behind such laws is silencing the Palestinian narrative and obliterating the Palestinian national identity over time (Todorova 264).

Apart from the political objectives enfolded into the observance of such a national event, commemorating the Nakba Day also aims at achieving far-reaching goals on the Palestinian social level, including strengthening the Palestinian national identity and the Palestinian sense of belonging to the land of Palestine among its diaspora. Surprisingly enough, the same event that almost threw Palestinians into oblivion and led to the destruction of their social structure is the very same event that led to the crystallization of the Palestinian national identity and fueled the flame of their belonging to the land of Palestine.

The Israeli historian Michael Milshtein says in his article, “The Memory that Never Dies: the Nakba Memory and the Palestinian National Movement,” that the memory of the Nakba has played a pivotal role in the emergence and development of Palestinian national identity in the second half of the twentieth century. The memory of these events, as he points out, has evolved into a central national myth around which Palestinians have managed to build their consciousness and nationalism as belonging to the land of Palestine. The importance of the role played by the Nakba Myth, as Milshtein explains, lies in its ability to elucidate three main points regarding the Palestinian identity: the way in which their past evolved, the course in which their present is being conducted, and, the goals they must strive for in the future (Milshtein 48).

Contrary to common assumptions linking social memory to idleness or as an attempt to escape reality by ignoring or forgetting certain important events, especially those that are tragic and shocking, the Palestinian memory in all its forms has played an important role in building

Palestinian identity and in mobilizing the Palestinian community towards defending their

homeland and their right to return to it. The Palestinian collective memory, with its memories of the beautiful past, has always been, so to speak, the repository of ammunition, which Palestinians have resorted to for igniting the enthusiasm of Palestinian youth in defending their homeland and their people. Meir Litvak asserts this aspect by pointing out that “The memory of the Nakba was never merely the object of grief and longing, nor an idea encouraging passivity, but a means of stimulating Palestinian activism, inter alia, by enhancing the yearning for return” (Litvak 48).

Therefore, it’s of great importance, when discussing the development and building Palestinian identity after the Nakba, to shed light on the role of memory in this process.

This chapter addresses the relationship between memory and the national identity- building process, and the ways in which the memories of 1948 have been employed by the so- called Palestinian “carrier groups4” into forging a distinct Palestinian national identity in the absence of a Palestinian nation-state to undertake this role. Unlike other studies that focus on the clinical or traditional framework of memory, this study aims at shedding light on the social aspect of memory and the ways of reconstructing it, specifically in order to achieve political or social ends. The social reconstruction of the events of the Nakba, as a traumatic event in the

Palestinian collective memory, is highlighted in this chapter.

In addition, the role of three collective memory reconstruction methods is investigated as part of this goal, namely the method of forgetting and remembering; the method of harmonizing the personal and collective memory; and the method of idealizing and mythologizing the

Palestinian past. Through the investigation of these methods, this chapter aims at arguing that just like their counterparts in the diaspora, Palestinian-American literary writers have played an

4 A carrier group is defined by Jeffery Alexander as the collective agents who carry out the process of trauma construction in accordance with their ideal and material interests as they are situated in particular place in the social structure, and they have the agency to do so in the public sphere.

important role in building Palestinian national identity in the aftermath of the Nakba. The writers’ reconstruction of Palestinian memory of the events in the 1948 war corresponds with the

Palestinian master-narrative of the Nakba, assisted in generating a distinct Palestinian national identity and contributing towards strengthening Palestinian national belonging. In order to support this argument, this chapter is going to trace representations of the Nakba memories in

Shawkat Jamil Dallal’s (or Shaw Dallal as he is more popularly known) novel, Scattered like

Seeds, and the ways in which these memories have been reconstructed in the novel to forge a

Palestinian national identity. Dallal Shaw’s employment of the three collective memory reconstruction methods will be traced in this work. Shaw’s employment of these methods will be assumed to be deliberate and in favor of building the Palestinian national identity.

1.1 Memory and Identity

Before we delve into our discussion on the role of memory in building the Palestinian national identity and its use of the events of the Nakba (and its commemoration on Nakba Day) as a traumatic experience in the collective Palestinian imagination, it is very important to shed light on the way human memory works and the relationship between individual and collective memory in relation to developing the national consciousness in social groups. So, what is social memory? How does it work? And how does collective memory affect individual memory and vice versa?

In our daily lives, we come across many metaphors about memory and remembrance that often liken human memory to a camera, a recording machine, or even a storehouse.

Unfortunately, most of these metaphors are superficial and often misleading. In fact, human memory doesn’t function in this manner whatsoever. It does not even have the ability to store and retrieve copies of our experiences in a thorough and detailed manner. On the contrary,

human memory is always fluid, dynamic, and never static (Steinbock 11). It stores fragments and

pieces of information about our experiences, and when the time comes to recall these fragments,

memory reconstructs them into a meaningful whole depending on our beliefs, motives, thoughts,

and current understanding of the world. Ulric Neisser, one of the founders of cognitive

psychology, compares the way in which human memory works to the paleontologist’s task of

reconstructing an entire dinosaur from a few pieces of bones, writing that “the model of the

paleontologist …. applies … to memory: out of a few stored bone chips, we remember a

dinosaur” (Neisser 271). As a result, many scholars hold the belief that the way human memory

functions and the complexity involved in the process of remembrance makes it hard for us as

human beings to remember our experiences in the exact same way each time we recall them.

This complex process also makes it difficult for a group of people who had lived the same

experience to remember it in the exact same manner. The British psychologist, Frederic Bartlett,

argues in his groundbreaking work on memory, Remembering: A Study in Experimental and

Social Psychology, that the process of remembrance involves an ongoing reconstruction of memories, which is why human beings often remember the same experience differently at

different times (Bartlett 213). The reason for this difference lies in the different circumstances

surrounding the recollection process. A person remembers life experiences based on current

beliefs and views of the world, making them remember the same experiences differently each

time. The questions that arise here are: what is the relationship between personal and collective

memory, and how can this collective memory be reconstructed in favor of forging a distinct

national consciousness of a certain social group?

The American sociocultural anthropology professor, James Wertsch, defines collective

memory as a “memory that is shared by individuals in a collective, who each individually

remember more or less the same version of their collective past of their collective” (Wertsch 23).

This similar version of their past is a result of many individual memories about the same

experience that have been reconstructed and readjusted over time to form a unified version of

that experience. And, since individual memory is the basis for collective memory and acts as the

base for retrieving the experiences of human groups, as Thomas Anastasio asserts, we can say

that many individual memory characteristics apply to collective memory. The only difference is

that collective memory is formed and transmitted through narratives, whereas individuals can do

the actual act of remembering themselves by storing the memory (Anastasio 2). These resulting

narratives are of great importance to the process of building a national consciousness of a group,

particularly in the wake of traumatic events such as massacres, natural disasters, and wars. The

Japanese sociology scholar, Akiko Hashimoto, points out in her commentary on the process of

reshaping the Japanese collective memory in the wake of Japan’s defeat in World War II, that the motives of this process was not pure but aimed at educating the next generation and inculcating in it a sense of shared experience and destiny. Hashimoto writes

In this process, the vanquished mobilize new and revised narratives to explain grievous

national failures, mourn the dead, redirect blame, and recover from the burdens of stigma

and guilt. The task of making a coherent story for the vanquished is at the same time a

project of repairing the moral backbone of a broken society. (Hashimoto 2)

Therefore, collective memory and narratives resulting from the process of remembering traumatic events that have occurred in the lives of the social groups play an important role: not only by letting these groups overcome adversities and suppressing negative experience, but also by letting the social groups build an identity and nationality by the virtue of belonging to these social groups.

1.2 The Individual Meets the Collective

In his reflections on exile, the American-Palestinian thinker, Edward Said, asserts that the relationship between exile and nationalism is an essential one; it cannot be broken nor can either of its ends be discussed neutrally without referencing the other. He further adds that “the interplay between nationalism and exile is like Hegel’s dialectic of servant and master, opposites informing and constituting each other”. For Said “nationalism is an assertion of belonging in and to a place, a people, a heritage. It affirms the home created by a community of language, culture, and customs; and by so doing, it fends off exile and fights to prevent its ravages”. Exile, as Said puts it, is a dissociation between the individual and his homeland that leaves one in a state of a constant need for belonging, and to reconstitute his broken life, which is usually achieved by seeing himself as part of a triumphant ideology (Said 176-177).

Edward Said’s conceptualization of the relationship between exile and nationalism is applicable to the situation and the political climate in which Palestinian nationalism arose in the wake of the Nakba. Ultimately, Palestinian nationalism is the product and outcome of exile.

Although there were early signs of an emerging Palestinian identity prior to 1948, the Palestinian historian, Rashid Khalidi, asserts that the Palestinian experience of exile and displacement was the main catalyst that made the Palestinian people aware of the territorial and national component of their Palestinian identity (Khalidi 28-29). The violence of the 1948 war, which pushed thousands of Palestinian Arabs into refugee camps in Arab neighboring countries, led to the emergence of a state of Palestinian national consciousness that didn’t seem to exist in the pre-

1948 Palestinian community. This nascent Palestinian national consciousness that swept through the Palestinian community in the refugee camps was seen by many critics as a direct reaction to the state of estrangement and alienation that Palestinians were subjected to during the 1948 war.

Although the loss of the homeland was the main factor behind the emergence and development of a Palestinian national consciousness in the post-1948 period, one cannot, in any way, ignore the fact that this national consciousness also evolved as a result of the presence of auxiliary factors that contributed to its promotion and development among Palestinian diaspora.

The Palestinian elite, or what Jeffrey Alexander calls the ‘carrier group’, have employed several methods in their quest towards formulating a unifying national identity. Some of these methods were of a performative nature and focused on the concrete dimension of the process of building a national identity, whereas others were of an expressive or representative nature and focused on the psychological and mental dimensions of this process. Reconstructing Palestinian personal memories of the events of the Nakba that correspond with the collective memory of the 1948 war is one of the expressive methods that Palestinian carrier groups have been keen to apply in the process of building a Palestinian national identity. In spite of an immoral aspect to the application of such a method — embodied in erasing and silencing individual memory in favor of building a more unified collective one — many observers see this method as one of the important tools in the nation and national identity building process. The Israeli historian, Meir

Litvak, points out this aspect in his book, Palestinian Collective Memory and National Identity, asserting that for the success of any national endeavor towards building or strengthening the national identity of any given social group it is important for the existence of some kind of harmony between the collective memory and individual memories about the shared past. This can be achieved, Litvak adds, in several ways, one of which is to reconstruct the image of the past in the personal memories of the members belonging to that particular social group to correspond with the collective one. Litvak writes:

The reconstructed images of the past provide the group with an account of its origin and

development and thus allow it to develop a historical identity. The past the group prizes is

domestic: the histories of foreign lands are alien and incompatible with its own past.

National identity requires both having a heritage and believing it to be unique. (Litvak1)

In fact, in the absence of a national state to undertake the task of formulating and strengthening a

Palestinian national consciousness, the recourse to such a method was of extreme importance, not only because it prevented eroding the Palestinian individual’s relationship with his homeland, but also because it had the ability to unify the Palestinian diaspora, especially in light of their adoption of several modes of identification in the pre-1948 period, divided along as ethnic, religious, and tribal lines. Having a collective memory that shared a common past established the so-called “founding myth”, which many scholars consider to be of crucial importance towards uniting and bringing together different social groups under one national banner, and in strengthening the association that social groups had with their geographic region of origin.

Anthony Smith reminds us in his book, Ethnic Origins of Nations, that the existence of a national myth and common past has been the cornerstone of the nation-building process throughout the history of human groups and societies and still continues to be so. Smith holds that no group identity can exist without memory or myth of a shared past: for it is through memory that people make meaning of themselves and sustain their sense of continuity over time and space (Smith 29).

While they are true for most nations, Smith’s observations are particularly appropriate for the Palestinian people as they are still engaged in the process of building their own statehood and national identity. Since the end of the Nakba, Palestinians have sought to form their own national identity and build their national state, at least in accordance with the UN 1948 plan that called for

splitting up of the land of Palestine into two independent, side-by-side states – Israel and

Palestine. However, the Palestinian dream of formulating a distinct national identity that would

enable them to unify their dispersion and fragmentation was fraught with failure in light of the

existence of personal memories that did not adhere closely to the Palestinian master-narrative of the Nakba. As is well known, the events of the 1948 war did not affect all Palestinian people nor did all Palestinians who lived in Palestine during the war bear painful memories about that period. On the contrary, some personal Palestinian memories of the war and the years leading up to it, as Dana Hercbergs points out, reflected a wide variety of Palestinian attitudes towards the

1948 war and towards the Arab-Jewish relationship during that time period. Some Palestinians remember that they had good relations with some Jewish immigrants, sometimes extending to a level of espousal among Jewish and Arab families. Hercbergs, for instance, cites an interview she had conducted with a Palestinian older woman from the village of Qalonia5, in which the

Palestinian woman describes the Arab-Jewish relations prior to the 1948 war as being good and

recalls that peaceful ethnic coexistence was the dominant characteristic of that time period.

(Hercbergs 26).

However, such accounts which reflected the relatively peaceful coexistence between

Arabs and Jews in the pre-1948 events were not in the interest of the Palestinian national project

and did not serve the narrative of victimhood, which the Palestinian elite was keen to highlight

following the 1948 war. Thus, those concerned with building a Palestinian national identity and

those responsible for documenting the testimonies of the survivors of the 1948 war particularly

were keen on concealing such accounts and testimonies in favor of the Palestinian cause, and in

5 Qalonia is A Palestinian village located six km west of the city of Jerusalem. The village was mostly destroyed during the Zionist invasion to the Arab areas of Palestine in 1948 with the exception of few deserted houses and the village’s main cemetery.

favor of building a unified Palestinian master-narrative. And towards this end, the Palestinian

elite spared no effort in employing all means to overcome obstacles that stood in the way of

building a Palestinian national identity. And for the clarity of this project, I shall highlight some of the Palestinian efforts in this regard in the next few lines, before we delve into analyzing the representations of the first method of reconstructing Palestinian memories of the Nakba in Shaw

Dallal’s work.

In the years following the Nakba, and particularly since the mid-1970s, the Palestinians embarked on many social projects that aimed to document the Palestinian oral history and record the testimonies of the 1948 war survivors. One of the early projects was the project undertaken

by Palestinian historian, Dr. Rosemary Sayegh to document the oral history of Palestinian

women in refugee camps in Lebanon. Sayegh’s project was the first of its kind dealing with

Palestinian refugees in Lebanon. Unlike similar Palestinian projects, Sayegh’s project focused on

documenting the memories of the Nakba from the perspective of the marginalized Palestinians

and also from the perspective of those who had experienced the Nakba firsthand. On the

objective of her project, Sayegh writes that “In spite of these roots in personal desire, and in spite

of the doubts I have about the autonomy of the life story, especially when solicited by a

Westerner from members of a refugee community, I believe that recording Palestinian refugee

women’s life stories is justified theoretically and politically. The telling of a life story brings into

existence a ‘self’ that reflects history, culture, and overlapping collectivities” (Sayegh 56).

Similarly, in 1974 Birzeit University launched its own project to document the testimonies of the

1948 war survivors whose general objective was to collect material and conduct research on

Palestinian society and history, especially in Palestinian villages that were destroyed and

abandoned as a result of the 1948 war. The documentation of the names and locations of the

Palestinian villages that were destroyed during the Israeli invasion in the 1948 war, as well as the

recording of the Hebrew names that these villages acquired after the war were the main

objectives of the researchers in charge of this project (Slyomovics 27). In addition, the

Palestinian liberation movement (PLO) played an active role in documenting the testimonies of

survivors of the 1948 war. After its establishment in 1964, and out of its role as the legitimate

representative of the Palestinians, the PLO played an important role in documenting the

Palestinian past through establishing the so-called Department of ‘of Culture’, which was

concerned with promoting Palestinian culture among Palestinians in the refugee camps and the

occupied territories (Gertz 12). These social projects are just a few examples of the many

Palestinian projects that were launched in the post-Nakba period for documenting the Palestinian memory of the past.

The question to be asked here is: were these projects keen on ensuring accuracy while documenting the testimonies of the Nakba generation or not and were there any undeclared objectives for these projects? The political and social aspects of such projects cannot be ignored, especially in light of the existing conflict between the Palestinians and the Israelis.

The Israeli historian, Ilan Pappé asserts that the process of documenting the history of the

Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been and continues to be a field of conflict between the Israeli and

Palestinian historians. This intense conflict between Palestinian and Israeli historians, Pappé says, necessitated the emergence of a new category of historians – the “new historians” who were primarily interested in documenting the Palestinian-Israeli conflict objectively without any political influences. Pappé writes, “We could have had a political breakthrough in the battle over memory in Palestine with the appearance on the scene in the 1980s of the so-called ‘new history’ in Israel. This was an attempt by a small group of Israeli historians to revise the Zionist narrative

of the 1948 war” (Pappé xiv).

Although the stated goal of these Palestinian projects is the documentation of the testimonies of the 1948 war survivors to ensure that the memories of the Palestinian Nakba are not lost in light of Israeli attempts to silence the Palestinian memory and national narrative about these events, the undeclared objective of many of these projects was reconstructing the

Palestinian collective memory of these events and re-appropriating Palestinian personal memories of the events of the Nakba to make them more in line with the main Palestinian master-narrative (Litvak 35). Lila Abu-Lughod in her article, “The Claim of Memory”, acknowledges this process of adjustment and modification of Palestinian memories during the process of documentation and goes on to argue that the Palestinian popular memory of the events of the Nakba has even been influenced by how these events have been depicted in the writings of the educated and cultured class of Palestinians. She writes,

It is from the memories of ordinary Palestinians made public in a variety of contexts that

we draw our conclusions about the larger significance of the Nakba. We recognize that

these memories have been adjusted to each other, producing what Hammer calls a

“canonization” of some stories and symbols. We do not doubt that nationalist cultural

forms, from the poetry of Mahmoud Darwish and the writings of other Palestinians to

visual arts, popular music, and political slogans have helped form these narratives. (Abu-

Lughod and Sa’ad 7)

It should be noted here that the process of re-adjusting the Palestinian social memory of the Nakba was not a random or disorganized process. On the contrary, it has been an extremely meticulous process from the very beginning that has been targeted towards a very specific audience. And when we say a specific audience, we don’t only refer to those Palestinians who

experienced the events firsthand, but also those Palestinians born after the 1948 war. Many critics hold that the Palestinian cultural projects that came out after the 1948 war focus on reconstructing the memory of two main categories of the Palestinian society: those Palestinians who experienced these events firsthand and those who weren’t affected by it, either because they hadn’t been born yet or because they were outside the conflict zone. Rafi Nets-Zehngut comments on the importance of this aspect in the process of building a Palestinian national identity in her article, “Palestinian Autobiographical Memory Regarding the 1948 Palestinian

Exodus”, and argues that the process of re-adjusting the Palestinian social memories of the

Nakba should be holistic and shouldn’t exclude any component of the Palestinian society. She goes on to explain that collective memory is composed in two main ways: autobiographical memory — the memory of the people who experienced the given events first hand and indirect- collective memory — the memory of the people who learned about the given event through books, stories, and family members. She suggests that for the efficacy of the process of building

Palestinian national identity this documentation effort should be holistic and focus on all

Palestinian people within and without Palestine (Nets-Zehngut 288-289).

The method of re-appropriating Palestinian personal and collective memories to sync with the Palestinian official narrative of the events of the Nakba was not confined exclusively to the category of Palestinian historians and ethnographers or in cultural projects. Palestinian literature, in all its branches within and without Palestine, played a key role in this re-adjustment of the Palestinian social memory. In fact, this readjustment found its way into Palestinian literary works during the second half of the twentieth century, especially among Palestinian writing that arose from the diaspora. Many Palestinian literary writers in the diaspora employed this technique in their representations of the Palestinian past and of the Nakba events, in particular. A

closer look at the work of prominent Palestinian writers such as Mahmoud Darwish, Jabra

Ibrahim Jabra, Tawfiq Zayyad, or Ghassan Kanafani reveals the prevalence of this technique in their work, especially in their literary output following the formation of the Palestinian

Liberation Movement. To these Palestinian writers, this method of writing was to be considered an inseparable part of their struggle against the Israeli colonizer and an essential part of the so- called Palestinian resistance literature6 or ‘Adab Almuqawama’, which emerged and gained prominence on the Palestinian literary scene in the aftermath of the Nakba. The Palestinian poet,

Tawfiq Zayyad compiled testimonies and recorded memories of several Palestinians who survived the events 1948 war in his book, “An Al-adad wa-al Adab Alsha'bi Fi Filastin (About

Literature and Folk Literature in Palestine). In his work, Zayyad reconstructed these Palestinian memories and accounts of the Nakba in a way that feeds into the discourse of “us, the victims” versus “them, and the aggressors”. Amal Eqeiq in her article, “Literary Historical Interactions:

Indigenous Ethnography and Rewriting History from Mexico to Palestine”, comments on Tawfiq

Zayyad’s method of documenting the memories of the Nakba survivors as follows:

Zayyad's is a conscious endeavor to salvage Palestinian history and he adopts various

affiliations in his narrative: as communist poet, archivist of subaltern voices, and cultural

historian. Zayyad transcribes Palestinian oral history memory as an act of cultural

resistance against colonial erasure. Salvaging this oral memory, he argues is essential for

collective S'umud: the Palestinian ethos of “steadfastness” that manifests in the physical

act of remaining steadfast in one’s land, because to exist is to resist. (Eqeiq 129)

The American-Palestinian writers are no different from their counterparts elsewhere in

6 Resistance literature is a term coined by the Palestinian novelist, Ghassan Kanafani, to reference literature expressing the desire to confront the other aggressive, in order to highlight the self-strength and develop the element of belonging and the desire for redemption in order to restore the dignity of the group and the homeland.

the Palestinian diaspora when it comes to the application of this method. Indeed, this group of

Palestinian writers has largely used the same methods of national identity building used by their

Palestinian counterparts in the occupied territories and diaspora at large. At the forefront of these

used methods comes the method of reconstructing Palestinian personal memories of the Nakba to

correspond with the official and collective ones, which as pointed out earlier in this chapter is

fundamental for the process of national identity building. The Palestinian-American writer Shaw

Dallal is one of the very first Palestinian writers in the diaspora to apply this method in their

literary writing. In his famous work, Scattered like Seeds, which is the focus of our attention in

this chapter, Shaw’s employment of this technique stands out in several places in the work.

However, before getting into our discussion of this technique and the ways in which it has been

used by Shaw in this novel, I would like to shed light on the author, who may be regarded as one

of the least prominent writers on the Palestinian-American literary scene despite his outstanding talent, before I discuss this work and his literary output.

So, who was Shaw Dallal and what were his most prominent works?

Shawkat Jamil Dallal or Shaw, as he liked to be called, was born in Jerusalem, Palestine

to peasant parents, on October 25, 1931. He received his primary education at AlFadiliyeh High

School in Tulkarm and at St. George High School in Jerusalem. He left Palestine as a teenager

for Kuwait in 1949, where he spent nearly two years before deciding to leave for the United

States to complete his studies. After leaving Kuwait, he moved to the United States in 1952 and

received his doctorate in jurisprudence in 1959 from Cornell University. He died in 2016 at the

age of 87. His professional career was rich and full of vicissitudes. In the early part of his career,

he worked in various teaching positions, ranging from teaching Middle Eastern studies and

Arabic language to political science at the Maxwell School, Syracuse University. In addition,

Shaw worked as legal advisor to OAPEC7 in Kuwait at the beginning of his career before

returning to the United States and establishing his own business. On the literary side, Shaw is not

generally considered a prolific author. He only published two literary works, as well as a handful

of critical essays. His two novels, Scattered like Seeds (1998) and The Secret of Rose-Anne Riley

(2013), are considered his most important and widely read literary works (Boullata 75-76).

When tracing out the novel's main character's memories of the Nakba events- which bears

great resemblance to the author's own life-journey- one can see Dalla’s employment of this

technique in several places in the novel. In one of the protagonist's memories of the early days of

the 1948 war, Thafer Allam takes the reader into a conversation that takes place between his

parents in the eve of Deir Yassin's massacre, where his mother urges his father to send Thafer to

live in Kuwait with his uncle Khalil before another fight erupts between Palestinian Arabs and

Jews. Thafer’s mother's abrupt decision stems from her fear of losing her son in one of recurring

fights that had the potential to break out at any time between the sides of the conflicts at any

moment. She has already lost her older brother in a fight that broke out several months ago, and

her other two sons, Raseem and Kamal, have been enlisted into the Jordanian and the Iraqi army

to fight against the Israeli forces. On his part, Thafer’s father reassures his distressed wife that

the Jordanians won’t take Thafer into their army and goes on to add sarcastically that “the

Jordanians are afraid to fight the Israelis''. Then, in a bout of anger, the father asks himself a

rhetorical question that seems to question the intention of the Arab Armies interference in the

ongoing war against the Israelis.

Why did they come if they weren’t going to defend us? They came to prevent a scheme

between the Jews and the king of Jordan, Abdullah, to create a Greater Syria under the

7 OAPEC is an acronym for “Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries. This organization is an intergovernmental organization based in Kuwait and concerned with regulating oil production and prices.

Hashemites. Unbelievable! History will one day prove what I have just said. That traitor,

Abdullah! Before the Arab Armies entered, Abdullah had several meetings with the Jews.

He told them that he would pretend to be hostile to them, but that his deal with them

would stand. Why is Abdullah doing this? He wants to rule Syria. He thinks the Jews are

going to help him financially so that he can invade Syria, but the Jews have different

plans. (57-58)

In Thafer’s memories of the Nakba, we find clear traces of the reconstruction of the

Palestinian memory in accordance with the Palestinian master-narrative. Clearly, this memory of the Nakba is politically charged and seems to hold the government of Transjordan8, represented

in King Abdullah, as partially responsible for the Palestinian defeat. The Palestinian official

narrative of the war accuses King Abdullah of colluding with the Jews against Arabs and

Palestinians. Motti Golani and Adel Manna in their book, Independence and Nakba, 1948: Two

Narratives of the 1948 War and Its Outcome, offers a glimpse into the extent to which the

Palestinian narrative of the 1948 war assigns the blame squarely on the King of Transjordan,

writing that:

The Palestinians, who formed a demographic majority on the two banks of the Jordan

River, accused Abdullah of betrayal and conspiring with the Zionist enemy. They

disapproved of his efforts to reach a peace treaty with Israel as such an agreement would

perpetuate the status quo at the end of the war. The cities of the West Bank naturally

became centers of incitement against the Hashemite regime. In July 1951, King Abdullah

paid a visit to Jerusalem and was killed before the eyes of his young grandson Hussein

Ibn Talal as he went to pray in the Aqsa Mosque. (Golani and Manna 148)

8 Transjordan in modern history refers to the region that was under Hashemite rule in the beginning of twentieth century which covered a large area of Palestine and present-day Kingdom of Jordan.

The Jordanian narrative, on the other hand, opposes this claim and argues that the

Jordanians always supported the Palestinians and have had nothing to do with the Israelis or their

occupation of Arab lands in Palestine. On the contrary, they assert that King Abdullah of Jordan

always saw himself as devoted to the Palestinian cause but was constantly confronted and

contradicted by forces in the Arab world that refused to deal pragmatically with the Zionists. The

Jordanians argue that they urged the Palestinians to accept the Macdonald white paper9, which

would have created a Palestinian state with a two-third Arab majority. However, Palestinian

intransigence and their rejection of the British initiative is what prevented them from establishing

their independent Palestinian state.

Apart from the conflict of these historical narratives and the extent of their conformity

with reality, the main motive for the emergence of the Palestinian narrative is to highlight the

Palestinian experience of victimhood and to create a traumatic image in the Palestinian collective

imagination, which would provide a solid and a unifying foundation, upon which a Palestinian

national consciousness and common past could be built. Yoav Gelber says in his article “The

Israeli-Arab War of 1948: History Versus Narratives”, that after the end of the war, the

Palestinians had grievances against everyone but themselves (Gelber 46). These angry

Palestinian feelings were nothing but an attempt to understand what happened during the war and

to know who caused this disaster that befell them. Therefore, it was not possible to rely too much

on the credibility of the Palestinian narrative or on the validity of its position on the Jordanians’

role in the war.

Dallal’s use of this technique emerges elsewhere in his work as well. Early on in his

9 The MacDonald White refers to a paper prepared by Secretary of State for the Colonies Malcolm MacDonald and published on 21 May 1939"Macdonald. The document proposed the creation within ten years of a unitary Palestinian state, to which it would eventually transfer political power. It also stated that Britain would take steps to implement this policy as soon as peace and order have been sufficiently restored in Palestine.

novel, Dallal uses the technique of re-adjusting personal memories to in line with the collective to rebuild the Palestinian popular position from the British Mandate and from its role in the 1948 war. Unlike the Palestinian master-narrative, which depicts this period as a period of terror and insecurity, some Palestinian personal memories portray the period of the British Mandate as a period that was marked by economic and social flourishment. In one of her memories, the

Palestinian British writer, Ghada Karmi recalls the Palestinian lifestyle during the period of the

British Mandate particularly in Jerusalem and its environs as very safe, calling it a vibrant and cultural city. She writes:

Families often went to the new garden cafes outside Jerusalem, in Ramallah, and around

the village of Beit Jala. We went for outings to the Grand Hotel in Ramallah, except that

everybody still called it the Odeh Hotel after the name of its owner. It had a large garden

restaurant with shady pine trees where they served charcoal grilled meat, tasty salads,

olives, and freshly baked bread. But well-to-do Palestinians still preferred to go to Jaffa

for picnics, swim, and saunter about. This had traditionally been Palestine’s major city,

where the best families lived, where the first Palestinian newspaper were established, and

where the intelligentsia met. (Karmi 38)

Thafer Allam recalls the British soldiers entering his family house in Tulkarem looking for some of his family members who joined the Mujahideen. The verbal interaction that takes place between Allam’s mother and the British soldiers during this scene is very interesting and could be looked upon as part of the larger Palestinian narrative about what happened during the Nakba.

In this scene, the head of the British soldiers asks Allam’s mother if there are any terrorists hiding in her house, to which the mother answers, “No”, and rushes her kids to the kitchen. The use of the term “terrorists” by the head of the British soldiers to describe Allam’s father and

older brother, who many Palestinians regard as freedom fighters, sends an implicit message that

Palestinians believed the British were biased towards the Israeli invaders who came to take the

Palestinian homeland.

The demonization of British forces does not stop at this point but becomes more apparent at the end of the scene mentioned above, when Thafer Allam asks his mother about the objective of British soldiers for searching their house, to which his mother answers: “the British are wicked. They don’t fear God, dear. They want to give our country to the Jews” (4). This way of recounting the historical events of the pre-1948 war feeds into the rhetoric that the British were complicit with Jews against Arab Palestinians and aims at assigning responsibility for causes that led to Palestinian defeat in 1948. Thafer’s memory presents the British as a contributory factor in the Palestinian defeat because of their refusal to protect the Palestinians or enforce the UN resolutions which decree the division of Palestine into two independent states.

Dallal’s reconstruction of the historical events of the Nakba is fully consistent with the official Palestinian narrative of war, reinforcing this narrative in the Palestinian collective imagination. With the passage of time and the end of the Nakba generation, personal memories that do not conform to the official Palestinian narrative will gradually fade away, making the official Palestinian narrative the only source that shapes the imagination of future Palestinian generations. This means the possible formation of a Palestinian national identity without any obstacles or opposing narratives from within that undermine the credibility of the Palestinian national master-narrative.

1.3 Remembering and Forgetting

As a result of the collapse of Palestinian social structure in the wake of the Nakba, the

Palestinian elite saw that there is no way to reunite the fragmented Palestinian population or to

restore their sense of belonging to the Palestinian homeland except through the formulation of a national narrative capable of emotionally moving all Palestinians. After all, it is by virtue of these events that three-quarters of the Palestinian population became homeless refugees and more than half of the land on which they used to live was annexed to the political borders of the newly-born state of Israel. However, the Palestinian task was not an easy one. It required more than the resolution of internal Palestinian divisions that had weakened the Palestinian front for many decades, and which stemmed, as one scholar puts it, from Palestinian failure to “overcome the drawbacks of the traditional Middle Eastern social structure as a mosaic system of clannish, tribal and ethnic in-groups” (Pearlman 228). This task required revisiting the events of 1948 and reconstructing it in a manner that projects the Nakba as a traumatic event in the Palestinian collective imagination. This projection of the events of the Nakba is capable of establishing some sort of shared past and a common history to the Palestinian people, and nothing would serve this end better than the memory of the Nakba and its atrocities that ensued, affecting a large segment of the Palestinian people.

Unfortunately, the Palestinian attempt at rebuilding a collective memory of the Nakba has been fraught with failure from the moment of its inception; for there remains a large segment of the Palestinian people who do not subscribe to the same traumatic memory of the Nakba events as the rest of Palestinian society, either because they were born after these traumatic events, or because they were too far-flung from the conflict zone and didn't get affected by the war. As it is well-known, the events of 1948 divided Palestinian society into three groups: those who remained in Israel; those in the West Bank under the Jordanian regime; and finally, those in the

Gaza Strip under the Egyptians (Amara 206).

This spatial and political fragmentation of the Palestinian people has played an important

role in the Palestinians' adoption of different attitudes towards the events of the Nakba and

caused a variation in the degree of the impact of these events on them. For example, the social,

economic, and political impact of these events was greater on the Palestinians who ended up in

refugee camps than on those who remained in Israel. The Palestinian-American author and novelist, Turki Fawaz, cites in his commentary on Palestinian national identity in the diaspora that as a result of variation in the degree of the impact of these events on the Palestinian people,

Palestinians in the refugee camps were early adopters in developing Palestinian national consciousness than those who remained in Israel (Fawaz 40).

This divergence in attitudes towards the events of 1948 posed a burden on Palestinian carrier groups and compromised the process of formulating a master-narrative to build a distinctive national identity. Therefore, the Palestinian elite was eager to bridge this divergence in attitude towards these events and create a unified image of the Nakba in the collective

Palestinian imagination. And to this end, the Palestinians engaged, on the one hand, in a systematic erasure of those facts and events that may have led to the creation of an inconsistent national narrative, and on the other, in highlighting events that would contribute to the unification of the Palestinian national imagination of these events. Meir Litvak sheds light on this aspect and points out that repressing the humiliating memories of the Nakba was one of the priorities of the Palestinian Liberation Movement10 after its founding in 1967. This repression,

he adds, was very important for the development and diffusion of the concept of revolution and

armed struggle among Palestinian society (Litvak 33).

This combination of forgetting and remembering should not be seen in isolation from the

10 Palestinian Liberation Movement (PLO): refers to the umbrella organization encompassing most of the Palestinian national organizations1. Since the 1970s, the PLO is recognized as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people.

process of creating national consciousness of communities, or as a random process occurring in a socially unstructured context. On the contrary, these social-mnemonic activities play an important role in the process of building national identity and are often socially channeled towards the development of national awareness through the so-called “selective recollection of the past”. Martin Murray emphasizes this point in his book, Commemorating and Forgetting:

Challenges for the New South Africa, and argues that “the ebb and flow of forgetting and remembering are not innocent activities, but strategic undertakings that streamline the historical past in ways that cohere in the present and project a positive image into the future” (Murray 49-

50). Remembering in this context plays an important role in underpinning identity and performs the task of sustaining its continuity over time and space. No group identity can be formed in the absence of this act of remembering, or sustained without it, for it is the cement that connects social groups' past with its future. Aletta Norval writes that “any individual or group identity, that is a sense of sameness over time and space, is sustained by remembering, and what is remembered is defined by the assumed identity” (Norval 254). Yet, in the early stages of the nation-forming process, the act of forgetting is considered as important for the process of national identity formation as the act of remembering. It is not possible to build a national identity through the act of remembering alone. In such situations, it is very important for nations to involve in what Benedict Anderson calls “collective amnesia” or collective forgetfulness in order to build the national consciousness of that social group (Anderson 208-209). In this process, the body responsible for building national consciousness (in the Palestinian case the so- called carrier group) deliberately blocks some major events and dates from the collective memory of that nation and directs its focus to other events that may be seen or interpreted in favor of building the national consciousness. It’s worth noting that this act of forgetting in this

context takes many shapes. Elizabeth Jelin identifies three types of forgetting that develop in the context of national identity building process; definitive, evasive and liberating forgetting. Unlike evasive forgetting, which focuses on recalling potentially upsetting memories, liberating forgetting enables individuals or groups to feel free from the burdens of the past, whereas definitive forgetting, as Jelin points out, involves the erasure of recollections of facts and processes of the past. The latter type of forgetting can be “the result of explicit policies furthering forgetting and silence, promoted by actors who seek to hide and destroy evidence and traces of the past in order to impede their retrieval in the future” (Jelin 19-20).

In the wake of the Nakba, this act of remembering and forgetting was very evident in the

Palestinian national identity-building process. In its quest to build Palestinian national consciousness, the Palestinian national-narrative of the events of 1948 did not rely exclusively on highlighting traumatic memories of these events, but also worked on concealing and erasing other important events from the Palestinian collective memory, which were feared as possibilities to be looked upon as a disgraceful episode in their national history. In fact, during the few years following the 1948 war, the events of the Nakba in general, and the subsequent

Palestinian exodus in particular, were viewed in a way that was completely different from the way these events are perceived now. The aura of importance and sacredness that surrounds the events of the Nakba in our time, and its consideration as a watershed in the history of Palestine, had not been given to these events until recently. Up until the late 1980s, the Palestinian Arabs looked upon the events of the Nakba as a disgrace to every single Palestinian and as a mistake that ought to be rectified in the near future. Diana Allan makes this point in her article 'The

Politics of Witness: Remembering and Forgetting 1948 in Shatila' Camp” and asserts that

“During the early years in exile, the term 'the Nakba' had not cohered as a national symbol and

the 1948 war was more often viewed as a moment of weakness and humiliation that needed to be

exercised than as an event to be actively commemorated” (Allan 253).

The Palestinian elite didn't stop at this point in its attempt to rebuild the Palestinian

collective memory of the Nakba in order to create a distinct Palestinian identity. It took the act

of forgetting even further by trying to conceal one of the most important episodes of the Israeli-

Palestinian conflict. This event epitomizes in exorcising the memory of Palestinians' selling their

homes and lands to Jewish immigrants at the turn of the twentieth century from the Palestinian

collective memory and portraying it as mere individual practices by a very limited number of

Palestinians. Avraham Sela and Alon Kadish affirm this aspect in their discussion of the role of

Palestinian historians in the Palestinian-Israeli narratives' struggle about the Nakba by saying that Palestinian historians were apologists in documenting the history of these events. They cited the pivotal role of these Palestinian historians in concealing and denying this memory and blaming the Israeli occupier in their displacement from Palestine (Sela and Kadish 10). It's worth pointing out here that some historical accounts assert that many Palestinian Arabs at the height of the Jewish migration wave to Palestine, especially those Palestinians who were living in major Palestinian cities like Jerusalem, Jaffa, and Lod, did engage in a mass-selling of their lands and houses under the pressure of high prices paid by European Jewish immigrants in exchange for these estates. Dawoud El-Alami and Dan Cohn-Sherbok estimate in their work on the history of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict that the lands sold by Arab-Palestinians from 1917

to 1947 to Jewish immigrants amount to approximately five hundred thousand dunums11,

equivalent to 18% of the area of historic Palestine (El-Alami and Cohn-Sherbok 10).

11 The dunum is a unit of area measurement that is commonly used in countries such as Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine. Equivalency varies between 900 m2 and 1000 m2 but is most commonly 919 m2 (0.23-acre, 0.919 ha)

However, the Palestinian national narrative refutes this claim altogether and stresses that the charge of Palestinians selling their land to Jews before 1948 and even before 1917 is nothing more than political propaganda promoted by the Zionist movement and the British government to undermine Arab support to the Palestinians in their struggle against the Zionist colonizer. The

Palestinian narrative also confirms that only a negligible percentage of Palestinians sold their lands to Jewish immigrants, while the majority of Palestinians stuck to their lands until they were forcibly displaced by the Israeli occupation forces. The Palestinian historian, Omar Yousef, tackles this aspect in his book and argues that “very few feudal lords sold the lands they had acquired from the Ottoman Empire to the Jews, so did some traitors. However, this was very uncommon. The generalization was no mix-up but a well-circulated strategy, as it justifies occupation of the holy land with the claim its own people let go and sold their lands” (Yousef

31).

This systematic act of forgetting extends to another aspect of the Palestinian memory of the Nakba. This aspect lies in modifying the testimonies of the so-called Nakba generation during the process of its documentation. Many of the testimonies and memories of this group of

Palestinians have undergone cosmetic modifications by Palestinian historians with the aim of concealing or sometimes erasing certain facts from the collective Palestinian memory of these events. Ted Swedenburg, for example, states in the introduction to his article on Palestinian ethnography that the popular memory of the Palestinian lower class about the 1936 revolt has been hidden by authoritative nationalist historiography, which prevents us from the advantage of viewing these events from the perspective of this class, and confining it to view of the elitist class. Swedenburg goes on to argue that uncovering the popular memory of these events “might serve as a kind of corrective to the official Palestinian nationalist representation that tends to

project a unified picture of the revolt and gloss over the important contribution of the popular classes” (Swedenburg 70-71). Moshe Shokied writes in his commentary on the process of documenting the Palestinian testimonies of the Palestinian Arab Revolution in 1930, that

Palestinian ethnographers were fully aware of their rebuilding of Palestinian memories of these events, and added that their justification for such a thing stemmed from the political and social conditioning that they had undergone and from their commitment to the Palestinian cause

(Shokied 284).

Palestinian literary writing, both at home and in the diaspora, used the method of forgetting and remembering in its representation of Palestinian memories of the Nakba. In many

Palestinian literary works, especially those dealing with the Nakba tragedy, Palestinian writers didn't seek only to introduce literary texts that reflect the Palestinian national narrative of the

1948 war, but also texts that mine the Palestinian memory and delve deep into its labyrinth in order to bring to the fore historical events that would reflect the painful and human aspect of the

Palestinian experience. On the one hand, Palestinian writers were keen to highlight the massacres and violence perpetrated against Palestinians during the events of this war, as well as to draw attention to the sites where these bloody events occurred. On the other hand, they were also interested in portraying the feelings of fear and panic that engulfed Palestinian villagers as a result of the terrorist acts and massacres carried out by Zionist organizations during this war.

Therefore, the employment of this method can easily be spotted in the literary works of many

Palestinian authors, most notably in the works of Emile Habiby, Ghassan Kanafani, Jabra

Ibrahim Jabra and Susan Abulhawa. For example, in his novella, Returning to Haifa (1970), the famous Palestinian novelist, Ghassan Kanafani, takes his readers on a horror journey to the city of Haifa on the eve of its invasion by the Zionist paramilitary groups in 1948, where he vividly

depicts the moments of terror experienced by the people of this city during the war. Through the eyes of the work's protagonist, Said, the author Kanafani conveys to the reader the scenes of killing, rape, and torture that the people of the city of Haifa suffered during these events. Ian

Campbell commented in an article on Kanafani and his depiction of horror scenes, noting that

Kanafani in this work gave the reader a number of horror scenes that amount in content and depiction to resemble those scenes of horror experienced by Jews during the Holocaust in Nazi

Germany (Campbell 72). Through such depiction of what happened to the city of Haifa and its people during these events, Kanafani recovers the story of the Palestinian people and reclaims their right to speak it, which is considered another shape of resistance against the colonizer

(Sperlinger 112).

In the work under discussion, Shaw Dallal follows the footsteps of his fellow Palestinian writers in employing the act of remembering and forgetting to shape Palestinian national consciousness in the aftermath of the Nakba. Like many of his counterparts of Palestinian writers, Shaw in this novel brings to the fore memories of suffering and injustice that befell the

Palestinian people during the 1948 war. He employs scenes of Palestinian suffering such as battles, massacres, and bloodshed in this novel in order to reconstruct Palestinian collective memory of the Nakba events, and makes it more traumatizing to those Palestinians who didn't experience these events firsthand. Shaw in this novel, for instance, evokes the memory of the

Deir Yassin massacre and its role in displacing thousands of Palestinians from their homeland.

Not only this, but he goes on to sketch a vivid picture of the scenes of horror experienced by the

Palestinians during this massacre, starting from the killing of men and children and ending with scenes of the rape of young girls and the cutting open of bellies of pregnant women. This evoking of the memory of this event, in particular, is not exceptional or unusual but lies at the

heart of a long Palestinian tradition of highlighting horrific events that took place during the

1948 war in order to sustain the memory of this event in the Palestinian collective memory.

When looking closely at Palestinian literature, one would be surprised by the fact that the memory of this massacre is present in many Palestinian literary works. The reason behind this intensive evocation of the memory of Deir Yassin lies in the fact that many Palestinians regard this massacre as the prime spark that ignited their long journey with suffering and displacement.

In fact, despite the fierce debate about the historical authenticity of these events and the accuracy of what really happened in this massacre, a large segment of the Palestinian people place blame on the "wave of horror" that resulted from the news of this massacre in forcing thousands of

Palestinians to flee their cities and villages in the early days of the war. William Hanna estimates that news of this massacre was a major cause of the flight of approximately 750,000

Palestinians from their homes, many of which were then either destroyed or unceremoniously taken over and occupied by Jewish emigrants (Hanna 126).

An interesting aspect of Dallal's use of the memory of the Deir Yassin massacre is that it seems to serve other purposes than just highlighting the suffering side of this event. When looking at the employment of the memory of this event and its relationship to the novel's main character, it can be clearly seen that there is no direct correlation between Thafer and this event in particular. Neither Thafer nor any of its family members were affected directly by this massacre. The apparent impact of this incident on Thafer and his family is limited to the state of horror caused by the news of this massacre and having to flee their village out of fear for their safety. Nevertheless, Shaw, through the voice of the novel, surprises the reader by providing a detailed description of the scenes of murder and rape that occurred during this massacre. Right after the scene in which Thafer recalls the scene of his parents' deliberating the idea of fleeing

their village as the news of the massacre reached them, the voice of the narrative delves into a prolonged description of the horrors of the massacre. The passage reads as follows:

Let's take Salwa and Thafer to Tulkarm. I can't let them die.

We'll come back. If you go, we all go, but I don't want to leave. I won't go Father, his

brother Rassem said. I'll guard our house. No, we all stay here together or leave together.

The unarmed inhabitants of the village of Deir Yassin, their hands tied behind their backs

and their eyes blindfolded, were driven from their homes by armed Jews. They were lined

up and executed. Pregnant women's stomachs were stabbed and cut open. Children were

slashed. Screams, the explosions of grenades, and smell of gunpowder and smoke filled

the air of the defenseless village on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Fleeing men were shot,

pleading women were raped, and helpless children were stabbed. The village then was

looted and turned upside down. The bodies of victims-old men, women, and children-

8were carried out to the rock quarry of the village, laid out on stones, doused with

gasoline, and set ablaze. The odor of the burning corpses lingered over the village's

almond trees in full bloom and filled the air of Deir Yassin on that clear spring day of

April 9, 1948. (13)

Dallal's evocation of the memory of Deir Yassin seems to feed into promoting Palestinian national identity and consciousness. Such depictions of the events of the Nakba can be seen as part of the process of explaining the national trauma suffered by the Palestinians. Often, social groups, especially those undergoing catastrophic experiences, do not seek avoidance of evoking memories of traumatic events or its repression. On the contrary, memories of such events are usually socially channeled by these groups to serve specific corrective purposes, at the top of which is, developing national consciousness, as is the case in these groups. Ron Eyerman asserts

that “cultural trauma must be understood, explained, and made coherent through public reflection

and discourse” (Eyerman 2). Shaw's evocation or let's say “explanation” of these traumatic

memories evokes a sense of pain among Palestinians who have not lived through these events,

similar to that feeling of pain and fear experienced by the Nakba generation during these events.

It should be noted here also that there is no direct reference in Dallal's novel to those

Palestinian memories of violence initiated by Palestinian Arabs against Jewish immigrants in

Palestine. Most of the memories of violence in this work seem to indicate that the violence that broke out during that time period was mostly been initiated and carried out by Zionist troops or

British mandate forces, and not the Palestinians. At the same time, memories of Palestinian-

Arabs' violence against the Jewish community have been portrayed exclusively in the framework of self-defense or from the perspective of victimhood. Obviously, this way of remembering Deir

Yassin and the events of the Nakba, in general, seems to be aimed at reconstructing these events in a way that creates a very specific image about these events in the Palestinian collective memory.

But, what makes us make this claim? And why do we think that these events were portrayed in this way in order to achieve certain goals? The reason behind this claim boils down to two points. On one hand, portraying the Palestinian-Arabs as harmless and peace-loving

people doesn't reflect the reality of the situation on the ground or the historical sequence of these

events. The historical trajectory of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and the events leading up to the

1948 war reflects that both parties of the conflict were involved in acts of violence, not only

against each other but also against the British government of mandate Palestine. The American

historian, Matthew Hogan, emphasizes this aspect in an article on the massacre of Deir Yassin, pointing out that the mandate period is characterized by intramural violence among Britons,

Arabs and Jews leading to the downfall of thousands of victims among warring parties. Hogan goes on to add that “the 1929 Arab-Jewish clash included deadly Arab attacks on the Jewish community climaxing in the massacre of dozens of non-Zionist Jews in Hebron” (Hogan 2).

In fact, some historical sources suggest that subsequent to Balfour’s pledge to establish a

Jewish national home in Palestine in 1917, the Palestinians launched a campaign to expel the

Jews from Palestine, and to liberate their homeland from British colonialism. The three-year campaign, which later has come to be known among the Palestinians as the 1936 revolt, resulted in the death of about 400 Jews and 200 British soldiers, with approximately 5000 and deaths and

10000 wounded among the Palestinians (Tucker 181). The other point is that portraying the

Palestinians in this way is an extension of the narrative of the victim that the Palestinians followed in the wake of the Nakba. Many sources indicate that the Palestinians in the aftermath of the Nakba and before the emergence of the Palestinian Liberation Movement specifically sought through this narrative to stir sympathy and to appeal to the Arab world for the liberation of their homeland.

Finally, Thafer's memories of violence between Palestinians and Israelis or British during the mandate period portray Palestinian violence as a mere response to counter-violence. In the same memory that discusses the dialogue that took place between Thafer's parents in the wake of the Deir Yassin massacre, which is mentioned above, it is seen that Thafer's father tries to convince the mother to stay in their house and not to leave, arguing that the British will defend them, and would not allow the recurrence of what happened in nearby village of Deir Yassin to happen to them. Not only that, but we also note that Thafer's father describes himself as a defenseless civilian, although we know that Thafer mentions in a previous memory that his father and his brother spent two years fighting the Israelis within the ranks of the Mujahideen.

Thafer's memory goes as following:

We should all move to Tukarm, his mother screamed. Let’s find out what happened, his

father said, trying to calm her. Jewish armored cars drove by their home, announcing with

loud speakers that all Palestinians who didn't leave would face a fate similar to that of the

inhabitants of Deir Yassin. I don’t think we should leave, his father pointing out that there

was the British police station around the corner. They are obliged to come and defend us.

We are defenseless civilians. The British won't intervene, his mother cried. They will

look the other way. Then let's die defending our home. (12)

This deliberate erasure of acts of violence against the Israeli civilian community from the

Palestinian collective memory, as mentioned above, is an integral part of the process of building

Palestinian national identity. Dalla's portrayal of Palestinian Arabs as peaceful people, who use violence only to defend themselves and their homeland against the Jewish occupiers, feeds into the Palestinian master-narrative of victimhood and injustice. In addition, this memory seems to be an attempt to highlight the idea of the Palestinian right to armed struggle against the usurping colonizer of their Palestinian homeland. This kind of depiction of Palestinian violence against both Israeli civilians and soldiers appears to demonize the other, making the Palestinian public more receptive to the idea of defending their homeland with armed struggle.

1.4 Idealizing Memories of the Palestinian Past

The idealization and romanticization of the Palestinian past in the Palestinian collective

imagination are considered among the ways through which the Palestinian elite has sought to

forge an independent Palestinian national identity following the Nakba. As is known, the events

of the Nakba and the subsequent Palestinian exodus have created a rift in the relationship

between the Palestinian individual and his homeland (especially over time), and with the

international community’s failure to find a solution that will enable Palestinian refugees to return to their homeland. As a result, many of these Palestinians, who ended up as refugees in the scattered refugee camps in many Arab countries, have lost the most important element in shaping the regional and historical dimension of their identity, namely the geographical and spatial element of their identity.

As is well known, the geographical dimension plays an important role in building identity and national belonging. Many socio-political sources assert the importance of this dimension in social group cohesion and hold that no national identity can be created in the modern sense of any social group without a geographical area (real or imagined) that serves as the center of belonging to that group. In her commentary on this aspect, Eve Darian-Smith writes, pointing out that “all modern nation-state building is grounded in the idea that particular people are necessarily tied to and defined by a specific geopolitical space” (Darian-Smith 71).

This close association, she explains, facilitates not only the process of defining and managing populations, but also helps in building community cohesion and interdependence. In fact, belonging to a specific geographic area is one of the most important factors that unite the internal differences that may arise within social groups as a result of the existence of more than one religion, language or race in these groups. Not all social groups share the same internal components and share the same ideas and trends. Some social groups are characterized by their multiplicity and its individuals' ideological, linguistic, and even social diversity. Thus, geographical affiliation is considered one of the unifying alternatives that cement diverse social groups together.

This connection between geography and belonging is also present in the concept of diaspora and in the relationship of exiles to their motherland. In his book, Global Diaspora,

Robin Cohen reminds us that retaining a collective memory, vision or myth about the homeland, including its location, history, and achievements, is among the most distinctive characteristics of diaspora groups from other migratory groups (Cohen 6). The Jewish diaspora around the world, for example, has managed over the years to preserve the idea of the existence of a Jewish homeland in Jerusalem and the inevitability of returning to it at the end of time. Jewish mythology considers Jerusalem to be the national home of the Jews, from whom they had been expelled at the hands of the Babylonian leader Nebuchadnezzar in 597 BCE. Therefore, the issue of building national identity cannot be discussed without mentioning the spatial dimension and its role in this process.

In light of the dilemma of the inability of Palestinian refugees to return to their homeland, the Palestinian elite considered adopting alternative means to compensate for the absence of the spatial dimension from the process of building the Palestinian national identity. Idealizing the

Palestinian past, and romanticizing the pre-1948 era, were the alternatives that the Palestinians thought was capable of replacing this element. Ihab Saloul confirms this point and points out that the Palestinian idealization of their homeland and their articulation of its loss as a loss of paradise was one of the ways to enhance the Palestinian belonging to the motherland. Saloul writes that the Palestinian “articulation of the lost homeland as a lost paradise.... signifies a nostalgia for a relatively distant past...... and such nostalgia informs the Palestinians’ experience as well as their cultural memory of loss through which their identification with the lost homeland is constructed” (Saloul 15). Maintaining an idealized image about the Palestinian homeland in the imagination of the Palestinian people not only has the ability to keep the Palestinian diaspora connected to its motherland, but also capable of infusing this feeling in the Palestinian generations that grew up in the diaspora. It should be noted that this idealization and glorification

of the Palestinian past compared to the Palestinian present under the Israeli occupation took many forms and was not limited to only one aspect of Palestinian life. Dina Matar, for instance, refers to folk tales as one of the ways through which the Palestinian elite has sought to rebuild the Palestinian past and give it an aura of idealism. Matar writes “[I]ndeed, over the years,

Palestinian folk culture, conveyed by songs, ballads, poetry, film and narrative, have formed around three motifs: praise and memory of the lost paradise from which Palestinians were expelled, lamentation of the present and depiction of the imagined return. These have become the foundations for some of the most durable collective memories that have shaped Palestinian popular and nationalist discourse for more than six decades” (Dina Matar 25). Yet, the question that should be asked here is how this idealization of the Palestinian past helps in reinforcing

Palestinians' belonging to their homeland.

The idealization and romanticization of the past take its importance from the fact that this process is considered an inseparable part of the process of myth-making, which many sociologists look upon to be one of the most important tools of building and reconstructing groups' national identity in modern times. Every society in this vast world depends on a set of founding myths. These myths form the basis of these societies, not only in defining themselves and their relationship with other nations and social groups, but also in their continuity. The

British sociologist, Anthony Smith, likens these myths to “a repository or quarry from which materials may be selected in the construction and invention of nations” (Smith 37). In fact, nations themselves are myths. Nations, after all, are only a certain set of characteristics that unite diverse groups of human beings. Culture, language, religion, belief in common origin or race can be societal unifying elements. Mary Fulbrook in her essay, “Myth-Making and National Identity” argues that there is no such 'real entity' as a nation: only a social reality in the Durkheimian

sense, when enough people are prepared to believe in the salience of a certain set of characteristics which might include language, culture, religion, believe in common descent or ethnicity” (Fulbrook 72). National myths at their basic level are only stories and narratives about a communal past of a particular group. The true value and importance of these stories emanate from the symbolic power that these narratives possess in mobilizing and bringing together social groups around specific ideas and beliefs that enhance the social cohesion of a given group and not necessarily from the authenticity and the extent to which these stories are true or not. So, how does the process of mythmaking take place? And why is this process very important to national identity building?

During the process of nation-state building, especially in the wake of catastrophic events such as wars, massacres, and the like, the myth-making process provides important explanations about the reasons that led such a catastrophe to happen and who stand behind its occurrence. The pinpointing process aims at mobilizing social groups to take reactionary action against that disruptive social change and to prevent its recurrence. David Brown, for instance, notes that during this process the social changes (the catastrophic event) will be treated as a disruption in the equilibrium of that social group, and in order for this social group to regain its equilibrium it should return to its original state. Brown adds also that during this process the nation or the social group that has been identified as a cause or the perpetrator of the social disruption will be demonized, whereas the group that has been identified as victim will be looked upon as a pure and a just nation (Brown 22). This division, of “us vs. them,” involved in the myth-making process plays a key role in the national identity industry process. Anthony Smith explains the importance of resorting to this dichotomy of “Us vs. “Them” during the process of myth-making lies in the fact that dichotomy creates cohesion among the members of a given social group.

Smith writes:

It is to this state that we must return, if we are to partake of the collective re-birth. By

returning to ‘basics’, by purifying ourselves of the dross of an uninspiring and ambiguous

present through a return to the glorious past and its heroism, we can shed our mediocrity

and enter upon the ‘true’ destiny of our community. Identification with an idealized past

helps us to transcend a disfigured and unworthy present, and endow our individual lives

with a wider significance in a union that will outlive death and dispel futility. (Smith 182)

Therefore, this idealization of the past can be considered as one of the most important stages of building a national identity, especially in the absence of an independent nation-state that can undertake this role. It helps overcome the mistakes of the present by connecting society to the past and its ideal image, built in the collective imagination of that group.

Today, when looking into the Palestinian individual and collective memory and its perception of the pre-1948 period, one would be surprised by the extent to which the image of

Palestine, its cities, villages, and even its agrarian life have been idealized in contrast with the

Palestinian present life under the Israeli occupation. In many of these memories, Palestinian nature and traditional life have been portrayed in an unrealistic way, as well as in a fiction-like manner. The Palestinian nature in most of the pre-1948 memories is rich and fertile and its inhabitants are characterized by their love for it and their hard work to its preservation. In her article on memories of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon Rosemary Sayigh comments on this exaggerated depiction of Palestinian life, especially by Palestinian refugees, and points out that refugees described their expulsion from their homeland in their memories as if they were expelled from paradise. Sayigh sees that portraying the Palestinian past in this way was a common trait among Palestinian refugees in Lebanon when describing the Palestinian homeland

(Sayigh 63). It is very rare these days to find among the Palestinian refugees a description of

Palestine in a way that does not reflect the richness of Palestinian nature or in a way that does not contain such ideal images of the Palestinian past.

Although some critics see that this idealistic portrayal of the Palestinian past is primarily nostalgic and stems from the experience of displacement undergone by Palestinians during the

1948 war, other critics argue that this idealized depiction that encapsulates memories of the

Palestinian past is an inevitable consequence of the way in which Palestinian history has been documented, and the Nakba in particular. For some critics, this idealism of the Palestinian past is termed deliberate and is said to result from Palestinian historians' reliance on a unilateral perspective in documenting the Palestinian past. Rochelle Davis writes, for example, in her commentary on the process of documenting the history of some Palestinian villages after the

Nakba, that the Palestinian historians’ reliance on documenting the history of these Palestinian villages from the male perspective has resulted in an idealized image of the Palestinian past.

Davis argues that this “gendered division of sources of information resulted in specific ways of portraying history. Particularly evident is the authors' reliance on men for the majority of what they write about the village, which results in stories and portrayals of the village that are inflected by males’ perspectives and socially dominated expectations of men. Thus, the portrayal of certain subjects in these local histories often reflects the idealized image of the village that privileges men's roles.

It should be noted here that this idealization surrounding the memories of the Palestinian past varies from one category to another among Palestinians. Memories of the Palestinian past among Palestinians living in Israel are not characterized by the same degree of idealization in comparison to the memories of the Palestinians in the refugee camps and diaspora. Although the

memories of the Palestinian minority who remained in Palestine after the 1948 war reflect some extent of an idealized image of the pre-1948 life, mythologizing the Palestinian past and remembering Palestine as a lost Paradise originated and flourished primarily at the refugee camps. The subhuman condition that the Palestinians lived in at the refugee camps and the mistreatment that they have received at the hands of their fellow Arabs made these refugees mythologize the life they used to lead in Palestine more than the Palestinians who remained in

Palestine. The suffering they experienced outside Palestine made these Palestinians look at their homeland as a lost paradise (Peled-Elhanan). Turki Fawaz touches upon the subject of

Palestinians' ill-treatment from their fellow Arabs and its effect on their sense of belonging to

Palestine in his book, Exile's Return, pointing out that Palestinian refugees felt unwelcome in many of the Arab countries they moved to, making them yearn to go back to their homeland and reinforced their sense of belonging to Palestine (Fawaz 55).

The Palestinian ill-treatment during and after the 1948 war was not limited to the neighboring Arab countries in which the Palestinians sought refuge during the 1948 events, but also extended to their treatment among themselves. Some historical sources indicate that residents of some Palestinian cities that were not under the Israeli control refused to receive those Palestinians who fled their towns and villages fearing for their own safety. Avi Plascov, for example, in his book on Palestinian refugees, points out that during the 1948 war Palestinian inhabitants of the West Bank, which was part of the territory of Transjordan, took a dismissive attitude against Palestinian refugees. Plascov writes “The peasants and especially the bedouin, were far more reserved in their attitude towards them (Palestinian refugees). They could benefit from the experience and knowledge of the refugees but no longer wanted their presence once

they had learned all they needed...... They were also envious because UNRWA12 employed only

Palestinian refugees” (Plascov 47).

This idealization of the Palestinian past is reflected in Palestinian literature. Many of these idealized memories, especially those that depict Palestine as a Paradise Lost leaked into

Palestinian literary writing. The famous Palestinian poet, Mahmud Salim Alhut, uses this trope in one of his poems on Palestine. The poem reads:

O lost Paradise! for us you were never

too small,

But now vast countries have become too small for us.

Woe unto your people who were torn asunder,

wandering under every star! (Sulaiman 120)

This trope appears in Palestinian literary writing in the diaspora. In examining closely the way in which Shaw Dallal portrays Palestinian life in the years leading up to the 1948 war, and the transformations that occurred in it as a result of this war, Dallal's use of the method of idealizing the Palestinian past in several places in this novel is certainly evident, especially in the main character's memories about this time period. In many of Thafer's pre-exilic memories, especially those that do not focus on the scenes of destruction and displacement that took place during that war, Palestinian life has been portrayed in a manner that is overshadowed by exaggeration in terms of the fertility of Palestinian normal life and the quality of life that

Palestinians lived at the time. Thafer remembers the pre-war period as a period that was characterized by its serenity and tranquility, where Palestinians coexist in peace and harmony,

12 UNRWA is an acronym for The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East. It was founded in December 1949 for the purpose of providing relief and help for Palestinians who fled their homeland subsequent to the 1948 war.

not only with people of other ethnicities and religions but also with nature.

At the beginning of the novel, Thafer, for instance, takes the reader through one of his memories of the Palestinian past, to his family's orange grove in Jerusalem, where he and his family lived before moving to Tulkarm due to the war. In this recollection, Thafer paints a vivid and dreamy picture of Palestinian life in the pre-war period, where the gentle hills embrace the orange groves, and where the smell of jasmine permeates the rural alleyways of his old city. The voice of the novel retells Thafer's recollection of his family's orange grove as follows:

He remembers his family's orange grove and the gentle hills of his native country, the

stone terraces that circle hillsides, the twisted trunks of the olive trees, the high steeples

and colorful minarets, the sweet scent of jasmine, and the houses made of hand-hewn

stone. (40)

Not only that, the beauty of Palestinian life before the 1948 war is not limited to the rural side; Dallal portrays Palestinian civilian life as having its own beauty during this period as well.

This beauty is embodied in its organization and in its inhabitants' political awareness that was antecedent to the inhabitants of other Arab neighboring regions. However, Thafer remembers that the Israeli invasion of Palestine destroyed this beautiful aspect of Palestinian life and caused chaos in all aspects of Palestinian life. Thafer's memory reads:

Thafer remembers how the Palestinian urban disintegration was planned and

implemented by Israelis under the leadership of David Ben Gurion. On January 15, 1948,

six months before the Arab armies entered Palestine to rescue the Palestinians from the

Jewish Haganah, Ben Gurion wrote in his War Diaries that the strategic objective of the

Jewish forces was to destroy Palestinian urban communities, which he described as being

the most organized and politically conscious segment of the Palestinian population. (42)

This idealized portrayal of the Palestinian life and landscape cannot be perceived in

isolation from the general Palestinian context that attempts to formulate a master Palestinian

narrative of the events of Nakba or from the context of creating a distinct Palestinian national

identity. Rochelle David endorses this point in his commentary on the idealized depiction of the

Palestinian life and space in the Palestinian memorial books, which proliferated and became

popular among Palestinian writers in the post-Nakba period, pointing out that the Palestinian

idealization of their past in Palestine, especially the pre-1948 period, is considered an integral

part of the process of creating a Palestinian national identity (David 54). Ihab Saloul agrees with

David's take on the influence of idealization on developing Palestinian identity in exile and goes

on to argue that this nostalgic idealization of the Palestinian homeland allows Palestinians in

exile to celebrate their cultural difference and to embrace their Palestinian cultural identity

(Saloul 59-60). In addition, such an idealized depiction of the Palestinian past plays an

important political role, embodied in enhancing the Palestinian diaspora's sense of belonging to

their homeland. Establishing the image of Palestine as a lost paradise in the Palestinian collective

imagination mobilizes the desire of this social group towards returning to their homeland and

towards keeping this desire active in the imagination of future Palestinian generations.

Another interesting aspect of Thafer's memories lies in the difference in the extent of

glorification of the Palestinian past before and after the war. Most of his memories about the

Palestinian life in the post-war period lack the idealistic depiction that overshadowed most of his

pre-war memories. Thafer’s memories of the post-1948 period depict this period as a period in which Palestinian life was characterized by chaos and destruction as a result of the Israeli war against the Palestinians. This aspect of the difference can be seen clearly in Thafer's memories of his family's orange grove in the period before and after the 1948 war. Unlike what we have seen

in his memory about his family's orange grove in the pre-war period, Thafer's memory of the

same orange grove in the post-war period depicts it in a less idyllic picture. In this memory,

Thafer recollects the night on which he and his cousin infiltrated his family's orange grove in

Jerusalem. He recalls his surprise and sorrow for what happened to their garden as a result of the

Israeli occupation of their village, which has turned their beautiful orange grove overnight into a

desolate and sad place. Thafer recalls what happened to that orange grove as a result of Israeli

occupation of his beloved village thusly:

It was deserted – no animals, no chickens, and no sign of habitation. Some of the trees

were damaged. The door to the big barn was wide open, and no equipment had been left

in it. The door to the farmhouse was broken. Most of the furniture had been removed and

what remained was damaged. The house appeared to have been ransacked. (81)

When contrasting Thafer's memories about his family's pre-1948 orchard with the

postwar period, we can clearly see that Thafer's memories have been reconstructed in a way that

demonizes the Israeli occupation of Palestine and idealizes Palestinian life before the

establishment of the state of Israel. Such a reconstruction of Palestinian memories of life in the

pre- and post-war period, as mentioned earlier, is of crucial importance to the process of

Palestinian national identity construction. It establishes what sociologists call the dichotomy of

'us' versus 'them'; 'us', the good versus, 'them' the bad, who want to bring destruction to a perfect

and moral society. The Turkish sociologist, Vamik Volkan, discusses the importance of utilizing

the dichotomy of “us versus them” in the process of identity formation and suggests that creating

such a distinction helps in the process of de-valuating the out-group and assists in consolidating intergroup identity. He also suggests that utilizing memories of the past particularly is of great importance in creating such dichotomy. Volkan terms this process the “chosen glories”, which

denotes recollection of shared mental images of past events or heroes in whom a social group

takes pride and pleasure for the purpose of creating a shared identity to that group (Volkan 167).

Through this juxtaposition of Palestinian life in pre and post-1948 war, Dallal is basically

attempting to make Palestinians take pride in their Palestinian past in order to strengthen their

belongingness and build their national identity. Had the Palestinian past been portrayed in these

memories in an un-idealized manner, perhaps it would not have led to the same outcomes and

feelings aroused by that mythical image of Palestine; and perhaps this displaced Palestinian

group would have lost its Palestinian national identity and its belonging to the Palestinian

homeland altogether.

Conclusion

At the end of this chapter, it can be said that American-Palestinian writing has largely used the same techniques and methods as their Palestinian counterparts in other areas of the

Palestinian diaspora in building Palestinian national identity. These writers, like other Palestinian writers, have transformed the Nakba and the events that followed to a point of reference and to a founding-myth in the collective Palestinian memory. Their main objective was to find an element through which to create a unified national identity for the purpose of bringing together

Palestinian diaspora and to maintain its interdependence in the hope of one day returning home.

The absence of a Palestinian nation-state fosters the building and development of the national consciousness of Palestinians, and these writers were an integral part of the so-called carrier group that worked to build the Palestinian national identity. They harnessed Palestinian collective memory in order to turn the events of 1948 into a traumatic event for all members of the Palestinian people in order to find a common factor and a shared history that would help in building the identity of this social group. Through reconstructing the Nakba events in the

Palestinian collective memory, these writers succeeded not only in determining the causes and perpetrators of these events against them but also in making meaning of themselves and in giving

Palestinian people a sense of continuity over time and space.

Palestinian-American writers, as demonstrated in this chapter, have used several methods to reconstruct the Nakba in the collective Palestinian memory. Some of these methods focused on the performative aspect of identity building, such as building identity through celebrating national and memorial days, and others were concerned more with the psychological and mental aspects of identity building, such as strengthening national consciousness through national speeches and generating national symbols. But this chapter focused mainly on expressive methods that have been utilized by diasporic Palestinian writers in building Palestinian national identity. At the forefront of these methods are: remembering and forgetting, idealizing the

Palestinian past, and reconciling the collective and individual memory of this event.

This chapter attempted to highlight the use of these methods in Palestinian-American writing through a close reading of a novel – Shaw Dallal’s novel, Scattered like Seeds, in which he presents a detailed account of the experience of expulsion and displacement that thousands of

Palestinians experienced during the Nakba through the eyes of the protagonist, Thafer. In this novel, Dallal used the aforementioned methods in reconstructing the events of the Nakba in the

Palestinian collective memory. Through the memories of the main character in the novel, Dallal succeeded not only in portraying the horror these events inflicted on the Nakba generation, but also in conveying their impact on the future generations of Palestinians. This horrific depiction of the Nakba has been, and remains, one of the most important factors in building the Palestinian identity, because it simply leads those Palestinian individuals who have not experienced the

Nakba experience to feel a personal responsibility and connection towards these events and to

feel the impact of those events as if they experienced it directly. Subsequently, this resulting sense of direct responsibility leads to increased engagement of these individuals with the motherland and enhances their national feeling.

CHAPTER 2

NARRATIVE OF RETURN AND PALESTINIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY

CONSTRUCTION IN SUSAN ABULHAWA’S MORNINGS IN JENIN

“-Where are you taking me, father? -Where the wind takes us, my son… …As the two were leaving the plain where Bonaparte’s soldiers survived The shadows on the old wall of Acre- a father said to his son: Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of the drone of the bullets! Stay close to the ground and will survive! We’ll survive and climb a mountain in the north and return when the soldiers return to their distant families” — Mahmoud Darwish, “The Eternity of Cactus”

This chapter includes an examination of representations of the relationship between the continuity of Palestinian national identity in the diaspora and the narrative of right of return in

Palestinian American writing. The focus is on the nostalgic rhetoric embodied in this narrative, and the ways in which it contributes to maintaining the Palestinian diaspora’s relationship with their motherland and the continuation of their national affiliation to Palestine. This chapter is divided into two parts: the first deals with the ways in which nostalgic rhetoric can be an important vehicle for national identity continuity, and the second sheds light on its representations in Palestinian American writing.

This chapter poses questions such as, “To what extent does Palestinian American writing highlight the narrative of the ‘right of return’?,” “What are the similarities and differences between Palestinian American writers and other diasporic Palestinian writers with regards to the representation of this narrative in light of the strong America-Israel relationship?,” and, “What

are the implications of this relationship on Palestinian Americans' desire to return and their

Palestinian national identity?” In addition, this chapter argues that the “right of return” narrative has played a major role in the continuity of Palestinian national identity over the past seventy years, in particular, for those Palestinians who became refugees after the events of 1948. The nostalgic rhetoric embedded in this narrative has played a pivotal role in enabling the Palestinian individual in the diaspora to preserve national affiliation, enhance the Palestinian national identity, as well as prevent its disintegration and fading into the identity of the host communities.

Indeed, without the narrative of the right of return, the fate of the nascent Palestinian identity could have been disintegration and dissolution under the weight of displacement and fragmentation that these people have suffered since the aftermath of the 1948 war. The right of return has played an effective role in urging displaced Palestinians to stick to the hope of returning to their home and establishing an independent Palestinian state on its soil. Therefore, this chapter aims at highlighting this pivotal role of the narrative of right of return and the ways in which it has functioned as a social and discursive incubator for Palestinian national identity and its transference from one Palestinian generation to another.

The textual analysis of the literary work chosen for this chapter draws heavily on the work of Fred Davis and his theorization on the relationship between positive nostalgia and the continuity of identity. It focuses on tracing a number of concepts that resurface in the Palestinian narrative of return, such as keeping mementos and retelling stories, and reads this concept as responsible for the continuity of the Palestinian national identity among the diaspora. In addition, and contrary to traditional perceptions of nostalgia, which associate this concept with negative consequences on individual and collective identity, this chapter reads the nostalgia inherent in the Palestinian narrative of return as having a positive impact on building and preserving

Palestinian national identity. This unorthodox reading of nostalgia and its effect on the relationship of the migrant individual with his homeland is based on several factors that lead to the conclusion that the nostalgia has instead had a positive impact on the continuity of the

Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. On the one hand, the nostalgia keeps the Palestinian immigrant individual in a state of constant anxiety, consequently prompting him to establish barriers between the culture and identity of the host community and himself. On the other hand, the nostalgic feelings evoked by the narrative of right of return have a transcendental impact, which is not just limited to those Palestinians who experienced the horrors of the Nakba firsthand. Furthermore, this narrative can affect Post-Nakba Palestinian generations’ desire for return to the homeland, a place in which they have never lived. Therefore, the narrative of right of return was and has been an important tool in the preservation and continuation of Palestinian national identity in the years following the Nakba.

To substantiate this claim, this chapter traces representations of the work of nostalgia and its impact on continuity of Palestinian national identity in Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin, which is one of the most prominent Palestinian-American novels written in the past twenty years.

The multigenerational desire regarding homecoming and the strong affiliation with the

Palestinian homeland that several characters exhibit in this work compel investigation into the unseen dimensions of the narrative of return and its correlation with continuity of national identity. Moreover, this Palestinian multigenerational desire is among the main reasons for choosing this novel as a prime example of the relationship between narrative of return and

Palestinian identity, despite the existence of many other Palestinian-American literary works that address the narrative of right or return.

Although there are many aspects that deal with the role of nostalgia in Mornings in

Jenin, this chapter focuses primarily on the role of nostalgia inherent in the narrative of right of return in (A) creating a Palestinian appreciative stance toward former selves; (B) establishing a benchmark for Palestinian national identity; and, (C) muting the negative aspect of Palestinian national identity. Through highlighting these aspects and connected representations in the novel, this chapter not only attempts to answer the questions posited earlier on the correlation between

Palestinian national identity and Palestinian national narrative, but also creates a perception about the position preventing Palestinian-Americans writers from returning to their original homeland and whether or not this situation conflicts with the American side of their identity.

Summary of the Novel

Susan Abulhawa’s novel, Mornings in Jenin (2010), is considered one the most important

Palestinian-American literary works that address the trauma of the Nakba and its implications on the Palestinian individual in the past two decades (Abu-Shomar 127). Beside its unique portrayal of the dilemma of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict through utilizing stories of Abulheja’s family to shed light on the dispossession of thousands of Palestinian families from their homes and villages during the 1948 war, Abulhawa's novel follows the tradition of postcolonial writing in revisiting and rewriting the history of the oppressed, offering the American reader a different perspective into the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (Hartman 118). This deeply moving narrative, which was originally published under the title The Scar of David in 2006, then republished after minor edits with its current title, presents familiar themes of Palestinian diasporic fiction writing, including the exile’s harsh and hostile life, negotiation and confusion of identity, and the painful nostalgia for the lost Palestinian homeland (Hassan 379). The latter theme particularly stands out in this novel, due to Abulhawa’s use of the method of memories and flashbacks in narrating the

events of this tale, which are considered by many scholars to be endearing place where nostalgia and wistful attachment to the past arise and flourish (Sayers 10).

The events of this multi-generational tale revolve around the suffering of exile and displacement that afflicted Palestinian people as a result of the 1948 war as well as the overwhelming desire for return that many Palestinian individuals in the diaspora have. Through portraying Abulheja family’s continuous displacement, Abulhawa takes the reader into the depths of this experience, creating unique spectacles combining fiction and historical facts from the catastrophe of 1948. The first few chapters of the novel take the reader into pre-1948 war

Palestine, specifically to the period of British Mandate control, portraying Palestinian pastoral lifestyle through vivid scenes of olive harvesting, shepherding, and many other spectacles of simple rural life. In this part, the reader is also introduced to Yehya Abulheja’s family, including his wife, and his teenage sons, Darweesh and Hassan. The latter of the two brothers, Hassan, plays a very instrumental role in the first part of the novel, due to the strong friendship he has developed with a Jewish kid in Jerusalem, named Ari Perlstein. However, Hassan’s inability to move to Jerusalem to continue his education like Ari interrupts this unusual friendship that flourished under unusual circumstances.

The novel’s voice shifts the reader’s attention to the scene of the outbreak of the 1948 war and displacement of the people of Ein Hod. In this scene, we learn that Yehya Abulheja’s new-born grandson, Ismael, is kidnapped by an Israeli soldier during a raid on Ein Hod village.

This unfortunate kidnapping incident leaves Dalia, Hassan’s wife, in a state of complete devastation and brings a cloud of sadness over the whole family of Abulheja. The saddened family settles shortly thereafter in a refugee camp in the Jenin region, where it gradually

disintegrates under the weight of poverty, mother's illness, and frequent Israeli invasions to the camp.

Several years after the family moves into the camp, we learn that only a few of its members survive the horrid fate that afflicted it. The only survivors are Amal (the protagonist and the novel's main voice) and her older brother, Yousef, who finds himself forced to flee to

Lebanon for fearing for his life. Bearing the weight of these tragic events, Amal leaves the camp and moves into an orphanage in Jerusalem, where she receives a scholarship to complete her studies in the United States. After settling into her new school in the U.S., Amal seeks earnestly to detach herself from her tragic past, taking up a new name and immersing herself into her host country's culture, including drinking and dating. For a short period of time, Amal succeeds in her attempts; but she eventually collapses under the pressure of her yearning for a return to Palestine and memories of past life in Camp.

After graduation, Amal returns to Lebanon to see her brother Yousef, who has become a member of the PLO. During her stay in Lebanon, she gets married to her brother’s friend, Majid.

However, after a short while, she becomes pregnant and, at the advice of her husband, returns to the U.S., fearing the imminent Israeli invasion of Lebanon. As a result of the invasion of Beirut,

Amal loses her husband, and her brother becomes a suicide-bomber involved in the bombing of the US. embassy in Lebanon in retaliation for the killing of his wife and daughter. After her return to the U.S., Amal gives birth to her daughter, Sara; but the pain of losing her husband and brother distract her from taking good care of her new-born baby. In addition, she gets harassed by American Homeland Security, which accuses her of hiding valuable information regarding a terrorist attack that has taken place against the US. in Lebanon. She is released after being detained for a short while, due to lack of evidence against her. Several years elapse, after which

Amal receives a call from an Israeli man, who turns out to be her other brother who was kidnapped during the 1948 war. She meets with him first in the United States, and then they return together to Israel where they trace their roots and meet with their father’s friend, Ari

Perlstein. In Israel, Amal does her best to introduce her long-lost brother, Ismael, to the scale of the suffering her family has gone through due to the Israeli occupation of her homeland. The novel closes by offering the reader two perspectives of the Palestinian/ Israeli conflict, and by providing hope that future generations will find a fair and comprehensive solution for this

Palestinian-Israeli struggle.

Before delving into the textual analysis of Susan Abulhawa’s novel and the ways in which the narrative of right of return has been represented in Palestinian-American writing, I would like to touch upon two important questions, namely: “How can nostalgia contribute to the continuity of national identity in diaspora?” and, “ What is the position of Arab-American writing on the subject of the homeland and returning to it? Does Palestinian-American writing, which is an essential part of Arab-American literature, take a similar stance on this issue? Or, does the tense political situation in the motherland cast its shadow over Palestinian-American writers' handling of this issue? Clarifying such points is crucial to creating an understanding of the position from which Palestinian-American writers proceed in their treatment of the topic of return and the homeland and how national narratives, such as the narrative of return and others, can contribute to the continuity of Palestinian national identity in the diaspora.

2.1 Nostalgia and the Continuity of National Identity

The concept of nostalgia has been historically associated with a negative dimension of human behavior (Routledge 45-46). In fact, from the very first moment of the coining of the concept by the Swiss physician, Johannes Hofer, in the late seventeenth century, a negative

connotation has dominated the use of this term, especially within the medical realm. It was believed that the state of anxiety afflicting Swiss mercenaries in European armies was a result of their movement away from their homeland and their deep desire for return. Hofer, for instance, considered in his medical dissertation that the behavior shown by these Swiss recruits was due to the lack of alpine climate and their inability to adapt to the hot weather in some parts of the

European continent (Bonnett 2-3). He described the symptoms of nostalgia as being “a continuing melancholy, incessant longing for home, disturbed sleep or insomnia, weakness, loss of appetite, anxiety, cardiac palpitation, stupor and fever” (Hemmings 7). On the bright side, nostalgia was regarded to be a curable disease akin to the common cold or influenza. In fact,

Swiss doctors at the time believed that medical leeches, opium, and a journey to the Swiss Alps were able to mitigate the symptoms afflicting the Swiss soldiers, and that within two to three weeks of seeking treatment, they would be able to return to their normal lives (Boym XIV).

In the nineteenth century, a fundamental transformation occurred with regards to the semantic meaning of the term nostalgia. Instead of denoting a curable pathological condition, nostalgia acquired a psychic dimension and came to be used to refer to a psychological condition resulting from longing for the past (Wilson 22). During this period, psychological theories considered nostalgia to be a negative sentiment that entailed an emotional addiction to an unreliable and idealized past. According to these theories, nostalgia made “the past appears as more attractive to live in than the present and hence can make people want to relive the past and invent allegedly ancient traditions, while turning away from the present” (Saloul 16). It was not until the late twentieth century that the view of nostalgia as a psychological disorder began to wane, and scholars began to distinguish between the feeling of homesickness from the broader longing for the past that characterized nostalgia (Roylance et al. 345).

In spite of this significant shift in the semantic meaning of the term “nostalgia” over decades, the negative connotation of the word has persisted to the present day. The first thing that springs to the mind when hearing the term “nostalgia” nowadays is usually the negative aspect of the word, such as wistfully reminiscing about the good old days when one used to be relatively free from worries and responsibilities. Nevertheless, there are scholars today who look upon nostalgia as something not altogether negative but, rather, as something that can positively impact some aspects of individual personality, especially in terms of identity and its continuity.

Via his book, Yearning for Yesterday, Fred Davis conveys that nostalgia plays an important role in the continuity of migrant identity in today's world. He holds nostalgia as the first line of defense against the disintegration and fragmentation of an individual’s identity in the host country, remarking that

The nostalgic reaction, then, can be said to be of a distinctly conservative bent, even if on

occasion it has served radical ends as well. If in its distaste for or alienation from the

present it still envisions a better time, it is a time we have already known. It reassures us

of past happiness and accomplishment and, since these still remain on deposit, as it were

in the bank of our memory, it simultaneously bestows upon us a certain current worth,

however much present circumstances may obscure it or make it suspect. (Davis 33)

This idea of self-worth generated by nostalgia is what makes individual identity persist in the face of change and disintegration in the host country, and pushes the individual to become more attached to his past, his original homeland, and the idea of returning to it. Nevertheless, nostalgia and nostalgic rhetoric about homeland neither always guarantee a continuity of an individual’s’ national identity in their host country, nor does it prevent the individual from not feeling harassed by rising nationalist ideologies in the host countries during times of crises. On the

contrary, in times of crises, an immigrant’s national affiliation and sense of transnational belonging are usually questioned and looked upon as a form of national betrayal to the migrant’s host country. The identity and loyalty of the Arab-American community to the U.S., for instance, have been questioned and put to the test during the events of September 11, 2001 (Cainkar 3-4).

This takes us to our second question: What is the position of Arab-American writing on having nostalgia for the homeland and returning to it? And lastly, does Palestinian-American writing, in light of forced migration and the unstable political situation at the immigrants’ original homeland, treat the subject of return differently?

2.2 Concept of Return and Emergence of the Narrative of Right of Return in the

Palestinian National Context

The concept of departure and return have always been central in postcolonial literature not only due to the significant social and political impact that this subject has on both migrants' host and home countries, but also because of the personal dimension and close relationship connecting postcolonial writers with the question of return (Nyman 38). This unique relationship is believed to have stemmed from the fact that a great number of early postcolonial writers were political refugees or exiles, who spent most of their lives outside their countries of origin

(Boehmer 67). In fact, the limited contact that this group of writers had with their families, as well as their close social networks at home had profound impacts on their writings in terms of the themes discussed and in their approaches to the discussion. Consequently, the issue of return has become a central and a recurrent theme in the literary outputs of this group of writers.

Moreover, the image of home and returning to it has taken on an idealized and mythologized dimension in the works of many of these writers, which has prompted critics to question the

authenticity of this exaggerated portrayal of home and the influence of migration thereon

(Heckmann 2-3).

The meaning of return, and whether or not it is possible for migrant authors to write about home from outside has been among the numerous thorny and controversial issues among postcolonial critics. For instance, the debate on this issue has taken two lines of thought. One group of scholars, on the one hand, sees that migrants’ full return is impossible (Burman 76).

The psychological, social, and economic losses involved in the act of moving away from home for extended periods of time hinders migrants' full return and renders them culturally, psychologically and, ideologically stuck in an in-between area where one cannot fully belong neither to their home nor to their host country. Moreover, migration scholars hold that it is almost impossible for a migrant to return to his country after spending years of alienation and to resume his or her life as if nothing had happened. The long years of alienation are believed to create a gap between the migrant and his home country not only in terms of his ability to stay in touch with his close social network, but also in terms of the migrant's overall awareness of social and political changes that occurred during his or her absence. The British-Indian thinker Salman

Rushdie sees, for instance, in his breakthrough book, Imaginary Homelands, that moving away from the homeland entails profound losses for the migrant individual on many levels. One of these losses involved in migration appears, as Rushdie remarks, in the case of migrant authors when attempting to write about their homelands from afar. In such situations, according to

Rushdie, migrant writers usually fail to sketch a realistic image about one’s original homelands when writing about them from the outside and wind up writing about imaginative homelands; ones they built in their imaginations through memory and recollection. Rushdie writes:

It may be that writers in my position, exiles or emigrants or expatriates, are haunted by

some sense of loss, some urge to reclaim, to look back, even at the risk of being mutated

into pillars of salt. But if we do look back, we must also do so in the knowledge—which

gives rise to profound uncertainties—that our physical alienation from India almost

inevitably means that we will not be capable of reclaiming precisely the thing that was

lost; that we will, in short, create fictions, not actual cities or villages, but invisible ones,

imaginary homelands, Indias of the mind. (Rushdie 10)

In the same vein, the famous postcolonial critic, Stuart Hall, sees that it is impossible for the migrant to fully return home, because migration, as he puts it, “is a one-way trip. There is no home to go back to. There never was” (Hall 44). What Hall is referring to here, when he says that

"migration is a one-way trip," is another facet of the impossibility of a full homecoming. But this time, this in the case of those migrant authors whose home countries have been plagued by war and constant episodes of violence and the ways in which the image of home is depicted in their writing. He argues that, to those writers, the image of home will always be associated with pain and sad memories that the migrant can never shake off in his or her memory. Hence, return will always be an impossible thing to achieve for the migrant writer.

Another group of scholars, on the other hand, approaches the idea of return from a classical point of view, deeming it a very important matter in terms of the migrant’s psychological, social, and economic stability. To this group of scholars, return represents an end to the migration cycle at which every migrant ought to arrive in order to achieve stability and tranquility in both their home and host country. Without a homecoming, the migration cycle is deemed to be incomplete, leading the migrant individual often into a state of constant turmoil and anxiety affecting his adjustment in the country of destination (Darieva 29). This theoretical

framework of the issue of homecoming finds its reflection, for example, in the literary works of many migrant writers, such as Kiran Desai, Morad Barghouti, Bharati Mukherjee, and Milan

Kundera. Despite Milan Kundera’s postmodernist view on the issue of return and his tackling of many complex issues pertinent to the concept of return, such as memory and the question of patriotism and cosmopolitanism, many of his literary works reflect conventional views about homecoming. His novel, Ignorance (2000), for instance, is a good example of this classical outlook regarding the issue of return and its ramification on migrant individuals in today's cosmopolitan world. In his book, Migration and Literature, Soren Frank likens the heroistic return of the protagonist in Kundera’s novel to homeland to the return of Ulysses to Ithaca in the

Odyssey. He suggests that the resemblance between these two works arises primarily from the fact that homecoming in both novels was challenged, and that the protagonist had to overcome the difficulties he faced in order to return to his homeland (Frank 95). This classical approach to the issue of return also exists in literary works of many other postcolonial writers in the U.S., including Palestinian-Americans writers.

Palestinian-American writers are no different from other post-colonial writers in terms of their dealing with the subject matter of departure and return. Many American writers of

Palestinian background have often tackled this issue in great depth and detail, making it in most cases the pole around which many of their literary output revolves. Suffice to say that "the right of return is a sacred right to Palestinians'', whether they live within Israeli-occupied territory or abroad," as Mahmoud Darwish puts it (Abu Eid 154). In fact, a quick review of Arab-American writing in the past few decades clarifies this aspect and shows the extent to which this theme is a dominant one in Palestinian-American writing.

If we look, for instance, at the literary output of the Palestinian-American writer, Turki

Fawaz, we find that the theme of return in central in his writing; hardly any of his works fails to touch upon this subject matter. His literary works such as, Soul in Exile (1988), Exile's Return

(1994), The Disinherited (1974) are only a few of his literary and academic works that tackle the issue of return and its impact on Palestinian diaspora. Along the lines of Turki Fawaz, there are many Palestinian-American writers such as Edward Said, Suhair Majaj, Randa Jarar, and many others, who have made the issue of the right of return the focus of their attention, and have made their writings about the right of return the first line of defense for this right.

The urgency that the subject of return seems to take in Palestinian-American writing stems from the fact that this group of writers have been denied their legitimate right of returning to their original homeland and establishing their imaginative nation-state that could possibly reunite them since dispersion. To this day, Palestine remains a political entity that is not recognized by the United Nations, despite international pleas for implementing the U.N. resolution number 181 stipulating the establishment of two States in Palestine (Quigley 230-

231). This failure to recognize Palestine as a state has deprived over four million Palestinian refugees of their right to return home, rendering many to become second-class citizens in many neighboring Arab countries, such as Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq.

Nevertheless, and despite the passing of many decades since the catastrophe of 1948, many Palestinian refugees around the world are still determined to return to Palestine and refuse to give up this right. The American writer of Palestinian origin, Lisa Suhair Majaj, speaks about this unbridled Palestinian desire to return in an article titled “On Writing and Return:

Palestinian-American Reflections,” explaining that Palestinians around the world have never given up their dream of returning to Palestine or reclaiming what they lost in the 1948 war. On

the contrary, denying them this right has made them rather keener than ever to reclaim it. She further adds that although many years have passed since Palestinian's original departure, "neither their desire to return nor the legal and moral potency of their right to return have diminished”

(Majaj 114). In addition, new Palestinian generations have been born in exile in these past seventy years; generations that know nothing about the land of Palestine, save its name.

Thousands of Palestinians have acquired the nationalities of the countries in which they reside, and still other thousands have become good citizens of these host countries in every sense of the word. Nevertheless, many of these Palestinians still adamantly hold on to the dream of returning to Palestine one day and establishing their own independent state. The question that should be asked here is: What makes these Palestinians so attached to returning to Palestine? What has cultivated this desire in the Palestinian generations who were born in the diaspora after 1948? Is it the poor treatment that these Palestinians receive in some host countries? Or is it the feeling of difference and lack of affiliation that ignites this desire for return among these Palestinians?

Edward Said answers this question in his book, The Question of Palestine, remarking that the “idea of Palestine” is what makes these people unite despite their geographical fragmentation. He says:

Nevertheless we have begun, I think, to construct a political identity and will of our own;

we have developed a remarkable resilience and an even more remarkable national

resurgence; we have gained the support of all the peoples of the Third World; above all,

despite the fact that we are geographically dispersed and fragmented, despite the fact that

we are without a territory of our own, we have been united as a people largely because

the Palestinian idea has a coherence to which we have all responded with positive

enthusiasm. (Said II)

The burning desire that they harbor to establish an independent state that would preserve their rights and contribute to lifting their identity and cultural history from the ruins of fragmentation and displacement is what makes these new generations of Palestinians so adherent to the idea of returning to Palestine. It is also a way of expressing their own identity. Fawaz Turkey explains why Palestinians haven’t abandoned their right of return or even demanding it, pointing out

A Palestinian cannot say, for example, that he does not believe in the return. To reject the

return is to rip up the tree on which his history and raison d'etre grow. The return is the

rock on which our nation in exile is founded and the social homeostasis that had

cemented our people together in their encapsulated world. The passion for return is an

expression of our identity, an ecstatic embodiment of its inward movement and

preoccupations. It is as if the ultimate Palestinian question were; I want to return,

therefore I am. (Turkey 68)

It is very important here to note that when we speak of return in the Palestinian context, we do not necessarily mean the physical homecoming, but also the metaphorical one. For many

Palestinians in the diaspora, return encompasses wider meanings more than just the physical return to the land of Palestine (Majaj 116). Finding a comprehensive solution to the issue of

Palestinian refugees, eliminating all obstacles to homecoming and achieving the dream of establishing an independent Palestinian nation-state are all among the broader meanings of return in the Palestinian context (Klein 48-49). In fact, some scholars even go beyond just calling for physical and metaphorical return to Palestine, claiming that the metaphorical return to Palestine is far more important than the physical one. Maxine Kaufman-Lacusta, for instance, holds that to many Palestinian refugees, the actual return comes secondary to Israel's recognition of their right of return and of the responsibility for their expulsion from their Palestinian homeland (Kaufman-

Lacusta 189). Israel’s recognition of the Palestinian right of return, as he points out, is considered an important step towards achieving the Palestinian dream of establishing their own independent

Palestinian state. Therefore, it is very important to take into consideration that when Palestinian refugees call for their right for return, it doesn't necessarily mean that they want to physically return as much as they demand their self-determination and right of choice.

This distinction between the metaphorical and literal meaning of the concept of return in the Palestinian national context takes us to a more important question, which is: Do all

Palestinians in the diaspora want an actual return to Palestine? Has the attitude of these

Palestinians changed over time and as a result of their stability abroad, regarding the idea of physical return to Palestine?

Similar to the Kurdish and Armenian diaspora, the idea of return to the land of the forefathers has been passed on in the Palestinian diaspora from one generation to the next since

1948, something which Juliane Hammer sees as a startling and striking feature of Palestinian diaspora (Hammer 20-21). However, the degree of adherence to this idea relatively varies from generation to generation depending on several factors, including time, family type (whether or not both parents are of Palestinians descent), and location of residence (refugee camps or other).

This disparity among the Palestinian diaspora has generated different attitudes towards the adherence to the idea of physical return to Palestine. Many refugees in the Palestinian diaspora, on the one hand, have begun to call for finding more pragmatic solutions for this issue instead of calling for a full return to the villages and cities deemed within the 1948 borders (Jamal 180-

181). Among these solutions proposed by the Palestinian immigrants is a partial return to 1967 borders, which would at the very least improve their living conditions and end their designation as refugees, which has always been the cause of much of the suffering they face in the countries

of asylum. On the other hand, more radical solutions to the issue of refugees and their right to return have begun to emerge within Palestinian social and political circles, among which is forgetting the idea of returning altogether or returning to Israel as Israeli citizens and disregarding the two-state solution, which has been proposed by the international community.

Sari Nusseibeh, a Palestinian scholar educated in the United States, suggests in his book, What Is a Palestinian State Worth?, that Palestinians should abandon the idea of establishing a

Palestinian state for the sake of peace and the resolution of the dilemma of Palestinian refugees, saying: “And I came to believe, likewise, that the only realistic way for the Palestinian refugees to start living normal, dignified lives was for them to come back to this state (meaning Israel) and to participate in building it up" (Nusseibeh 7-8). Nusseibeh, in fact, is not the only the

Palestinian refugee who supports such radical solutions to the issue of return. Other Palestinian refugees, who have lived in much worse conditions in refugee camps support similar solutions to this issue. Samir El-Youssef (Palestinian novelist who has experienced life of in refugee camps in Lebanon), for instance, also advocates such drastic solutions for this issue and demands in his famous novel, The Illusion of Return, the consideration of alternative solutions to the idea of return to Palestine, including abandoning the Palestinian right of return, pointing out that “we should be realistic and forget about the idea of return; the only return we should think of is one of a more symbolic value” (El-Youssef 8).

Nevertheless, a large number of Palestinians in both the homeland and the diaspora still consider return as a legitimate right that cannot be relinquished, whatever the causes, and sees it as the cornerstone in finding a final and comprehensive solution for the Israeli-Palestinian struggle. This Palestinian adherence to the right of return is very evident in the Palestinians’ reaction to the 1993 Oslo Accord, which ignored the right of return and did not include it in the

final terms of the accord. The Oslo Accord’s’ disregard of Palestinians refugees' right of return aroused the resentment of many Palestinians, who deemed it invalid for neglecting this essential

Palestinian right. Baylis Thomas speaks of this Palestinian resentment of the Oslo Accord in his chapter on the Peace process in the Middle East, remarking that the accord has been nothing more than a major disappointment to the Palestinians who naively thought it would negotiate their right of return and their dream of establishing a Palestinian state. Instead, as Thomas suggests, these accords turned out to be more of “recognition letters” that affirm the PLO's recognition of Israel's right to exist in peace and security but not the Palestinians' right to exist in peace and security (Thomas 126).

2.2.1 Narrative of Right of Return and Palestinian Diasporic Literature

These stances, that I have talked about above, on the political track of the Palestinian cause and the right of return in particular, have had a profound impact on Palestinian literature.

In fact, Palestinian literature at home and among diaspora has become a mirror to the Palestinian experience in terms of its treatment of not only the theme of return, but also those of self- determination, independence and Israeli settlements as well.

Lisa Majaj highlights this impact of the Palestinian experience on literature in an article titled, “On Writing and Return: Palestinian-American Reflections,” pointing out that Palestinian literature “emerges from the context of personal and political experience that has characterized

Palestinian experience for over a century,” and remarking that Palestinian writing regarding handling the issue of return has become heavily influenced by the Palestinian writers’ “longing to return to the original Palestinian homeland, and by the historical, political and military events that have made such return impossible” (Majaj 115). With the passage of years, this Palestinian desire has turned into a national narrative and has been given a form that is clearly visible in

Palestinian social and political discourse, as well as in Palestinian literature from Israel, and the

Palestinian diaspora. This transformation, according to many critics, is credited to the emergence of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) movement in 1967, and its role in mobilizing

Palestinians towards armed resistance and reclaiming the Palestinian territories. Amy Zalman confirms this and holds that although the idea of returning to Palestine had existed in Palestinian writing before 1967, the emergence of the PLO has had the most prominent role in turning this idea into a national narrative (Zalman 17). In addition, emergence of such a national narrative and its permeation into Palestinian literature have had further objectives beyond being just a collective desire to return. It was also aimed at being a counter-narrative to the Israeli narrative, which denies any Israeli role in displacing the Palestinians and places the blame on Palestinians themselves and claims that they had sold their homes and left their lands voluntarily to live in neighboring Arab countries (Bowker 97-98). According to Simon Haddad, “The Palestinian narrative maintains that the Arab refugees were forcibly expelled by Jewish forces or left in a panic flight to escape massacre and that they were helped on their way by occasional massacres, committed by Jewish forces, to keep them running” (Haddad 27). This later narrative is the one adopted by most Palestinians today and is reflected in most of their literary writings at home and in the diaspora. However, the question that should be asked here is: What stance does the

Palestinian-American writing take from the idea of return? And, how does this group of writers incorporate this theme in their writing? But before that, let’s shed some light on the situation of

Palestinian-American writing within the larger body of Arab-American writing and the ways in which the theme has been addressed among these Arab-American sub-groups.

The narrative of return, as pointed out earlier, found its way into Palestinian literature in

1967, as a result of the political climate that prevailed in that period and the emergence of the

Palestinian liberation movement. This politically charged atmosphere prompted many Palestinian writers in the diaspora and the Palestinian interior to clearly address this issue in their writing, making it one of the most addressed themes in the Palestinian literature. To many scholars of

Palestinian literature, early signs of the emergence of this narrative in Palestinian literature have appeared in the works of prominent Palestinian writers such as Ghassan Kanafani, Mahmoud

Darwish, and Jabra Ibrahim Jabra. Amy Zalman, for instance, sees that the exemplary literary expression of this narrative is found in two novels by Ghassan Kanafani, Men in the Sun (1962) and All That's Left to You (Zalman 17). The scale of suffering faced by the Palestinian refugees and the lack of security in its inclusive meaning, economically and socially, and politically, highlighted in these two novels, is read by many critics as a reflection of the Palestinian desire to return to the homeland and as part of Palestinian resistance literature (Cleary 197). However, the geographical fragmentation of the Palestinian people has cast its shadow on the ways in which the issue of return has been approached, producing a discrepancy in dealing with this theme among these writers. The Palestinian critic, Adel Osta, believes that the narrative of return in

Palestinian diasporic writing is characterized by its optimistic view of the idea of return, whereas the works of Palestinian writers in Israel, as well as the returning writers, have been characterized by some kind of disappointment regarding the idea of return and its future. This discrepancy is evident, as Osta points out, in the works of number of Palestinian writers such as

Murad Bargouthi, Farouq Wadi,Yahya Yakhlaf,. Murad Bargouthi and many others (Osta).

Many of such works, which they wrote while in exile, were characterized by an optimistic outlook toward the issue of return and dealt with this issue after their temporary return to

Palestine reflected a lot of pessimism. The literary works of the novelist Yahya Yakhlif, for example, which he wrote in exile, such as A Lake Beyond the Wind (1999), are characterized by

his optimistic approach to the issue of return, while his works that, he wrote following his brief visit to Palestine, were overwhelmed by excessive pessimism about the possibility of finding a solution to the refugee issue and the possibility of return. This difference also finds its way into

American-Palestinian writers and their treatment of the topic of return. While to a large group of these writers the issue of return is the embodiment of a right that cannot be compensated, to another group it is the opportunity to "formulate a more fluid, complex and transnational enactment of the two seemingly incompatible part of their Palestinian-American identity”

(Fadda-Conrey 91).

The following section of this chapter discusses and analytically reads representations of the narrative of right of return in Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin and the role of nostalgia which is inherent in this narrative in maintaining continuity of Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. Moreover, the chapter will examine three of the methods by which nostalgic rhetoric in this narrative contributes to the continuity of Palestinian identity in the diaspora: Nostalgia and the evocation of the hope of returning to Palestine, Nostalgia and the erection of a benchmark for national identity, and Nostalgia and the development of Palestinian migrants' anxiety. These three methods, as pointed out in the introduction to this chapter, are held by Fred Davis as part of the main ways by which nostalgia positively impacts migrant’s identity and contributes to its continuity.

2.2.2 Palestinian National Identity Between Continuity and Discontinuity

In Mornings in Jenin, Susan Abulhawa explores the issue of Palestinian national identity and its continuity in light of the multiple challenges imposed upon the Palestinian individual by exile, occupation, poverty and a sense of feeling uprooted. Being an exile and former refugee herself, in this novel, Abulhawa offers the reader an inside look at how Palestinians around the

world maintain their national affiliation to Palestine and transmute it to their offspring in the diaspora (Fischer 45). In this novel, Abulhawa suggests that it is not easy for Palestinian individuals in exile to maintain Palestinian national affiliation in the tug of war between displacement and the uprootedness that Palestinians face in the diaspora on the one side, and dissolution of identity resulting from migration on the other. Hence, and for the sake of protecting this identity, the idea of homecoming has been sought for to be always present in the

Palestinian migrant's imagination in order to maintain continuity of his national affiliation, especially in light the absence of a Palestinian national-state that undertakes this task. It is widely understood that the idea of belonging to a specific geographical area plays a crucial role in building and maintaining the migrant individual's national identity and its continuity abroad. In fact, without this element of identity, the migrant individual becomes vulnerable and prone to adopting the identities of his or her host countries and is unable to extend bridges of transnational belonging with his or her home country (Hova 18). In addition, although there are a multitude of factors that could lead to the discontinuity of national identity, nothing contributes to its severing more than exile and displacement (Qabaha 123). These two factors, exile and displacement, according to migration scholars, are the number one enemy of one’s sense of national identity and the specter that leads to its erosion over time.

Edward Said likens the impact of exile on migrants’ identity to a forced rift between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home, resulting in the exiled individual falling into a state of constant anxiety that can never be surmounted (Said 173). This state of anxiety that Said speaks of is looked upon by migration scholars as an element of distinction between exile and other migration patterns, including education, tourism and labor migration. Unlike forced migration, migrants who voluntarily leave their home countries tend not

to suffer from this type of anxiety. On the contrary, voluntary migrants rather tend to enjoy their experience in their adopted countries and are more likely to integrate into host cultures. The reason behind this phenomenon lies in the fact that forced migrants don’t enjoy the same degree of freedom for return like unforced migrants, making them constantly anxious and in a state of a continuous quest to return home. Nevertheless, migrants’ anxiety can sometimes be helpful for maintaining their national identity in the diaspora. This anxiety helps forced migrants to barricade themselves within their own social group and build metaphorical walls between themselves and the host society's culture, ultimately leading to the preservation of their national identity from distortion for the longest period possible (Grinberg and Grinberg 146-147).

Looking at Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin, it is evident that migrant anxiety is one of salient features of the novel. In fact, this type of anxiety envelopes almost all the characters that have been subjected to exile and displacement firsthand during the events of 1948. The

Israeli characters also exhibit the same state of anxiety, although to a lesser degree. Both

Palestinian and Israeli characters in this narrative reflect a state of profound anxiety that permeates every aspect of their daily lives. Nevertheless, there is a fundamental difference in this state of anxiety that each of these characters manifest. This difference lies in the fact that the state of anxiety manifested by Palestinian characters is complex and is not only limited to the anxiety resulting from the trauma of displacement but also from the impossibility of return. On the other hand, the anxiety reflected by Israeli characters seems to have resulted from a different experience of exile and displacement. The source of anxiety reflected by Israeli characters seems to stem primarily from fear of being forced into another experience of exile and displacement, such as the one they endured under the Nazi regime. The anxiety exhibited by Jolanta, for example, (Moshe's wife, who was raped by the Nazi soldiers until she lost her ability to have

children) is caused by her fear of being forced into another experience of displacement and persecution. She expresses this anxiety in the dialogue that takes place between Moshe and her and after the former character’s attempt to kidnap Ismael from his mother. The narrator of the novel tells us that:

She knew nothing of Palestine or Palestinians, following only the lure of Zionism and the

lush promises of mike and honey. She wanted refuge. She wanted to escape the memories

of sweaty German men polluting her body, memories of depravity and memories of

hunger. She wanted to escape the howls of death in her dreams, the distinguished songs

of her mother and father, brother and sister, the unending screams of dying Jews. (36)

On the other hand, the Palestinian characters in this novel appear very careful not to lose this state of anxiety due to passage of time or getting used to the life of exile. To many of these

Palestinians, losing this state of anxiety is not a good thing, but rather indicative of the decline of their national identity and a loss of their attachment to the original homeland. Besides the anxiety resulting from dispossession of their homes and lands, the prolonged time period that passes since their departure from the village of Ein Hod alarms many of them. However, this anxiety is not the usual migrant anxiety caused by leaving one's home, but rather a more complex one; stemming from the migrants' conviction that they might have become accustomed to living away from their homes. The latter type of anxiety exhibited by Palestinian refugees resurfaces in many places in Mornings in Jenin, one of which is at the outset of the narrative where the villagers of

Ein Hod get displaced from their homes by Israeli militant groups. In this scene, we find that the people of Ein Hod, who are now settled in the Jenin camp, have begun to feel worried about their new situation and have started questioning whether they are ever going to return to their homes again. These villagers are not used to being away from their homes and farms for too long.

However, five years have already passed since their departure and the monotonous life in the camp has become unbearable. Yehya Abualhaeja, for instance, is one of the villagers who has become weary of settling in refugee camps and living away from his home. Moreover, doubt has begun to creep into his spirit regarding his ability to ever see his village and farm again. He is in his late eighties and the chance of his return to Ein Hod in the near future is very slim. Therefore, he decides to return to his village, despite the risk involved in undertaking such an adventure. He begins plotting how to return to his beloved village and the paths he should take to avoid being caught by the Israeli soldiers.

Yehya aged tremendously in those confused months that stretched into years, until one

day in 1953, when he realized that his miserable tent in Jenin had turned into clay. The

symbolic permanence of the shelter was too much to bear. He would rather have stayed in

the cloth dwelling, its leaky top and muddy floor confirming only a temporary exile. (41)

Yehya's decision to return to his village in this scene isn’t motivated primarily by his desire to see his farm or to check on his olive trees as he claims, but certainly driven by a reason much deeper than that. During his long stay in the camp, Yehya has started to feel reassured about his new situation, and his new life in the camp has begun to take him away from thinking about his home. Unlike the life he used to lead in Ein Hod, which is marked, as the narrator puts it, by his "daily activities of agrarian self-sufficiency" (42), his life in the camp is dull and monotonous. His daily routine in the camp, as we learn from the novel, has shrunk into playing music on his nye, or exchanging stories with his Irish friend, “Jack O'Malley, as they play their daily game of backgammon” (41). Such a monotonous lifestyle is neither acceptable to Yehya, nor to his fellow Palestinian refugees in the camp, because they believe it will eventually lead them to a state of complacence that will make them gradually forget about their homes and see

their desire to return home fade out. Therefore, and in order to regain that state of anxiety that makes the idea of return present in their imagination, Yehya decides to return to his village to take a final look at it, before he leaves this world. Mevi Hove comments on Yehya Abualhaeja's objective of returning to Ein Hod and its impact on his identity, remarking that this secret return to his home village has a significant positive impact on his identity, making him feel “like his former identity of Patriarch and wealthy farmer of his community (are) being temporally restored to him” (Hove 19 ).

Unlike this type of anxiety, common migrant anxiety as referred to earlier, often turns into reassurance as soon as an individual returns home, or at least knows that the prospect of returning to it is possible. At that moment, the exiled individual allows himself to put his guard down and enjoy his experience outside his home country, as well as his trip back to it. This reassurance stems from the continuity offered by the concept of return. Grinberg and Grinberg comments on this aspect, remarking that “If the doors are open for an eventual return, the pressure on the emigrant diminishes, and his claustrophobic anxiety decreases; he doesn’t feel he is on a dead-end street; he can enjoy his experience” (Grinberg and Grinberg 146). This reassurance appears in Yehya’s attitudes and demeanor after his secret visit to his olive farm.

Sixteen days later, Yehya returned ragged and dirty with a tangled beard and a radiant

spirit. The Kaffiyeh that he had worn on his head when he left now formed a bundle flung

over his shoulder as he walked with a merry hunch under its weight. Yehya had made his

way back to Ein Hod, undetected by the soldiers. “That terrain is in my blood!” he

proclaimed. “I know every tree and every bird. The soldiers do not”. (43-44)

Yehya’s return to Ein Hod, although short and temporary, has a profound psychological impact, not only on him, but also on other refugees in Jenin’s camp. This sixteen-day return to his home-

village turns Yehya’s world upside-down and fills him with joy and happiness. The sadness that has overtaken him during the five years he spent in the camp dissipates as a result of this visit and is replaced instantly by a great desire for life. Yehya’s return also has a transcendent impact on his fellow refugees in the camp. This impact is evident in the refugees’ reception of Yehya after his return from his village. The novel describes this reception as if it were one that occurred after a war for a national hero. In the eyes of these refugees, Yehya is even greater than this; he has managed to outsmart the Israelis and return to his home after all. He has managed to do what thousands of Palestinians failed to achieve in order to return to Palestine. Abulhawa writes:

Yehya had left the camp with stubborn solemnity, wearing his most dignified clothes, and

he returned looking like a jolly beggar with as much fruit and as many olives as he could

carry in his Kaffiyeh, his pockets, and his hands. Despite his vagabond appearance, he

came invested with euphoria and the people lifted him to heights of esteem befitting the

only man among them who had outwitted a ruthless military and had done what five great

nations could not effectuate. (44)

The shift in Yahya's behavior is a natural consequence of being able to return to his homeland.

Although his return was temporary and secretive, it enabled him to reconnect with his past and reinforce his feelings of belongingness to a geographical spot, a bond which had been disrupted by uprootedness and displacement. Mevi Hova comments on the impact of homecoming on exiles’ and migrants’ overall wellbeing in Mornings in Jenin, pointing out that “revisiting the childhood memories of the protagonists in the novel is important in situating and understanding the multiple mutations of identity these children born out of the Palestinian- Israeli conflict have to face” (Hova 17). The impact of return on exiles' overall behavior is evident in the scene in

which Yehya shares the vegetables he had collected during his return to Ein Hod with his fellow refugees in the camp upon his return.

After his return, Yehya shared the fruit and vegetables that he had collected from his farm

in Ein Hod with his fellow refugees. Each of his friends has given his share of this prize

that he seized from the Israelis, including Jack O'Malley, an Irish expatriate who works

for the United Nations. The patriarchs and matriarchs in the camp kept a festive vigil on

the night Yehya came back from his return. They divided the goods and ate them with

ceremonial savor, letting the olives roll in a dance with their tongues before taking the

sacrament. Those fruits of forty generations of toil went down like the elixir of Palestine,

like the nectar of the centuries. “Taste my land, Jack! Taste it. this pile is special for you

and the haj!” Yehya was effusive, his generosity animated by Return. The Villagers ate,

laughed, wept, danced, and sang the sad and happy ballads of old, comparing their

memories to Yehya’s description of the new state of affairs. (45)

The symbolism in this scene is important on several levels. One the one hand, this scene indicates that return can sometimes be metaphorical and may be achieved via the possession of material things from one’s homeland. The fruits and vegetables that these refugees got from

Yehya weren't any different from those they had in the camp, yet they ate them as if these fruits could magically transport them to their past and to their beloved village. The fruits and news that

Yehya brought from his visit to Ein Hod played an important role in keeping alive the desire of the poor refugees for returning to their homeland. The material goods that Yehya brought along with him from the village worked as a metaphorical link between this group of Palestinian refugees and their national affiliation to their homeland, solidifying it and assisting in its continuation into the future. Hence, it can be said that such nostalgic rhetoric, highlighting the

positive aspects about one's homeland, as well as the possession of material things from it, can assist in the continuity of migrants' national identity in exile and diaspora in general.

Before moving on to the second component of nostalgia in the Palestinian narrative of right of return, and its impact on the continuity of national identity in diaspora, we must pause to answer the second question posted in the introduction to this dissertation, which is: Is there a difference between Palestinian-American writers and Palestinians at home in terms of their portrayal of the subject of return? And what is their position on the idea of physical return to

Palestine?

To answer this question, one must look at Palestinian-American writing through a broader scope and within the larger body of Arab-American writing. As mentioned earlier in this dissertation, Palestinian-American writing is an integral component in the Arab-American literary school, which extends from the late nineteenth century to the present (Salaita 4-5). These stances have also been influenced by the American cultural milieu to a greater extent. The stance of early Arab-American writers, for instance, (also known as the Pen-League writers) was predominantly supportive of physical returning to the Arab homeland. In fact, the majority of early Arab-American writers perceived themselves as sojourners who came to the US to improve their economic status and return when circumstances are favorable (Abdelhady 24). Khalil

Gibran, Elia Abu Madi Mikhail Naimy and many other early Arab-American writers deemed homecoming a very important issue, and many of their literary works reflect this desire for homecoming. The stance and transnational belonging of later generations of Arab-American writers on the issue of return differ from those of early Arab American writers, and among Arab

American sub-groups. To some Arab Americans of the second and third wave of Arab immigration to the US., the return to their ancestral homeland is a secondary matter and is

merely undertaken for the purpose of achieving a better understanding of the Arab homeland, as well as to explore deeper dimensions of their Arab identity (Fadda-Conrey 66). This latter stance on the issue of return is reflected in the early literary works of, for instance, William Blatty and

Vence Bourjaily. Many of their works, such as William Blatty's Which way to Mecca, Jack?

(1960) and Confessions of a Spent Youth (1960) are representative of this trend towards the issue of return in second and third generations of Arab Americans.

Against such as a background, Palestinian Americans developed their attitudes from this issue of return, which many critics hold as an extension to the attitudes of later waves of Arab-

American immigrants regarding the issue of return. However, the peculiarity of the Palestinian political situation at home which was the backdrop for many first-generation Palestinian

Americans to migrate to the United States, has had a profound impact on the position of this

Arab-American sub-group on the issue of homecoming. Unlike the stance of many Arab

Americans nowadays, the majority of Palestinian Americans support an actual return to Palestine and call for it in many of their literary and non-literary writings, and for the implementation of the United Nations resolution. Thea Renda Abu El-Haj confirms this aspect in her book,

Unsettled Belonging, remarking that the majority of Palestinian-Americans surveyed in her study

“expressed a strong desire to return to live in Palestine at some future time” (Abu El-Haj 53).

However, when it comes to comparing the stance of Palestinian Americans and Palestinians at home from the issue of return, it can be noticed that Palestinian Americans stance on this issue is influenced by the general Arab-American climate on the issue of homecoming. Palestinian-

American writers differ from other Palestinian diaspora writers in terms of their dealing with the issue of right of return in several aspects. One of these aspects of difference is their stance on the issue of gender roles and the function of the Palestinian woman in achieving this hoped

homecoming. In fact, Palestinian-American writers are generally not hesitant to depict a female as a heroic character who is independently capable of defying all obstacles in her way in order to achieve the right of returning to her homeland, whereas the patriarchal mindset still dominates to a great extent the treatment of this issue in Palestinian literary writing at home (Kahf 7-8). This aspect of distinction is evident in the literary work at hand.

Susan Abulhawa's unconventional depiction of gender roles in post-Nakba Palestinian society is one of the interesting aspects about this novel. Unlike the conventional depiction of the

Palestinian woman and her role in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, in which she is portrayed as playing a passive role, especially when it comes to physical resistance, Abulhawa, in this work presents the Palestinian woman in a more progressive way, depicting her in an active role and as an effective participant in this conflict. Hartman confirms this aspect, remarking that Abulhawa's treatment of gender roles in Mornings in Jenin is similar to that of Evelyne Bustros’ in terms of her encoding extensive messages about gender roles and the liberation of women (Hartman

263). In Mornings in Jenin, the Palestinian man is not the only one concerned with the physical act of resistance since the Palestinian woman is also preoccupied by this issue as well. In this novel, the Palestinian woman has been depicted as playing a fundamental role in this type of physical resistance. The opening scene of this novel attests to this point.

AMAL WANTED A CLOSER look into the soldier’s eyes, but the muzzle of his

automatic rifle, pressed against her forehead, would not allow it. Still, she was close

enough to see that he wore contacts. She imagined the soldier leaning into a mirror to

insert the lenses in his eyes before getting dressed to kill.Strange, she thought, the things

you think about in the district between life and death. (1)

In this scene, Abulhawa gives the Palestinian woman the opportunity to break the men's monopoly over the concept of physical resistance by putting her in a face-to-face encounter with an Israeli soldier. Unlike the anticipated reaction of a Palestinian woman, Amal Abulheja challenges the Palestinian norms and customs that portray her as a weak human being who’s incapable of defending herself, let alone protect her people, by putting herself in a close encounter with death as she protests against Israeli's policies in Palestine. In spite of the asymmetrical and differential power between both sides of this encounter, given that Amal is an unarmed civilian, while the Israeli soldier is armed with the latest weapons, this Palestinian woman appears with full readiness to sacrifice herself for her people and homeland. Amal's willingness to physically defend her fellow Palestinians and her right of return at all costs appears clearly in the following inner dialogue:

Strange, again I am unafraid of death. Perhaps because she knew from the soldier's blink,

that she would live. She closed her eyes, reborn, the cold steel pushing against her

forehead. The petitions of memory pulled her back, and still back, to a home she had

never known. (xiii)

This depiction of gender roles that Susan Abulhawa presents her readers within Mornings in Jenin is clearly unorthodox and deviates from the conventions of traditional fiction Palestinian writing at home. Nevertheless, this depiction can be attributed to two main reasons. First, the influence of the Arab-American writing style on Abulhawa's treatment of women's issues in the

Arab society, through which Arab-American women writers aim at shattering the stereotypical image of women in the Arab world. Amal Abdelrazek confirms this point, remarking that Arab-

American women use their writing to respond to the stereotypical image that considers Arab and

Arab-American women passive victims of patriarchal oppression (abdelrazek 3). In fact, for

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decades, the image of a woman in Palestinian literature has remained trapped in the stereotypical perception of her social role in relation to her physical participation in the Palestinian struggle for nationhood and freedom. This is a perception that has reduced her role in an existential struggle to a passive and marginal one, where she has often been portrayed as either a weak person whose honor must be defended or as a storyteller figure who recounts to the new

Palestinian generations the heroic stories of Palestinian men who defended their people against the Israeli occupation. Dima Tahboub, summarizes early Palestinian writers’ outlook of the

Palestinian woman and her social role in this conflict, pointing out that these writers portrayed the Palestinian woman as a “domestic woman whose sphere of influence is the home.” She explains that:

Gender issues, especially in early Palestinian literature are presented in the traditional

pattern of female followers and male leaders, females weakened by their femininity and

males empowered by their masculinity, housewives and battlefield soldiers. The concept

of ideal womanhood is determined by male writers, who preceded women in writing the

war story, setting national and mythical archetypes of women as emblems of the nation:

Galateas carved and enlivened by the view of Pygmalions. (Tahboub 182)

This conventional attitude taken by early Palestinian writers regarding physical participation of

Palestinian women in their national struggle cannot be viewed in isolation from the general social context of Palestinian society at that time. Palestinian writers after all, are mere products of the society in which they live. In addition to the broadly negative Arab outlook towards women that has colored her image in Palestinian writing, the dominant political atmosphere has played a major role in deepening this portrayal of women in Palestinian literature. In fact, the

PLO's banning of women from participating in physical resistance has played a central role in

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cementing this stereotypical image of her role in the national struggle for liberation. Leila

Khaled, an early Palestinian liberation fighter, confirms this point in her autobiography, pointing out that she suffered sexist bias during conscription in the Palestinian liberation movement. She adds that she was prevented from participating in Fatah's military activities and her role was reduced to assisting mothers in the camps and visiting families of martyrs (Khaled 24-25). These attitudes toward Palestinian women's participation in the Palestinian struggle for liberation and right of return is reflected in Palestinian literature. Many Palestinian literary writings at home have reduced the role of Palestinian women in their national struggle for liberation and confined it to the image of a conveyor and preserver of Palestinian culture. Farah Aboubakr confirms this point, remarking in her book on women of Palestine that Palestinian women are the primary source of cultural values in Palestinian society and for coming Palestinian generations, ignoring the active role that these women have played in the Palestinian struggle for liberation. Aboubakr writes that “Palestinian women play an important role in paving the way for smooth transition of cultural values in Palestinian society and family. Women's roles I argue, as mother or sister, engender as well as gender the preservation of cultural memory, which is manifested through their roles and narratives” (Aboubakr 7-8). Thus, it can be said that Susan Abulhawa's portrayal of the role of women in Mornings in Jenin is an extension of the perceptions of the Arab-

American literary school about gender roles. This reflects the wide discrepancy between the portrayal of Palestinian-American writers and their counterparts at home regarding this issue.

The role of a Palestinian woman role as protector of Palestinian identity and culture, brings us to another aspect that stands out in this novel, which is the ability of diaspora-born

Palestinians to develop their attachment and national affiliation to Palestine through familial discourse. In fact, this aspect of the national identity building process attests to the ability of the

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narrative of right of return in solidifying and building Palestinian national identity beyond the political boarders of one’s original homeland. This process of building national identity occurs often through familial discourse, including stories and narratives about home that accentuate the value of home and importance of returning to it. Therefore, it can be said a great number of post-

1948 diaspora-born Palestinians developed their awareness of their Palestinian national identity through their families’ stories about their homeland, including the atrocities experienced by the family during that period.

Abulhawa in Mornings in Jenin gives the reader an inside look at the ways in which diaspora-born Palestinians develop their Palestinian national consciousness through familial discursive practices that valorize returning to one’s original homeland. In this novel, Abulhawa suggests that building Palestinian national awareness is not only bound to being exposed to the trauma of exile dispersion, but it can also be developed and passed on from one Palestinian generation to another through indirect exposure to the same catastrophic event.

“I have an Israeli uncle that you’ve never even met. He’s coming here. Wow. And I’m

nearly nineteen years old and just finding out,” Sara stated, not accusingly. “I’m sorry,

Sara. I thought I could keep the past behind us. I knew, or at least suspected, that he was

alive. When I was young, I overheard Yousef talking about Ismael and a man named

David. But I never thought to learn more or to look for him.”

In this scene, it is clear that Sara is equally traumatized by Nakba like her mother. Her traumatization can be inferred from her reaction to the news of having an Israeli uncle. She has developed a perception that the Israelis are all enemies to the Palestinians as a result of the suffering that her mother experienced at the hands of the Israelis, thus she couldn't accept the fact that she has an Israeli relative, after what they have done to her mother and her people.

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This process of transmitting the Nakba trauma to subsequent Palestinian generations occurs, as Abulhawa suggests, through familial discursive representations of this traumatic event.

Farah Aboubakr confirms the role played by older-generations’ stories about the Nakba, in developing cultural and national Palestinian identity, by pointing out that “collective memory or post-memory in the Palestinian context is realized by the efforts made by older generations to maintain the passing on of past events, and unconsciously the pain of trauma to coming generations and to encourage the continuum of shared values, experiences and memories”

(Aboubakr 38). Thus, diaspora-born generations as a result of these familial stories become equally traumatized and consequently develop a strong sense of attachment to their original homeland, and a great yearning to return to it.

Diaspora-born Palestinians’ desire for homecoming is one of the manifestations that attests to this aspect in this group of diaspora Palestinians. The desire of second generation

Palestinian-Americans to return to their ancestral homeland in Mornings in Jenin appears as strong as that of the first-generation of Palestinian-Americans, who have experienced displacement at firsthand. We learn throughout the novel that Sara (a second generation

Palestinian-American) manages to convince her mother, Amal, to return to the Jenin camp, despite waning of her desire to do so, after her husband’s and brother’s death. However, with the help of her cousin, Jacoub David, Sara secretly organizes her mother’s return to Jenin camp after thirty years of absence.

Although Amal’s return and reconnection with her past in Palestine is the main event of the last few chapters of the novel, the development of Sara’s second part of her hyphenated identity appears as equally important. In this section of the novel, Sara, who was born and raised in America, appears very attached to the Palestinian part of her Palestinian-American identity. In

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a conversation with her mother, Sarah confesses to her mother that she wants to discover her

Palestinian identity and reconnect with her roots by visiting Palestine. “It isn’t just because of these filthy politics and injustice, Mom,” Sara said,the rims of her eyes darkening into red and tears pooling over them. “I want to know who I am” (220).

This deeply rooted attachment that Sara shows towards her Palestinian affiliation can be translated as an inevitable result of indirect exposure to the trauma of Nakba that her mother’s stories about Palestine and her experience with exile have transmitted to her.

Her mother's stories about Palestine and her family's suffering are a vessel through which this trauma was transmitted to Sara. Thus, Sara became equally traumatized by the suffering of

Nakba, as much as any member of her family. “I’m sorry, Sara. I thought I could keep the past behind us. I knew, or at least suspected, that he was alive. When I was young, I overheard

Yousef talking about Ismael and a man named David. But I never thought to learn more or to look for him” (204). Ammaria Lanasri and Mokhtar Ben Barka comment on transmuting the pain and trauma of the Nakba that Amal's mother’s stories to her daughter have stood behind, confirming that Sarah and her mother are very similar in a myriad of aspects, even in the way in which they are affected by the catastrophic events of the Nakba. They add that these stories had a

“butterfly effect” in transmitting the suffering of the Nakba from Amal to her daughter Sara, which had its bearing on her continuity of her identity (Lanasri and Ben Barka 98). The sorrow and trauma-filled stories about the Palestinian homeland that Sara’s mother used to recount, fill

Sara with a great admiration towards Palestine and her Palestinian roots. This great attachment and admiration towards Palestine that have grown within Sara is even a source of wonder to her mother.

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Later at David’s house, Sara asked her uncle to silence the television broadcasting “that

enormous ego with such a little brain to go with,” as she put it. “you would think the

logistics of stopping terror’, i.e., an intact building and a police force, might occur to the

president of the United States. But nooo. Not out Dubya. He says ‘terror’ so much I’m

beginning to think it’s a medical condition. some kind of incurable verbal tic. “Terror

Terror Terror Terror!” She said in overwrought frustration. My daughter. (292)

Aside from all this, the novel itself constitutes a means of conveying the trauma of 1948 to future Palestinian generations. The novel is full of accounts of shocking historical events that took place during that era, making it more like a history book rather than a work of fiction. This approach of narrating Palestinian history is no stranger to Palestinian-American fiction writing or

Palestinian writing in general. It is rather considered one of the means of rewriting Palestinian history and protecting it from the systematic Israeli distortion. Michelle Hartman comments on this point, noting that Abulhawa's main objective for using this approach of writing the novel is to rewrite Palestinian history (Hartman 121). In many parts of the novel, we find that it is transformed from being a fictional narrative into a historical narrative of the events that occurred in the midst of the 1948 war. If we take, for example, the setting of the first part of the novel, Ein

Hod, and the massacre the took place not too far from it, we will find that these two events are considered by Palestinian historians as the main reasons that prompted thousands of Palestinians to flee their homes.

2.3 Resistance, Hope, and Continuity of National Identity

In addition to a migrant’s anxiety, Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin reflects a strong correlation between Palestinian resistance and evoking hope in Palestinian refugees for an anticipated return to their homeland. Unlike many other Arab-American literary works tackling

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the issue of Palestinian-Israeli conflict, which often refrain from overtly supporting violent resistance, Abulhawa in this narrative presents Palestinian resistance, both violent and nonviolent, as among the main vehicle capable of achieving Palestinians' dream of returning to their homeland (Hartman 117-118). “Despite the turmoil, it felt right to be there. I could feel meaning coming back into that word that had been drained of hope and left as dumbfounded letters. I was

Amal there, not Amy. “I like hearing people call you Amal, Mom,” Sara said to me when we were in Jenin the following day”(226).The Palestinian resistance throughout this novel emerges as the first source of hope in the hearts of the displaced Palestinian people. Depicting such a correlation, however, is too hard to be described as random or not aiming at forwarding a particular discourse. On the contrary, Abulhawa's depiction of this aspect seems rather planned and aims at forwarding and highlighting a specific national discourse.

As a matter of fact, many critics look upon Abulhawa's depiction of Palestinian resistance in this novel as part of her activism against Israeli occupation in her homeland. Pervine El-refaei, for instance, reads Abulhawa's depiction of Palestinian resistance as one of the methods by which Abulhawa challenges and subverts the official Israeli memory and the dominant Zionist discourse about the history of Israeli-Palestinian conflict. She observes that Abulhawa’s stance on Palestinian resistance in this novel and her activism in general have gained her the respect of many figures, including Lawrence Davidson, who described her as "unofficial spokesperson involved in the shaping of the west's popular understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict”

(El-refaei 80-81). Moreover, Abulhawa’s depiction of the Palestinian resistance in this work has been likened to some famous early American works that dealt with the issue of slave emancipation and support for their struggle in the 1800s. Marcy Knop-Newman in her book, The

Politics of Teaching Palestine to Americans, for instance, likens Abulhawa’s depiction of

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Palestinian resistance against Israeli persecution to Harriet Beecher Stowe's depiction of the

African-American resistance to slavery in Uncle Tom's Cabin, but, as she puts it, "without the racist stereotypes” (Knop-Newman 105). At the same time, this supportive stance of Abulhawa of the Palestinian resistance has earned the ire of many observers and lobbyists in the United

States and beyond, to the extent where she has been accused of being anti-Semitic, and that the main reason for such a depiction of Palestinian resistance is only to demonize the image of the

Israeli state around the world (Davidson).

Aside from this polemic on her stance on Palestinian resistance, Abulhawa’s depiction in

Mornings in Jenin of the ability of Palestinian resistance in evoking hope in Palestinians about homecoming has its reflection in real life. In fact, Palestinian resistance has historically been viewed as the motor that has revived Palestinian hope for a potential return, after having lost hope of it for several decades. The Israeli historian, Moshe Shemesh, for instance, confirms this point, remarking that the establishment of the Palestine Liberation Movement has revived hope for hundreds of thousands of Palestinians around the world of the possibility of their return to

Palestine (Shemesh 232). It is worth mentioning, that the first twenty years following the Nakba have been characterized by the abject weakness of the Palestinian resistance and the lack of organization among Palestinians. The reason for this weakness lies in the fact that many

Palestinians during this period were dependent on neighboring Arab countries for their help. In fact, nationalism and Pan-Arabism were the dominant spirit of the period and many Palestinian-

Arabs considered themselves part of the Arab world (Khalidi 11). However, the founding of the

Palestinian liberation movement has been the spark that restored the hope of many Palestinian refugees in the diaspora, and in the camps, that the prospect of them returning to their homeland is possible.

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The question to be asked here is, ‘What is the correlation between hope, resistance, nostalgia and the Palestinian national narrative of right of return?’, and ‘How is the impact of this correlation represented in Susan Abulhawa Mornings in Jenin?’ The answer to this question is quite simple, yet requires elaboration. In fact, both armed resistance and narrative of return share the fact that they raise aspirations of the Palestinian diaspora for return to their homeland.

The narrative of the right of return plays a role similar to that of armed resistance in raising the

Palestinian hope for return. As much as the Palestinian resistance raises hope in Palestinian diaspora for return, the narrative of right of return, by the virtue of its nostalgic rhetoric embedded in it, revives hope in the hearts of Palestinians in diaspora and their offspring towards return to their homeland. In return, this hope generated by the narrative of return in diaspora- born Palestinians generations leads to their adherence to their Palestinian national identity and their transnational affiliation with the land of Palestine.

Mornings in Jenin highlights this relationship between hope, resistance and realizing the dream of the Palestinian diaspora to return to the Palestinian homeland through several characters, including Huda, Hassan, Amal, and Yehya. “Gathering for the news became a morning ritual in the refugee camp. Women had their own groups, as did children. But to the men, it was the most important event of the day. It was a time and place where the hope of returning home could be renewed” (38-39). In this scene, for example, the news of the Arab resistance infuses hope in the minds of the Palestinians for returning to their homeland. Yet,

Amal Abulheja stands out as the main embodiment of this hope throughout the course of this narrative. Although she has never lived in the village of Ein Hod, Amal appears very occupied throughout the narrative with the idea of returning to it. Now, it might be true that the life of exile and displacement she lived in in Jenin's refugee camp had their bearings on Amal's desire

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to return, yet the role that the social circles around her played in inflaming and nurturing this desire for return within her cannot be overlooked, especially the role of Salem and his stories about the homeland. This toothless vagabond, who, as he puts it “lived through all the battles”, was the vessel that preserved and transported the Palestinian past and history to the Palestinian generations that were born after the 1948 in the refugee camp. Through the course of the tale, we learn that Salem’s knowledge of the Palestinian society is deeply rooted, and not only confined within his ability of recalling historical events that occurred during his lifetime. On the contrary, he has the power to trace the lineage of every Palestinian in Jenin refugee camp, as well as the location and history of every Palestinian villages and cities in that area by heart. Nevertheless, his role in nurturing Amal's desire of returning to Ein Hod is the most prominent of all his noble deeds to the camp. The idealized and romantic images that he weaves into his stories about home engrave a love for Ein Hod in Amal's psyche and her fellow camp-children, and become the reservoir from which their memories feed on regarding the dispossessed home that they have never known. Amal tells the reader about this role that Salem has played in transporting the love of Ein Hod to Amal and her friends, says:

He was the most animated and lively character of my youth, and it was he who passed

history on to the camp’s children. My treasure of Palestinian folklore and proverbs came

from him. It was he who gave me the names and stories of people I would encounter as

miscellaneous victims of war in the history texts that I would read decades later. (78)

The trio of return, hope, and resistance resurfaces in other instances throughout the novel.

In Chapter Nine, for instance, as the 1967 war breaks out, Amal becomes hopeful of a potential return to her house in the village of Ein Hod because of this war. Although Amal was only a teenage girl during the 1967 war, and she barely knew what is meant by home at that time, the

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war news evoked in her a strong desire to return to the village of Ein Hod, where her grandparents had lived. She even foolishly goes on to promise her friend, Huda, that she will give her a room of her own in her grandfathers’ grand house. Amal says:

I conjured all the places of the home that had been built up in my young mind, one tree,

one rosebush, one story at a time. I thought of the water and sandy beaches of the

Mediterranean- “The Bride of Palestine,” Baba called it-which I had visited only in my

dreams. A delicious anticipation bore visions of the old life, the one I had never known.

My rightful life, disinherited but finally to be regained, in the back terrace of Jiddo

Yehya’s and Teta Basima’s mansion, with its succulent grapes dangling from their vines,

Mama’s rose garden, the Arabian horses Ammo Darweesh raised, Baba’s library, and our

family’s farm, which had sustained half the village. I comforted Huda, who seemed

frightened, with a reminder that we would have our own room once we returned, and

enough money for dolls. (65)

The events of March 1968, or as the Palestinians wish to call it the “Battle of Karameh”, also evoke the same hopes and feelings for return in Amal. A year after the 1967 events, the

Palestinian armed resistance, of which Amal's older brother was a member, is involved in a new conflict with the Israelis. The short-lived battle evokes hope again in Amal, like the rest of the

Palestinians, of a possible return.

With hope kindled by our excitement plus a measure of naiveté, we mulled over the

practical details of returning to our original villages, which we childishly took for granted

as the inevitable outcome of the victory of Karameh. Our innocent deliberations that

evening revealed the minutiae of our dreams. “A real bed.” “No soldiers.” “A

playground.” “A garden.” “A bicycle.” On went the list of our simple wants. We wrote

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them out, checked the top three, then compared our choices. Huda wanted to sit by the

ocean more than anything else in the world. “Just to sit,” she said, since I can’t swim”.

(123)

The important question that should be asked here is: what has this hope for return and resistance to do with the issue of Palestinian national identity? Has the continuity of the

Palestinian national identity linked with Palestinian resistance to the Israelis or the hope generated by it? In fact, Palestinian national identity draws continuity from both elements.

Resistance, on the one hand, infuses in Palestinians a feeling of alteration and growth; a feeling that they have become more aware of the importance of armed struggle for their cause; a feeling that they have come a long way since their departure. John Amos confirms the importance of resistance in the continuity of Palestinian identity in his book Palestinian Resistance, remarking that Palestinian resistance succeeds in creating and inculcating a nationalist belief system, one which is capable of generating mass action. This nationalist belief system, according to him is what guarantees continuity of Palestinian national identity into the future (Amos 151). Hope for return, on the other hand, is a byproduct closely related to the Palestinian resistance. The higher the resistance against the occupier, the higher the level of hope for the Palestinian people to return to their homeland from which they were displaced.

2.4 Establishing a Nostalgic Benchmark and Continuity of Palestinian National Identity

Among the characterizing images of Abulhawa's Mornings in Jenin, is the image of the evolving Palestinian national consciousness. Unlike national awareness of some other contemporary exilic communities, such as the Kurdish, Armenian and Sikh communities, which mostly reflect a relatively developed national awareness before the experience of exile and dispersion, Palestinian national consciousness in this narrative has been portrayed as an ever-

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evolving one, whose role grows more central to Palestinian life, especially during the 1948 events and beyond. Palestinian national consciousness, for instance, appears at the beginning of the narrative as being swamped under multiple layers of tribalism, regionalism, and religious affiliation, posing an obstacle in the way of the development of this national consciousness, and hindering mobilization of Palestinian-Arabs to counter any outer aggression against their homeland. While in the final chapters of the novel, the Palestinian national consciousness appears to have evolved a great deal and even has become more acceptable among the spectra of the Palestinian people as a main way in describing and identifying their national affiliation. The voice of the novel, for instance, beginning from chapter sixteen starts referencing the Arab people in Palestine as “Palestinians”, while in previous chapters focusing on pre-1948 events, the narrator uses various designations, such as Palestinian-Arabs, people of Ein Hod and Arab in describing this group of people.

FIVE ISRAELI SOLDIERS, FOUR on the ground, one in the watchtower, were manning

a checkpoint near the village of Bartaa. They rotated their duties in sets of two, shuffling

and sitting back in the ennui of tedious cruelty. David was idling in the jeep when two

Palestinians approached the checkpoint, IDs and permission slips extended for inspection.

All was in order but the soldier at the gate ordered them to step aside, halting the long

line of Palestinians waiting to cross. The soldier was a corpulent New Yorker whose

family had immigrated to Israel. (87)

Besides the progression of Palestinian nationalism that such portrayal seems to hint at, this portrayal of Palestinian national consciousness suggests that there has been a central event or a set of events, whose role was quintessential in pushing this national consciousness towards maturity and evolution. Undoubtedly, this transforming event is the Nakba, and the ensuing

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political changes that occurred in the area, including the rise of the State of Israel, tragedy of

Palestinian refugees and the two consecutive wars that occurred thereafter (Aouadi 178). The bearings of these events on the evolution of the Palestinian national awareness and its transmission from being a merely nominal national identity into its current state of maturity, have been very profound, prompting many scholars to look upon it as a turning point in the track of development of Palestinian national identity. Rashid Khalidi confirms this point, remarking that although there have been pre-existing loyalties in pre-1948 Palestinian society, Palestinian national consciousness evolved in response to the Nakba and the Zionist project in Palestine

(Khalidi 20). A wide spectrum of Palestinians, therefore, tends to hold the Nakba as a benchmark, against which many measure the evolution of national awareness in Palestinian society. In an article titled "My Father's Return to Palestine,” Lila Abu Lughod tells us about the change that the Nakba had enforced on Palestinians, and how it constituted a turning point for many of them, remarking that as a result to the catastrophic events of the Nakba her father began to see himself in a constant struggle against colonial struggle of his country, and it has turned him from an ordinary youth living in Palestine into as resistor "using his mind, his pen, his gift for oratory” (Abu Lughod 7).

However, establishing the Nakba as a benchmark for the evolution of Palestinian identity has neither occurred on its own or randomly, but has been an outcome of systematic discursive practices that transpired following the catastrophic events of 1948. Meir Litvak confirms this aspect, noting that in the aftermath of the 1948, Palestinians have worked on structuring the

Nakba socially as " a founding myth to shape the memory of the past while serving as a springboard to a more hopeful future” (Litvak 33). Among these discursive practices that have

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led to erecting the Nakba as a benchmark, is the narrative of right of return that emerged in the late 1960s. So, what role has this Palestinian narrative of right of return played in this matter?

Fred Davis sees that one of the most important services that nostalgic rhetoric offers on the level of identity building and its continuity is its ability to create a benchmark by which a person can compare between one’s former and current self. The effect of this nostalgic comparison lies, as Davis remarks, in its ability to lead the ‘nostalgizer’ to reach some very important conclusions on the level of self-appraisal and prompt him to ask questions in the nature of: ‘look how far I’ve come, I’m in a better place, and I have changed for the better. This is in large part accomplished by “nostalgia’s notorious tendency to simplify and romanticize the past, so much so as to adopt an almost patronizing attitude to the dear, sweet, simple, but alas now dead days of yore” (Davis 45). Consequently, these nostalgic comparisons that one embarks on enables him to celebrate the “past, diminish it, and/or transmute it into a means for engaging with the present” (Davis 46). In other words, this benchmark created by nostalgic discourse enables the individual to see himself in a way that suggests his change for the better, which enhances his confidence and enables him to better face the challenges of the future.

This nostalgic benchmark that Fred Davis speaks of, is evident in many places in

Mornings in Jenin, not only on the personal level of building Palestinian national identity, but also on the collective one. To many first-generation Palestinians, the Nakba has constituted a turning point in their awareness of their Palestinian national identity, transmuting Palestinian society from a primitive society that does not have any national affiliation with the ruling regime into a society with a deep national awareness and sense of affiliation with the homeland, from which it has been displaced.

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Abulhawa masterfully captures the impact of these political events on Palestinian national identity and its development after 1948 in this novel, combining between fiction and real historical incidents that took place during that period, such as the Deir Yassin and Sabra and

Shatila massacres. On the collective level of Palestinian national identity, we see, for instance, that the villagers of Ein Hod reflect two distinct stances on Palestinian national identity, before and after the events of 1948. In the first few chapters of this tale, which focus on depicting pre-1948 Palestinian life, the Palestinian society in Ein Hod appears as a primitive agricultural class society, whose national affiliation to the ruling political system is very limited. Not only this, the Palestinian society of the pre-1948 period appeared to be lacking an awareness of their existence as a unified society, whose national loyalty was first and foremost for national authority. In fact, people of Ein Hod have been depicted to be more inclined more towards affiliating with class, clan and religious group more than anything else. Pre-1948 Palestinian people's lack of loyalty to the ruling system appear in the first chapter of the novel during the scene in which Yehya Abulheja advices his son Hassan to take their olive harvest to sell in the market of Tulkarem instead of Jerusalem. Yehya Abulheja is afraid that British soldiers might cause trouble for his son while on his way to the market. The father's suspicion of the British soldiers appears in the following dialogue:

“You know I’d rather you not go all the way to Jerusalem,” Yehya said to Hassan.

“Tulkarem is only a few kilometers and gasoline is expensive. Even Haifa is closer, and

their markets are just as good. And you never know what a son-of-a-dog Zionist is hiding

in the bushes or what British bastard is going to stop you. (7)

In addition, classism of pre-1948 Palestinian society and lack of national consciousness appears in several instances in the novel, one of which is the scene wherein the villagers of Ein

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Hod work along with the Bedouins seasonal workers in harvesting olives from the villagers’ farms. In this scene, we see that the people of Ein Hod do not only look upon those seasonal workers as outsiders, whose customs and mores are different from theirs, but also as an inferior class of Palestinian society. The inferiority of the Bedouins according to the villagers of Ein Hod stems from the fact that the majority of these Bedouins are not landowners. This classism resurfaces also in the eating scene after villagers and Bedouins have finished harvesting olives.

The Bedouins and the villagers did not eat out of the same plate as the custom goes in some parts of the Arab region, but the Bedouins were given their own food separately, and were even referred to as migrants. This segregation between Yehya Abulheja and the seasonal workers during the eating routine does not reflect the customs that were in use in the period before the

Israeli occupation.

Satisfied by the morning’s pace, Yehya performed the Thohr salat and sat on the blanket

where Basima had arranged the lentils and Makloobeh with lamb and yogurt sauce.

Nearby, she set another meal for the migrant helpers, who gratefully accepted the

offering. (5)

Enaya Othman tells us that during the pre-1948 period, Palestinian food habits encouraged individuals dining together, because it is a value that reflects Islamic teachings of equality and affinity among the Muslim community (Othman 82). Ein Hod villagers’ Inferior view of the Bedouins resurfaces once again in Basima’s reaction to her son’s request to marry

Dalia, the Bedouin girl. Basima’s disapproval of this marriage springs from her conviction that this Bedouin girl is not suitable for her son, because she comes from a lower social class. Basima later on, however, changes her mind under the pressure of her husband and reluctantly accepts her son's marriage from Dalia. The novel voice tells the reader about this interaction between

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Basima and her husband regarding marrying off her son to a Bedouin girl. The dialogue goes as follows:

Unlike Marriages of their time, arranged at birth and kept within the family clan,

Hassan’s union with Dalia was born of a forbidden love. He was a descendant of the

original founders of Ein Hod and heir to great stretches of cultivated land, orchards, and

five impressive olive groves. Dalia, on the other hand, was the daughter of a Bedouin

whose tribe came to work in the village every year during the harvest and eventually

settled there. (12)

Land affiliation, on the other hand, is the most prominent type of affiliation in the lives of the pre-1948 Palestinians. During this period, the Palestinian Arabs deemed land itself and landownership as a very valuable social asset. Those who did not own land or work in cultivating it are looked upon as of an inferior class and are not worthy of respect. This great social value bestowed to land-ownership stems from the fact that owning a piece of land and cultivating it represents the primary source of income to this group of people, and the center around which their lives are structured. Nina Fischer confirms this point about the value of land and landownership to Palestinians and their identity, remarking that “Palestinians’ identity is bound to the land. The tribal system is held together by the paternal line and land-ownership” (Fischer 33).

To pre-1948 Yehya Abulheja, landownership and its cultivation are more valuable than anything else. This appreciation appears in his reaction to his son’s request when he asked for his permission to pursue his education with Ari Perlstein in Jerusalem. Having being an excellent student, Hassan Abulhaija asked for his father’s permission to join the college in Jerusalem after finishing his primary education. However, Hassan's request was met with categorical rejection from his father, explaining that “books will do nothing but come between you and the land” (10).

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Although Yehya later regrets his decision to deny Hassan the chance to receive education higher than eighth grade, his primary reaction was the general orientation of pre-1948 Palestinians.

“The land comes before anything else” (11).

This image of Palestinian society's lack of national awareness relatively disappears in the second part of the novel, which focuses on post-1948 events and the suffering of the Abulheja’s family with displacement and displacement. In this part of the novel, we see that the people of

Ein Hod village who have settled in the Jenin refugee camp, look upon themselves as

Palestinians in the first place, regardless of their religious or clan affiliation. Everyone in the camp believes that every inch of the land of Palestine must be defended regardless of the religious or clan background of the people of that area. Yousef (Amal's brother), for instance, joins the Mujahideen in defense of the Palestinian honor and dignity. In fact, his joining of the

PLO is a tacit declaration that he is ready to sacrifice his life for the good of his nation and people. He could have stayed with his widowed mother and his teenage sister and could have found a job that enables him to fulfil his dream of marrying his sweetheart, Fatima. But he opted to be a freedom fighter, to liberate his homeland from the occupier. He explains his motive of joining the Mujahideen in the letter he left for Amal before his departure to the refugee camp, in which he writes:

They have taken everything, Amal. And still they take more. I can’t sit by and watch

helplessly any longer. Please, little sis, forgive me for leaving. I’m going to fight. It’s my

only choice. They have scripted lives for us that are but extended death sentences, a

living death. I won’t live their script. If I am martyred, then so be it. Be proud, pray for

my soul, and celebrate my passing into Allah’s kingdom, as all martyrs who die fighting

for justice, freedom, and the land shall be there to let me in among them. (120)

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This heightened national affiliation reflected by the Palestinians in the aftermath of the

1948 war is an inevitable consequence of the events of the Nakba. These events constituted a turning point in the trajectory of Palestinian national belonging and a strong impetus for the

Palestinian identity forward. Had it not been for these events, the Arabs in Palestine would probably have remained loyal to their various religious sects or clans in the region, and

Palestinian identity would not have developed in the same way we have seen as a result of the events of the Nakba.

On the personal level, the evolution that has occurred on the national consciousness of both Yousef and Amal Abulheja as a result of their direct exposure to the atrocities of the Nakba is another indication to the extent to which this catastrophic event has been influential on developing the national awareness of Palestinian society. Unlike first-generation Palestinians who reflected little awareness of their Palestinian national identity during the 1948 events,

Yousef and his fellow youth who grew up in the Jenin camp reflect a stunning image of the extent to which Palestinian national awareness has evolved within the span of only a couple of decades after the Nakba. Pervine El-Refaei confirms this aspect of evolution occurring to

Yousef’s national identity, remarking that the switch in the novel's voice from Amal to Yousef and the successive chapters headings that carries his name: " Yousef the son" (95), "Yousef the man"(100), "Yousef the prisoner" (101), Yousef the PLO fighter" (106), and "Yousef the

Avenger" (240), all aim at highlighting this change that occurred to his identity (Elrefaei 87).

The new generation of Palestinians who grew up in the camp look at themselves as

Palestinians and are ready to sacrifice their life for their homeland. Yousef, for example, has joined the Mujahideen and perceives himself as a freedom fighter, who is willing to defend his nation with all his power. In fact, he tells us about these national feelings that have begun to

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grow within him in a letter he wrote to his sister before joining the Mujahideen. After explaining to Amal why he failed to keep the promise that he made to his father to take care of his sister and make sure she gets the best education possible, Yousef in this letter explains to the reader why he has chosen to enroll in the armed struggle and become a freedom fighter. He explains that he did this for “the good of his people and nation comes first” (120). The letter that he sent to Amal reads:

They’ve taken everything, Amal. And still they take more. I can’t sit by and watch

helplessly any longer. Please little sis, forgive me for leaving. I’m going to fight. It’s my

only choice. They have scripted lives for us that are not but extended death sentences,

living death. I won’t live their script. (120)

Noora Badwan comments on Yousef's desire to become a martyr as not stemming from religious reasons, but from a nationalist sentiment and deep desire to protect his family. She explains that his father's death is interpreted by Yousef as failure in protecting him and his family, which he doesn’t want to happen in his situation (Badwan 14).

When juxtaposing Yousef’s attitude against his fellow Palestinians and his willingness to sacrifice his life for their freedom with that of first-generation Palestinians, we see the extent to which Palestinian national awareness has evolved due to the Nakba. In fact, first-generation

Palestinians who were forced to leave their towns and villages at the hands of the Israeli militant groups, had little awareness of their Palestinian national identity and barely cared for the fate of their fellow Arabs in Palestine from other clans and sects, something that is evident in many places in the novel. One of these scenes is one in which the villagers of Ein Hod invite representatives of Israeli troops to a banquet honoring the peace agreement that the two parties have struck. Although the villagers of Ein Hod had known of the heartbreaking fate and the

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massacre that happened to a neighboring village, they went on with their treaty with the Israelis and failed to defend their fellow Palestinians or at least stretched a helping hand to their fellow

Palestinians. The safety of the villagers of Ein Hod and protection of their properties was of first priority for this group of Palestinians even if it was at the cost of their fellow Palestinians in neighboring villages. The reaction of Ein Hod’s villagers is a glaring example of the weakness and disintegration that characterized Palestinian national consciousness pre- and during the 1948 war period.

Finally, a truce was reached, and Ein Hod sighed with relief. “We will prepare a feast as a

gesture of friendship and our intention to live side by side with them,” Yehya decreed to

the villagers on behalf of the council of elders. He gripped Haj Salem’s hand with that

hopeful and somber decision, an understood prayer between old friends. (27)

This evolving Palestinian national awareness appears to be comprehensive and is not limited only to one spectrum of the Palestinian society. Just like their male counterparts, the

Palestinian women of the Jenin camp also reflect a deep national consciousness of their role in defending their nation. Although the novel does not present a Palestinian female character as a freedom fighter, Palestinian women participate in this national struggle through a number of indirect ways, including inciting their sons to fight against their land occupier. At the same time, these women do not accept condolences for their sons who die defending their Palestinian homeland. Instead, they celebrate their martyrdom and wish to think of them as freedom fighters who sacrifice their lives defending their nation and honor. To these women, dying in the sake of one’s nation is the highest badge of honor one can hope for. This heightened Palestinian national consciousness is evident in the scene where the inhabitant of Jenin receives the news of the

Battle of Karameh, in which the Palestinian freedom fighters valiantly prevented the Israeli

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Army from taking over the Karameh camp in Jordan. These nationalist emotions appear clearly in the following excerpt.

“Allaho akbar,” the crowd roared. Jenin sang with self-worth and pride as people danced

in the streets. Haj Salem made his way through the crowd when he saw me. leaning to

kiss my cheek, he said, “your brother fought in Karameh. How about that! He’s fine, I

hear.” Toothless smile in full beam, he walked away clapping with the people, fingers

fully extended and spread apart in front of his old brown face. (122)

Amal’s national consciousness is an extension to this evolving Palestinian national awareness. Besides the suffering that she and her family underwent in the refugee camp due to their expulsion from their village, the incident of her getting shot by an Israeli soldier can also be read as traumatic, as well as a personal turning point in the evolution of her national awareness.

Given that she was born in the aftermath of the 1948 war, and has not directly experienced displacement from her family’s home village, Amal's national awareness development required going through a traumatic experience of a similar degree to that of first-generation Palestinians in order to hasten its evolvement, and guarantee continuity of her national affiliation to Palestine.

This transformative experience in Amal's case, is her experience of being shot at by an Israeli soldier. We read in the novel that she gets shot as she was strolling around the camp. Just like first-generation Palestinians who suffered directly by the 1948 events, Amal in this scene experiences a similar trauma, exemplifying in her getting hit by an Israeli bullet. Amal describes this incident as follows: “My hand moved to the cramp in my side and as my fingers sank into a horrid slush my knees buckled, my eyes bulged and rolled, and my last string of consciousness that day roiled from the depths of the earth, through my lungs, feeling my breath as a wild scream. I’d been shot” (118). Basuli Deb comments on this scene in his book on feminism and

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terror literature, noting that this scene of Amal getting shot at by an Israeli soldier bears lots of resemblance to the Israeli occupation of her homeland, arguing the Israeli bullet has occupied

Amal's young body and wreaked havoc to it in a way similar to what the Israelis did to Palestine during the 1948 war (Deb 80). This incident turns Amal’s life upside down and metaphorically transforms her from a mere child into an adult whose national awareness is deeply rooted and unshakable. Only one page earlier to this scene, we see her experiencing a different episode of bleeding, but this time it isn't because of an Israeli bullet that ruptures her young flesh, but rather a natural one. Amal gets her first menstrual period. “My hand emerged guilty and body, evidencing the arrival of the mysterious and long-awaited menstrual cycle” (117). The juxtaposition of these two incidents of bleeding is an indication of fundamental transformation that Amal is going to go through not only on the bodily level, but also on the national one. In addition to Amal’s physical maturity, Abulhawa suggests that Amal has also become nationally mature. The bullet that ruptured her flesh left her traumatized, but at the same time sharpened her national awareness of her Palestinian identity and affiliation.

Conclusion

Although the Palestinian nostalgia-filled narrative of right of return seems at face value altogether negative and encourages a pessimistic outlook for the future of the Palestinian cause, it also enfolds positive effects on Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. By the virtue of the nostalgic rhetoric in this national narrative, Palestinian national identity has managed to remain steadfast in the face of uprootedness and displacement after the catastrophic events of

1948, as well as in facing Israeli's continuous attempts to its obliteration. This national narrative, as is illustrated in the chapter, has contributed to the continuity of the Palestinian national identity in two ways. On the one hand, the narrative of right of return has empowered

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Palestinians to formulate a benchmark against which they may measure the extent to which they have changed, as a collectivity to the better in relation with their struggle against the Israeli occupier, as well as to their transformation from being a defenseless people dependent on other

Arab nations for their protection into a people, who believe in the importance of armed struggle in their war to regain their homeland and their right to return to it. On the other hand, the embedded nostalgic discourse in the narrative of return has created a glimmer of hope among

Palestinians in the diaspora of a possible return, which in return keeps them clinging to their

Palestinian national identity and prevents its disintegration under the weight of exile and displacement.

Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings in Jenin deftly captures the impact of this national narrative on the continuity of the Palestinian national identity, and the ways in which this nostalgic discourse involved in this narrative prompts diaspora-born Palestinians to cling to their homeland and their right to return to it. This continuity of Palestinian national identity generated by the narrative of return, as has been pointed out in the chapter, is manifested in number of characters, including Amal, the heroine and the novel's main voice. Despite her constant displacement and the weight of suffering she has been through during her stay in the United States, Amal Abulheja appears to have managed to keep her national affiliation to her occupied homeland, and transmit it to her diaspora-born daughter Sara, who have never set foot in Palestine or refugee camps.

This feeling of nostalgia generated by the narrative of right of return, seems to have kindled in

Sarah, as well as in her mother a feeling of national belonging to Palestine and an unbridled desire to return to it, despite the absence of a political entity that undertakes this role.

In addition, Abulhawa in Mornings in Jenin, hasn’t only succeeded in depicting discursive processes that normally occur following catastrophic events (in the Palestinian case, it

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is the catastrophe of 1948), and its effect on the resilience of the identity of this collectivity , but perhaps also managed in rewriting the Palestinian history and re-narrating the events of 1948 from a Palestinian perspective. In so doing, Abulhawa follows the steps of many Palestinian diasporic writers who take upon their shoulder the task of narrating the Palestinian history of the

Nakba events, and see it as a national duty and a form of non-violent resistance against Israel.

Abulhawa herself accentuates this point in an interview with the BBC, remarking that “narrating one's story in one's voice is an intrinsic part of society's collective memory and identity” (El-

Refaei 80). Overall, this literary work can be read as part of the larger Palestinian project aiming at solidifying Palestinian national identity and rewriting the Palestinian historical records of the events of the Nakba, through the narrative of right of return and other Palestinian national narratives.

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CHAPTER 3

REPRESENTATIONS OF PALESTINIANS SUMUD IN THE DIASPORA IN RANDA JARRAR’S A MAP OF HOME

“The most Important element in the Palestinian program is holding on to the land. Holding on to the land and not warfare alone. Warfare comes at a different level. If you only fight- that is a tragedy. If you fight and emigrate- that is a tragedy. The basis is that you hold on and fight”. —Yasser Arafat, 1985

This chapter examines the sumud13 narrative in Palestinian-American writing and the role it plays in building Palestinian national identity within the diaspora. Unlike previous chapters, this chapter isn’t about the discursive aspect of the sumud, but focuses instead on the material dimension to this narrative and the ways in which Palestinian writing in the diaspora portrays

Palestinians’ attachment to their culture and identity as a form of sumud. This chapter addresses questions such as, “What are the social and cultural elements that symbolize this national narrative?,” “How can this narrative and its symbolic elements contribute to building and maintaining Palestinian national identity in the diaspora?,” and, “To what extent Palestinian-

American writing is reflective of this narrative ?”

In order to answer these questions, this chapter assesses representations of the sumud narrative in Randa Jarrar’s A Map of Home (2008), and argues that this national narrative employs a wide range of cultural symbols related to the Palestinian local environment, such as indigenous plants, traditional clothing, and folk cuisine with the objective of building and maintaining the Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. Similar to other narratives in the

Palestinian national context, the sumud narrative employs these cultural symbols to advance a

13 Sumud is an Arabic term commonly translated as steadfastness or resilience.

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specific discourse encouraging Palestinians’ adherence to their identity and culture in the

occupied territories and in exile. Highlighting such cultural elements is important for the

Palestinians’ diasporic cohesion as they consolidate their attachment to their original homeland.

Moreover, it plays a crucial role in highlighting positive aspects of their Palestinian cultural and

national identity.

Furthermore, this chapter deals with the image of the Palestinian woman in this national

narrative and her role as a carrier and propagator of this national discourse by asking questions

such as “What impact do Palestinian women have on the popularity of sumud as a method of

resistance among Palestinians in Israel and the diaspora?” and “How has this role been

represented in Randa Jarrar's A Map of Home?” Shedding light on this aspect aims at highlighting the historical association between Palestinian women and this national narrative, as well as pointing out their pioneering role in adopting this method of nonviolent resistance against the colonial occupation of their homeland.

This chapter is divided into three sections, and each deals with a specific type of cultural symbol used by this narrative in building Palestinian identity among the diaspora. The first section focuses on Palestinian traditional clothing, such as Keffiyeh14 and Kaftan15, and the way they have been transformed into national symbols of the Palestinian identity. The second section highlights the use of the sumud narrative involving images of plants local to Palestinian environment, such as olive trees and cacti, as symbols of the Palestinian steadfastness in the face of Israeli oppression. The third section examines the utilization of Palestinian popular cuisine in

14 The Palestinian Keffiyeh (also written as Kufiya) is a black and white checkered scarf that is usually worn by men. 15 Kaftan is a Palestinian traditional dress usually worn by women from the peasant class.

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the sumud narrative and the ways in which this aspect contributes to highlighting rootedness and attachment of Palestinian diaspora to their identity.

From a Strategy of Survival into a National Narrative

Before delving into our analysis of Randa Jarrar's employment of cultural symbols in A

Map of Home and the way in which they highlight steadfastness of the Palestinian diaspora and their adherence to national identity, it is important to shed some light on the sumud narrative and get a better understanding of “What is meant by sumud?,” “When did this narrative come to being?,” “What impact does it have on Palestinians living outside Israel and the occupied territories?,” and “How has it been dealt with by Palestinian literature?”

The Arabic word ‘sumud’ is generally translated as ‘steadfastness’ or ‘resilience,’ a term commonly used by Palestinians to describe their nonviolent resistance against Israel’s occupation of their homeland (Ryan 84). In other words, it refers to Palestinians’ insistence on challenging the Israeli occupation of Palestine through staying put in their homes and villages and not yielding to the pressures of the occupation by departing the occupied territories under any circumstance. In her commentary on the meaning of sumud, Van Teefelen emphasizes that this concept is more than just a personality trait or a quality to a particular Palestinian group, it is a powerful cultural and psycho-educational tool that has become a distinguishing feature of nonviolent resistance in Palestine (Teefelen 5).

The term sumud entered the Palestinian social and political lexicon long before the events of 1948 but gained more resonance after the Nakba events. In fact, it has its origin in the Islamic ideology and in the creed of sabr16, in particular. This creed, which literally means ‘endurance or

16 According to The Encyclopaedia of Islam the term sabr “means adherence to the religious as opposed to the sensual impulse”. It has two kinds to it: physical and spiritual.

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perseverance’ teaches that the Muslim individual must endure hardships for the sake of the faith

and never give up to the enemies. This Islamic idea, according to Ron Schleifer, inspired the

Palestinians’ sumud and provided it with the needed ideological basis for its crystallization

(Schleifer 47).

The formal emergence of the concept in the Palestinian political and social discourse

dates back to late 1970s and early 1980s, when the Palestinian Liberation Movement (PLO)

called for its adoption by the Palestinian minority in Israel. It began as a survival strategy with

the objective of halting Palestinians’ exodus from the occupied territories and counteracting the

Israeli military rule imposed on this minority group. In fact, at the end of the 1948 war, some

167,000 Palestinians remained in Israel and comprised more than twenty percent of Israel's

overall population. The large number of Palestinians in its midst prompted the Israeli

government to naturalize and grant voting rights to many of them (Ali 71). However, the new

status bestowed to this group of Palestinians hasn’t swayed the Israeli government from

imposing its military rule on its Arab citizens or protecting the Palestinian minority from the

state's institutional oppression. On the contrary, the laws of military rule, which were based on

emergency regulations established by the British Mandate in 1945, gave the government of Israel

the power to arrest Palestinians, confiscate their houses, and expel them from the country

altogether if needed.

In response to this, the PLO recommended “sumud” as a survival strategy for this group of Palestinians, hoping to encourage them to remain resolute and never wane under the pressures imposed by the Israeli government (Bourbeau and Ryan 179). On their part, Palestinians in Israel

(also known as Israeli-Palestinians) responded to the PLO-calls for sumud by carrying out and

practicing different kinds of nonviolent activities against the state of Israeli, including marches,

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refusal of cooperation with the authorities, and holding on to their homes and refusing their sale.

These activities were said to have a major impact on their situation and contributed towards lifting the unjust military laws.

The later years witnessed fundamental changes in the concept of sumud. Instead of only denoting a survival strategy for the Palestinian minority in Israel, sumud became a strategy for all

Palestinians under oppression elsewhere. Historical resources indicate a wide circulation of the sumud discourse among Palestinians in Lebanon, Jordan, and Gaza and even in areas beyond the

Middle East. In an essay titled, “To Exist is to Resist Sumud Heroism and the Everyday”,

Alexandra Rijke, Toine Van Teeffelen, remarks that the rhetoric of sumud found popularity among Palestinians in Lebanon during the civil war between 1975 and 1982. They add that the

Palestinian factions during the Lebanese civil war looked upon their defense of refugee camps in southern parts of Lebanon as a form of sumud, reflects their adoption of the concept as a strategy of survival as well (Rijke and Teeffelen 87). In addition, the adoption of the concept of sumud by

Palestinians outside Israel has not only contributed to the popularity of this strategy among

Palestinians but has also expanded the meaning of sumud by not limiting it to one form of nonviolent resistance. In her book, Heroes and Martyrs of Palestine, Laleh Khalili confirms this point, remarking that the adoption of sumud by Palestinians in Lebanon has contributed to broadening its meanings to include practices that were previously not part of enacting this strategy, explaining, “to remain in the camps, to prevent dispersion, to conduct the daily affairs of life – provisioning of food, protecting the peripheries of the camp, even speaking in a

Palestinian accent which may mark the speaker out for harassment at checkpoints – all became acts of political resistance against the Lebanese army and militias” (Khalili 99).

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It is worth noting, however, that sumud hasn't always been at the forefront of the

Palestinian political and social discourse. In fact, the circulation of the concept among

Palestinians has witnessed ups and downs during some periods of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

In the 1990s, for instance, the sumud discourse went somewhat out of the Palestinian public

focus due to the Oslo agreement and the prospect of reaching a peace plan with the Israelis

(Rijke and Teeffelen 89). In fact, early indications of an Israeli-Palestinian peace plan provided

the Palestinian people with an optimistic impression about the possibility of reaching a

comprehensive solution to the conflict, prompting many of them to abandon many of their

defense strategies and focusing on the potential outcome this peace plan at the Palestinian level.

However, the second intifada of 2000 returned sumud to the forefront of the Palestinian socio-political scene. During these events, Palestinians in the West Bank, Gaza Strip, and other areas in the occupied territories demonstrated valor and determination in facing the Israeli war machine with stones and bare chests. The second Palestinian intifada was dubbed the “Stone

Revolution”, in reference to the Palestinian practice of confronting Israeli tanks with stones

(Tolan 193). Laura Junka-Aikio confirms this point, remarking that the second intifada revived the Palestinian strategy of sumud and broadened its meanings to include new manifestations of a nonviolent resistance that had not existed in earlier periods. She points out that practices like showing joy and celebration have emerged among the new forms of sumud practiced by

Palestinians in Israel, and describes her observations on these new practices as follows:

During the hot summer months, the beach was turned into a zone of leisure, as people

from all walks of the society would go there to spend time outdoors. Full of life, the

beach appeared also full of meaning, both as a space of everyday resistance which stood

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against dehumanising conditions of violence and the occupation, and as an inherently

deconstructive space. (Junka-Aikio 7)

Apart from the progress on the concept of sumud in the past twenty years, it has been a

source of heated debate among those concerned with the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The central

point of this debate is about whether or not sumud is a form of resistance. Proponents of the idea contend that there is no single path for resistance that ought to be adopted by Palestinians, but that resistance should take multiple forms and shapes, and that sumud is a quintessential part of the nonviolent resistance. To this group of scholars, sumud is a central part of the so-called

‘accommodative resistance’ that is built on the premise of avoiding violence and a direct

confrontation with the enemy (Ali 77). Bourbeau and Ryan for example, look upon sumud as a

form of nonviolent resistance, arguing that sumud is infrapolitics, or everyday resistance that

“takes the form of adaptation to the shocks and unpredictability of the occupation” (Bourbeau

and Ryan 181). In other words, sumud earns its importance, not from the practices it enacts, but

from the symbolic meanings involved in these practices.

On the other hand, a number of scholars contend that sumud is not a form of resistance, but more of a survival strategy that is based on “the idealized image of the Palestinian peasant who stayed on his land and refused to leave” (Singh 83). Their reasoning behind such a view of sumud is based on its primary reliance on indirect confrontation with the Israeli occupier. They perceive sumud instead as a form of passive resistance that relies on the individual rather than on the collective. Besides, they view that regrading sumud as a form of resistance will undermine the Palestinian dream of establishing an independent state. Ralph Crow and Philip Grant, for instance, cite in their essay on nonviolent resistance in the Middle East that skeptics of the effectiveness of nonviolent resistance to the Palestinian case, arguing that violent struggle is

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necessary to establish dignity and strength among the oppressed, and is the most efficient way to

attain political goals (Crow and Grant 32).

These conflicting visions of sumud, and whether it amounts to a form of resistance or not

stems primarily from the multiple shapes in which this concept may manifest. Many everyday

practices can be translated as a form of sumud. For example, simple practices like mothers caring

for their children or the Palestinian peoples’ interest in education and obtaining graduate degrees,

in many instances are translated as sumud by Palestinians.

Caitlin Ryan comments on this aspect, pointing out that sumud is enacted in three types of strategies, the first of which is intellectual and is concerned with “strengthening mental resolve”, the second is material and relates to adapting to daily life under occupation, and the third is cultural and is concerned with transferring Palestinian culture to later generations (Ryan

48). These three dimensions or strategies, as Ryan puts it, are the main vehicles through which

Palestinians exercise this strategy. Thus, it can be said that sumud can be practiced physically, mentally, or verbally.

Nevertheless, some of these practices are more effective than others, or at least more suitable for the conditions under which Palestinians live. Despite the importance of other dimensions of carrying out this strategy/narrative, sumud relies heavily on its physical or practical dimensions. Contrary to other narratives such as the right of return, for instance, reliance on the physical aspect is very limited, as sumud is practical more than anything else, which makes it different from other Palestinian national narratives.

This aspect of difference brings us to the question: what are the differences between the sumud narrative and other Palestinian national narratives? Sumud differs from other national narratives in many aspects. In addition to serving as a survival strategy for Palestinians in Israel,

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the sumud narrative focuses on highlighting and foregrounding the Palestinians’ aspects of

weakness and suffering. In fact, the rhetoric of this national narrative does not call for

establishing what Khalili terms as an ‘idealized image’ for the Palestinian individual or depicting

him as a superhero who conquers and subdues the occupiers of his ancestral land. On the

contrary, the sumud narrative valorizes insignificant and simple actions taken by Palestinians

towards the injustice imposed on Palestinian society and homeland (Khalili 101). In contrast with

narratives in the Palestinian national context, such as heroism or istish’had17, it can be noticed

that the latter narrative focuses on depicting the Palestinian individual as a hero or martyr who is

sacrificing his life for the good of his nation, whereas in the sumud narrative, the focus is shifted

to the small actions, like going to one’s job or a mother taking care of her children (Singh 116).

Moreover, unlike in other national narratives, Palestinian women are the backbone of the sumud

narrative. In fact, entrusting them with this role has not been the result of Palestinian men’s

abandonment of resistance and defense of the land of Palestine, but rather because they are more

suitable for this role and this type of resistance. This is not to indicate or assert in any way that

men do not play any role in reorienting this narrative and strategy, but rather that women play the

most prominent role by virtue of the suitability of peaceful resistance to them. Their convenience

to this role has led them, as Caitlin Ryan points out, to find countless ways to exercise and

practice sumud (Ryan 87-88). Palestinian women in Israel and the diaspora have invented

unprecedented ways of practicing sumud, such as singing, dancing and instilling a legacy of sumud in their children. Also, Palestinian women within the context of this national narrative have found themselves promoted to become equal to men, which is unusual for a patriarchal

society like the Palestinian. Mia Bloom confirms this point in her book, Bombshell: Women and

17 istishhad is the Arabic word for "martyrdom", "death of a martyr", or "heroic death".

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Terrorism, remarking that “Palestinian women are acknowledged as equal of men in the steadfastness of their opposition to the occupation” (Bloom 137). This recognition of the

Palestinian woman’s role in Palestinian resistance to the occupation, albeit not enough, has given her a unique position compared to peers in the Arab world.

The question to be asked here is: What is the relationship of Palestinians in the diaspora with the narrative of sumud, especially those who do not live in the camps or are subject to

Israeli persecution? Can it be claimed that this narrative applies to them or are they able to carry it out from beyond the Palestinian homeland? Many scholars contend that there is no difference between the diaspora and non-diaspora Palestinians in carrying out this strategy. If it is the responsibility of the Palestinians in Israel to carry out the greater bulk of implementing sumud,

Palestinians in the diaspora participate in supporting continuity of exercising sumud financially and morally. Mohammed Bamyeh, for instance, sees that “the inflow of diaspora capital into the occupied territories has helped strengthen local civil society, foster economic development, and alleviate the recurrent hardships attendant to a life under countless blockades and harassment”

(Bamyeh 79). Moreover, Palestinians in the diaspora practice the strategy of sumud themselves, although in their unique way. Continuing to speaking Arabic, preserving traditional clothing, and keeping Palestinian cuisine alive are among the various methods of adopting the sumud strategy among the diaspora. Palestinians in the diaspora view their adoption of the Palestinian cause in their literary and non-literary writings as a form of sumud.

Literature as a Form of Sumud

Any discussion on the reflection of the narrative of sumud in Palestinian literature in general, and in Palestinian-American writing, in particular, is definitely going to be incomplete without highlighting contributions of Palestinian-Arabs in Israel, and their leading role in

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adopting this national narrative in their literary production. As mentioned earlier in the chapter, the early germs of this narrative sprung from the heart of the Israeli State at the hands of the

Palestinian minority who remained in Israel after the war of 1948. The conditions under which they lived in Israel were the motor for the adoption of such a strategy in resisting the occupation of their homeland. The convenience of this method of resistance to the delicate situation lived by the Arab and Muslim minority in Israel prompted them to avoid confrontation with the Israeli state and to resort to peaceful methods of resistance such as protests, marches, and non- cooperation with authorities. In addition, the steadfastness of the Palestinians in Israel has included many other forms of peaceful resistance. For example, Palestinian intellectuals in Israel perceive their literary outputs as a form of resistance and extension to the strategy of sumud. In fact, many of their writings call for fighting the Israeli occupation of Palestine, and not cooperating with the Israeli government in any way, which has angered the Israeli government and has prompted it in many cases to close newspapers, confiscate periodicals, and imprison

Palestinian poets and novelists. Take, for example, Mahmoud Darwish’s experience with the

Israeli authorities and its oppression against Palestinian intellectuals, which he describes:

My poetry caused me problems from the start. It led me to clash with the military

government. This is how it happened: I was in the eighth grade when celebrations were

held marking the tenth anniversary of Israel's creation. Huge festivals were organized in

the Arab villages, as part of the anniversary, in which schoolchildren were to participate.

The school principal asked me to take a part in the festival to be held in Deir al-Assad.

For the first time in my life, wearing shorts, I stood before a microphone, and recited the

poem "Akhi al Ibri" (My Jewish brother). It was an appeal by an Arab child to a Jewish

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one: let's play together under the sun shines with the same color on an Arab village and a

Jewish Kibbutz. (Mendelson-Maoz 17)

In her essay, “Active and Transformative Sumud Among Palestinian Activists in Israel”,

Nijmeh Ali touches upon this point, emphasizing that Palestinians in Israel have utilized their writing as a means of resistance to the occupation of their homeland with the aim of uncovering the atrocities being committed by the occupation authorities and writing about their daily life and their struggle to remain in their land (Ali 72). The insistence of Palestinian authors in Israel to fight the occupation through their writing and using it as a means of resistance has prompted many scholars to look upon the majority of Palestinian literature in Israel as a form of sumud and part of so-called ‘Palestinian resistance literature’. Adia Mendelson-Maoz writes that in the wake of the 1967 war, and efforts exerted by Palestinian-Israeli writers in motivating and supporting resistance through their work, they have received more tangible significance for being a part of what was defined as “the literature of resistance” (Mendelson-Maoz 22). This brings us to the question, what is resistance literature, and what does it have to do with the narrative of sumud?

Palestinian resistance literature is a genre of Palestinian writing that is concerned with evoking the spirit of resistance in the Palestinian people to reclaim their homeland through poetry, fiction, and so on. It is a term first coined by Ghassan Kanafani in the early 1970s to reference Palestinian literary writing inside Israel that focuses on combating Israeli occupation and uncovering its oppression against the Palestinian minority in Israeli (Kennedy 68). The term first appeared in Kanafani’s study on Palestinian literature, Adab al- Muqawama fi Filasfin al-

Muhtalla (Literature of Resistance in Occupied Palestine 1948-1966), in which he detailed the role of Palestinian ‘popular poetry’ in mobilizing and instigating resistance against Israeli

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occupation, and highlighting the difficulties facing Palestinian writing in Israeli. Kanafani describes the purpose of his study of Palestinian resistance literature, writing that:

The attempts at a history of the resistance literature of given people are usually, for

reasons that are self-evident, accomplished after liberation. with respect to the literature

of resistance in occupied Palestine, however, it is necessary that the Arab reader in

general and the Palestinian emigrant in particular study its persistent continuation,

because it is fundamentally to be found in the language itself and speech of the Arabs of

occupied Palestine. The resistance springs from these linguistics initiatives, working

together with the rigidity of the conditions of the situation. (Kanafani 11)

In this study, Kanafani defines resistance literature as “literature that doesn’t moan or cry, doesn’t surrender or despair and shuns the phenomena of subjective romantic setbacks (naksat) seen in most Arabic poetry these days” (Kanafani 133). He notes that this Palestinian literary trend is represented in the work of a host of Palestinian writers, such as Mahmoud Darwish,

Kasim Samih, Rashid Husain, Emile Habibi, and Mahmoud Dusuki. However, resistance literature differs fundamentally from other Palestinian literary writing in terms of themes and subjects. Bashir Abu-Manneh boils down these aspects of difference to three features. The first of these features is that resistance literature in Palestine is connected to a social horizon and is loyal to the toiling class who bear arms and safeguard the destiny of the resistance. The second is that this literature “is committed to revolutions of liberation around the world. The third is that it is organically connected to the Arab horizon, acknowledging the authenticity and necessity of social progressive outlook” (Abu-Manneh 77). The features distinguishing resistance literature also exist in Palestinian writing in the diaspora. Take, for example, the literary works of famous diasporic Palestinian writers, such as Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, Sahar Khalifeh, and Mourid Barghouti

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and the extent to which the narrative of sumud is reflected in their works. Similar to Palestinian writers in Israel, the majority of these Palestinian writers in the diaspora take upon their shoulders the mission of defending the Palestinian cause and the Palestinian people's interests abroad. However, sumud in the literary writing of the Palestinian diaspora takes a different shape and is to some extent different to what is found in Palestinian writing in Israel. Instead of focusing on the Palestinians’ daily struggle under Israeli occupation, Palestinian diasporic writing, including Palestinian-American writing, has made the cultural aspect of the Palestinian identity its primary concern and the main space through which this survival strategy is highlighted and carried out. Kifah Hanna confirms this point in her commentary on Kanafani’s study of resistance literature, remarking that resistance literature in the occupied territories is reflective of language, culture, and the daily struggles of Palestinians in Israel, while Palestinian literature in the diaspora, reflects a different kind of struggle for this group of Palestinians

(Hanna 70). Since diaspora Palestinians do not directly suffer Israel's repression and oppression, they have had their own way of dealing with and employing this narrative. Among these topics in which Palestinian diaspora writers have employed the sumud narrative is the issue of national identity and its continuity in the diaspora. The challenges facing the Palestinian national identity among the diaspora as a result of fragmentation and uprooting has made it imperative for the

Palestinians to find urgent solutions to confront the disintegration looming on the horizon of the future of this identity. The sumud narrative has been one of the narratives employed by the

Palestinian diaspora in supporting continuity of Palestinian identity and culture in the diaspora.

3.1 Sumud in Randa Jarrar’s A Map of Home

Similar to other Palestinian writers in the diaspora, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is central to Randa Jarrar’s writing and activism (Fischer 36). Much of her literary and non-literary

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output revolves around this pole and focuses on themes related to this conflict. Her debut novel,

A Map of Home, is living testimony to this fact. In addition to being written in a manner that reflects Jarrar’s personal experiences, this novel addresses several issues related to this conflict and its consequences on the Palestinian people, chief among which are the issues of right of return, exile, identity, uprootedness, and hybridity. Yet, the issues of displacement and dislocation consequent to this conflict seem to take priority over other issues in the novel. The centrality of this theme is evident in the novel's title, which refers to the Palestinian geopolitical map and its constant shifting due to this conflict, as if suggesting that Palestine has no defined borders, but constantly shifting ones. In her commentary on Jarrar’s treatment of the issue of displacement in A Map of Home, Fadda-Conrey emphasizes that ‘geographical imagination’ lies at the heart of Jarrar’s writing, and that her employment of this theme aims at producing "a spatial understanding of US citizenship and belonging” (Fadda-Conrey 125). Thus, it is not surprising to find the book’s characters are haunted by ideas related to displacement and the development of an understanding of their position in the world.

Like her main character, the Palestinian-American writer and translator, Randa Jarrar, suffers from consequences of displacement and dislocation. Her early life is marked by her family’s constant movement and dislocation. She was born in Chicago in 1978 to a Palestinian father and Egyptian-Greek mother. At age four, she moved with her family to Kuwait, where she lived for several years, before returning to the U.S. following the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in

1990 (Muller 44). After leaving Kuwait, she moved among various places, including Egypt, New

York, Connecticut, Texas, and California, where she presently resides. Jarrar holds an MA in

Middle Eastern studies from the University of Texas at Austin and an MFA from the University of Michigan and currently teaches creative writing at California State University (Greasley 38).

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A Map of Home is Jarrar’s debut novel and her most popular fiction book so far. It won

her several awards and prizes, including the Hopwood and the Arab-American award. However,

her second novel, Him, Me, Muhammad Ali: Stories (2016), didn’t receive the same attention. In fact, upon its publication, very few readers were interested in Jarrar’s new novel, the majority of whom were already familiar with her fiction writing style. The dull reception to the novel is ascribed by many to the similarities and intersectionalities between Jarrar’s first and second novels. Hartman remarks that Jarrar’s second novel builds off of the last section of her first novel and many of the themes discussed in the first novel are found in her second (Hartman 193). In addition, Jarrar’s offensive remarks towards Barbara Bush when she described her as "a generous and smart and amazing racist who, along with her husband, raised a war criminal”, and that she was happy about her death, have hurt the reception to Jarrar's second novel by the

American readership (Nelson 276).

Nevertheless, this doesn't negate the fact that Jarrar’s first novel was a hit. The popularity of this novel seems to arise from its simple style and the sexually charged scenes.

Jarrar’s liberal use of sexual scenes singles her work out among others in the genre. It doesn’t resemble mainstream Arab-American novels in terms of content or subject. It is a bold, lewd, and unconventional novel as Steven Salaita puts it, in his review of the novel. This unorthodox writing style is probably what Jarrar meant when she said, “She wants to write a novel that she always would have liked to read” (Salaita 210). Jarrar remarks on her writing style in A Map of

Home in one of her interviews, pointing out that:

A Map of Home is the fictionalization of mostly my grappling with my loyalty to my

parents and culture. If I wrote it another way, it would have been about my sexuality. If I

wrote it another way, it would have been about my parent’s eating disorders and how

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they forced them on me for years. And yet another way, it could have been about being a

young mother. I chose to limit my perspective and focus on the voice. Everything else

followed from there. By choosing to tell my version of history-the fictional version- I

have managed to talk about all these things at once. (Darwich and Harb 306)

A Map of Home does not have one unified theme, it rather tackles a host of subjects important to the Arab-American household and Palestinian-American in particular, such as identity, masculinity, hybridity, and the challenges facing Arab women in America. It also addresses some big questions related to the Palestinian community in the diaspora, such as

“What and where is home?”, “How does one find self and identity in the diaspora?”, and, “How to overcome the sense of isolation resulting of being an exile’. Exploring such questions in her literary writing is probably Jarrar’s own way of connecting with her Palestinian roots. She emphasizes this point in an interview, remarking that “We come from families that have members still in Palestine, still suffering. But as members of the diaspora we aren’t directly suffering, so there was a time when I thought I wasn’t Palestinian”. She adds, “Then I started thinking about how this experience of being in the Palestinian diaspora is a real one. I didn’t realize that when my family was unable to return to Kuwait it was because my dad was

Palestinian18" (Randa Jarrar).

A Map of Home is a coming-of-age novel (Fadda-conery 133). Its narrator and main character, Nidali— meaning ‘my struggle’ in Arabic—, is a Palestinian-American adolescent girl, whose family lives a troubled and challenging life due to their lack of home and roots.

Nidali’s father, Ammar, who comes from a Palestinian peasant-family, struggles with the consequences of being an exile and away from his homeland. He left Palestine as a teenager to

18 Interview’s full transcript published in institute of middle east understanding website (IMEU)

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attend university in Egypt in hope of graduating and returning to his hometown in Gaza where his family resides. The 1967 war, however, shattered his dreams of returning to Palestine, turning him overnight into a homeless refugee in Egypt. Driven by loneliness and sorrow, he marries an

Egyptian woman of Greek origin, thinking that marriage would make up for his loss and feelings of alienation. But to no avail; he instead brings homelessness and displacement upon his wife and upcoming children.

The opening scene is key to the novel’s plot and gives the reader a glimpse into the forthcoming events in the life of the Ammar’s family. Recounted from the perspective of Nidali, the opening scene relates the family’s life in Boston and how Nidali ends up with a boy’s name.

She tells the reader that her father, who was expecting a male child, mistakenly wrote 'Nidali' in the name section on the birth certificate, thinking that his wife gave birth to a baby boy.

However, after finding out the baby’s sex, he gets into an argument with his wife as he tries to convince her that Nidali is a good name for a girl, and that it is too late to change it. Meanwhile, the mother refuses his pleas, and he reluctantly changes the name by adding a feminine ‘i’ to the end of the name.

After Boston, Nidali's family resides in Kuwait, where the father lands a job at a prestigious Kuwaiti construction company. However, his distance from his homeland and family leaves its marks on his psychological life, turning him into an abusive person towards his wife and children. Moreover, his relationship with his wife deteriorates in Kuwait to the point of him leaving her in the middle of the desert as a result of their dispute over practicing her favorite hobby at home. Driven by his toxic masculinity, Ammar believes that allowing his wife to practice playing the piano at home would lead her to neglect her house duties. His wife, in return, thinks she wasted her career in music to marry him and that he does not have the right to deprive

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her of practicing her hobby because of his overpowering masculinity and his twisted religious mindset.

The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait is another defining moment in Nidali and her family’s life.

After having settled in Kuwait and having a relatively improved economic situation, the family is again forced to experience dislocation because of the invasion. The family heads to Egypt to seek safety, but soon faces a new dilemma. The father can't find a job there and his hopes for returning to Kuwait dissipates after Kuwait's decision to evict all Palestinians from the country.

The Kuwaitis are convinced that the Palestinian minority in Kuwait are supportive of Saddam and his invasion of Kuwait. The weight of the news of their eviction from Kuwait hits Nidali’s father very hard, causing him to fall into another psychological and economic spiral in Egypt.

After a few months full of waiting and anticipation in Alexandria, the family heads to America again, but this time to Texas instead of Boston. There in Texas, the father gets a job and the family lives in a mobile home. The family’s financial situation improves, yet the father’s abuse and toxic masculinity towards his wife and children remain the same.

The family's new situation, however, gives the wife and daughter a glimpse of hope and the courage to challenge the father's dominance and masculinity. Nidali, escapes from the house repeatedly in protest at being prevented from staying out after ten o'clock at night and because she is denied the privilege of hanging out with her male friends. The mother teaches music to the children of the neighborhood, which gives her the money and independence that she seeks. In the face of his family’s challenges to his decisions, the father finds himself forced to surrender and respond to their demands. He allows Nidali to go out with her friends more often and his wife gets more independence on the personal level. The novel closes with the father accepting the prospect of his daughter’s living on her own and majoring in fine arts at university in New York.

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Resistance is a central theme in Jarrar’s A Map of Home (Bayoumi 14). In addition to

Nidali’s struggle against her father’s masculinity and abusiveness, she resists another type of

persecution that haunts her and her family in their exile. This persecution lies in their lack of

homeland and their inability to return to Palestine, which is consequent to her family's expulsion

during the 1967 war at the hands of the Israeli State. Since then, the family has been forced from

one experience of displacement into another and from one exile into another. However, Ammar’s

resistance isn’t violent or even direct and maybe considered by many as ineffective. In fact, the

family learned to stay resolute and steadfast in the face of the obstacles and challenges facing

them in exile. The Palestinians call this form of resistance sumud, as pointed out earlier in this

chapter. In the following section, we are going to trace aspects of sumud that Jarrar highlights as

a form of nonviolent resistance in A Map of Home.

3.2 Resistance Through Celebrating Traditional Clothing in the Diaspora

Palestinians’ attachment to traditional clothing is one aspect that is highlighted in A Map

of Home as a form of sumud. In this novel, traditional clothing goes beyond a form of self-

expression or representation of particular segments of society into being a means of resistance

and a way of exercising the sumud strategy in the diaspora. Several Palestinian characters are

depicted as taking pride in showing and exhibiting their Palestinian traditional clothing like the

Keffiyeh or dishdasha. Take, for example, Ammar's daily routine of wearing a dishdasha right

after returning from his work, or Nidali’s proud reaction to being mocked and asked by her

Egyptian classmates, “where is your Keffiyeh?” (165). Such practices and attachment to

Palestinian traditional clothing make us ask, what stands behind Ammar’s attachment to this piece of clothing, and what has invoked in Nidali, who was born in exile, this deep attachment to this Palestinian national symbol? But before this, let us divert for a moment to shed a light on

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how Palestinian traditional clothing has been transformed into a symbol of Palestinian nationalism.

Palestinians’ celebration of their traditional clothing hasn’t always been like this. In fact, at a certain point in Palestinian history, traditional clothing symbolized backwardness and ignorance (Moors 306). While traditional clothing was very popular among the Palestinian peasant class, dwellers of major Palestinian cities like Jerusalem, Jaffa, Bethlehem or Haifa prided themselves on wearing western-style clothing before 1948. However, after 1948 traditional clothing became a source of national pride among all segments of Palestinian society.

The huge fracture that occurred within the Palestinian social fabric pushed many Palestinians to hold on dearly to this cultural aspect, in the hope of protecting their identity from erosion under the weight of displacement and exile. John Shoup confirms this in a commentary on the

Palestinian community in Jordan, emphasizing that “Palestinian foods and traditional clothing

(especially for the women) became important ways to help preserve their Palestinian identity”

(Shoup 76). Thus, many articles of Palestinian traditional clothing, such as the Hijab, Keffiyeh,

Quftan and Jilbab became synonymous with Palestinian nationalism and symbolized an attachment to Palestine following the Nakba. The Palestinian-British novelist, Ghada Karmi, tells us about the historical course of action for the transformation of quftan (also written as caftan) into a Palestinian national symbol after the Nakba, in her autobiography, In Search of Fatima, remarking: “No one then could have known that after the loss of Palestine in 1948 this despised peasant costume would become a symbol of the homeland, worn with pride by the very same women had previously spurned it. In exile, it became obligatory for each Palestinian woman to have her own caftan and to show it off at public functions” (Karmi 23). In addition, Palestinian traditional clothing has become a common sight at every social or cultural occasion for the

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Palestinian community in the diaspora. In a study conducted on the Palestinian community in

Canada, Yara El-Ghadban observes that it has become customary for Palestinian youth during cultural nights to wear Palestinian traditional clothes and play recordings of Palestinian traditional folk songs like daluna (El-Ghadban and Strohm 184). Such celebration of traditional clothing underscores the importance of the role it plays in preserving Palestinian identity in the diaspora and its impact on resisting the Israeli occupation.

However, to answer the questions posed earlier regarding Ammar’s attachment to dishdasha and Nidali’s reaction to her classmates’ making fun of the Palestinian Keffiyeh, it is important to note that facing such reactions is a typical experience for migrants. Migrants often tend to be peaceful and docile, especially those who come as refugees and do not enjoy the freedom of going back to their homeland of origin (Orchowski 195). The primary goal for many of them is often making a better life for themselves and their families. However, in Ammar and

Nidali’s case, there is an additional aspect. They look at this attachment to traditional clothing as a form of resistance to exile and the act of always facing the threat of uprootedness. In one of the scenes, Nidali’s father reminds his daughter that a big part of being Palestinian is an attachment to Palestine and embracing all aspects of its culture. “Our people carry the homeland in their souls,” he would tell me every night as he tucked me in” (9). Besides, Palestinian refugees and migrants in general often take pride in overcoming difficulties facing them in exile and view it as a challenge to the status quo. They often focus more on improving their financial and social situation, as well as sending money to subsidize their families in Palestine and to owning property in the occupied lands. Also, attachment to traditional clothing in the diaspora is often looked at by this group of Palestinians as a sumud and peaceful resistance to Israel and its attempts to negate Palestinian identity and existence. In an article entitled, “Made in Palestine:

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Kufiya Scarves as a Symbol of Liberation,” Mayada Srouji underscores this point, remarking that Keffiyeh, which was traditionally worn by the Palestinian farmers has become one of the most powerful symbols for the Palestinian resistance (Srouji).

The interesting thing about Nidali’s reaction is her ability to transform this seemingly difficult situation in her favor. She learns from her father how to overcome difficulties and turn distress into blessings. When her classmates at her new school in Egypt make fun of the Keffiyeh

(a Palestinian national symbol), she doesn't shy away or fight back their insult by attacking them or offending their national symbols. On the contrary, she instead seems to take pride in this national symbol and turns their mockery into more attachment to her identity and original homeland, as well as excelling in her schoolwork.

I didn’t tell them, “No shit, my family just lost its homeland and its life savings because

of that, and millions of people on the west bank and in Gaza will lose their income.

Families like mine used to send them from Kuwait.” I didn’t tell them that my heart was

broken. I didn’t tell them how I always felt like I’d left something behind at home until I

realized that what I’d left behind was home. I kept my mouth shut and raised my hand to

talk only in class. (166)

Andrea Walker comments on Nidali’s unique reaction in her review of the novel, pointing out that she takes after her father's problems-solving ways. She writes, “in Kuwait, other kids called her “Palestinians.” In Egypt, her classmates ask “Hey Nidali, where's your keffiyeh?” But she learns to shrug off these attacks, in part by demonstrating the force of her Waheed-driven intellect (Walker). Moreover, Nidali excels at turning her marginalization and stigmatization as an outsider by her teacher and colleagues into a challenge and ambition for better achievement.

This can be seen in her answer to her teacher’s question when he asked her about Egypt's past

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leaders, assuming that Nidali was not bright enough to answer this question, but she stunned the class into silence by hurling off the 13 correct names in order, starting with Muhammad Ali.

“Nidali Ammar,” My teacher said. “Stand up and list the leaders of Egypt starting with

Muhammad Ali, please.” Everyone waited……... “She doesn’t know,” Red said, and the

whole class laughed again. “Of course, she doesn’t,” the teacher said. Someone threw a

spitball…….... “Mumammad Ali” I screamed. “Wali Ibrahim, Wali Abbas, Wali Sa’id”

and a bright green and yellow spotlight shone on me and no one else. “Khedive Ismail,

Khedive Tawfiq, Khedive Abbas Hilmi, Sultan Husayn Kamail.” The teacher’s faint

mustache suddenly grew into handlebars and curled up at the edges. (167)

It can be seen clearly in this scene that Nidali’s attachment to Palestinian traditional clothing and identity represents a form of resistance to being marginalized and ignored by her teacher and classmates in her school in Egypt. This resistance is embodied later in the novel in Nidali’s attachment to her identity and original homeland. In the scene where her father teaches her about the history of Palestine and how to draw its map, Nadali is seen succeeding at drawing the

Palestinian map, after struggling with it for a while. However, her father’s reaction to the map she drew, when she ran to show it to him, shocks her. She proclaims, “Baba checked my last map, the map of home, he called it, and let me go, saying I drew the Galilee perfectly, like the water violin that it is'' (68). Her father’s reaction to the map she drew made her realize that there isn't only one map for Palestine that she can memorize, but a constantly changing one due to its occupation by Israel. In her commentary on this scene, Assmaa Naguib points out that Ammer’s forcing of Nidali to draw the map of Palestine reflects his attachment to and idealization of the

Palestinian homeland (Naguib 73). Ammar’s idealization of Palestine and its cultural identity doesn’t stop at this point, but spills into other aspects of their life, such as his attachment to the

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Palestinian dishdasha that we have pointed out earlier. In multiple scenes, for instance, Ammar

is depicted taking off his western-style clothes, which he uses for work, and is seen replacing it

with the Palestinian dishdasha. In chapter one for instance, we read “Baba came home from work and exchanged his suit for a long white dishdasha, stretched his legs on the coffee table, and lit a cigarette” (15). Ammar’s exchanging of his suit with a dishdasha is indicative of his

attachment to his Palestinian identity and his view of this attachment as a form of resistance.

3.3 Natural Environment and Palestinians’ Sumud in the Diaspora

Another aspect that could be translated as a form sumud in this novel is associating the natural environment with Palestinians in the diaspora. In A Map of Home, Jarrar employs a wide array of images of flora in a quest to reflect Palestinians’ attachment to national identity and highlight their resistance to Israeli occupation from their position outside Palestine. On the one hand, the Palestinian local environment is depicted in many scenes throughout the novel as being in unison with the Palestinian individual in the diaspora. Take, for example, the use of an olive seed to symbolize the size of a Palestinian baby in his mother’s womb. “A baby the size of an olive in her tummy” (15). Or, painting an olive tree on the walls of Nidali’s bedroom in celebration of her mother’s pregnancy with her brother. On the other hand, Jarrar portrays the local Palestinian environment as being inseparable from the Palestinian individual and accompanying him wherever he goes. Several products from Palestine’s local environment like olive oil and za’atar, for instance, are depicted as being always present on the Palestinian diaspora's dining table and as a daily companion of their meals, regardless of their location in the world. Nidali Ammar tells us about her father’s habit of keeping olive oil next to him during meals. “And never asked him to pass the olive oil, which was always at his side” (177). Such links between the Palestinian diaspora and its natural environment are not random but aims at

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highlighting attachment to Palestinian products as a form of sumud by the Palestinian community outside Palestine. Ammar's consumption of olive oil translates his love for Palestinian identity and his refusal to abandon it. Richard Wilk reminds us of the multiple advantages of consuming traditional food on the level of identity, writing food “has the ability to enable individuals to construct “imaginative scenarios'' of the kinds of people they wish to be. For example, individuals could become more Americanized, neo-indigenized or nationalistic based on the food they consume, because at the end of the day, “we become what we eat” (Garth 1).

It is worth noting that highlighting the Palestinian diaspora’s sumud through the use of elements of its natural environment is not unique only to Jarrar's writing. She has been preceded in employing this technique by many writers in Palestinian literature. It is found in the writing of many diasporic Palestinian writers, such as Ghassan Kanafani, Edward Said, and Tawfiq Zayyad.

The latter, for instance, refers to many plants and crops that are local to Palestine’s natural environment in his poetry. Take for example his famous poem titled, Here We Shall Stay, at which he cites several fruit and vegetable products, which reads:

Here we shall stay

Like a brick wall upon your breast

And in your throat

like spiky cactus

And in your eyes

A chaos of fire...

Here we shall stay.

Do your worst.

We guard the shade.

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Of the olive and fig. (Schulz 105)

In addition to highlighting plants and crops for which Palestine is famous, the poem aims at consolidating Palestinians’ attachment to the land. Max Blumenthal writes in his commentary on this poem, that given the majority of the people of Palestine are farmers by trade, Zayyad’s aim when using these agrarian images and symbols is to urge Palestinian farmers to continue with their resistance against the Israeli occupation and remaining in their lands. He adds that many of

Zayyad’s poems, which are familiar even to illiterate farmers, is expressive of the sensibility of steadfastness, and highlights Palestinians’ spirit of resistance to Israel (Blumenthal 79). There are plenty of Palestinian poems like Zayyad’s that encourage Palestinians’ resilience and adherence to the land. It is also worth noting that highlighting aspects of Palestinian natural environment in

Palestinian literature is not only directed towards peasant and farmer class, but also to all segments of Palestinian society. Contrary to other dimensions of sumud, which often focus on particular groups of the Palestinian collectivity, this aspect aims at encouraging resilience and attachment of all Palestinians to their homeland regardless of their location. In addition to its ability to build Palestinian collective memory, this aspect plays an important role in linking national identity to the Palestinian environment and introducing the Palestinian diaspora to environmental aspects of their motherland. Susan Slyomovics reminds us in her book that linking

Palestinian diaspora with Palestine’s environment is one of the objectives of what she calls memorial books, which Palestinians write to remind the diaspora and coming generations of foods, habits, traditions, and locations of famous sites in Palestine (Slyomovics xiii).

Following the footsteps of other Palestinian writers in the diaspora, Randa Jarrar in A

Map of Home employs a wide array of symbols related to Palestine’s natural environment, such as olive trees, cacti, and za’atar. The main objective of the employment of these symbols besides

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showing her familiarity with Palestine’s environment and landscapes is referencing the

Palestinian diaspora’s steadfastness and attachment to their identity and homeland. Jarrar seems to suggest that members of the Palestinian diaspora, through their attachment to these symbols, is committed to resisting the occupation of their homeland, and that they have not forgotten about their homeland despite the exile and distance. Jameel Alghaberi comments on Jarrar’s use of the natural environment in A Map of Home, emphasizing that the main objective for this technique is representing the connection between Palestinians and their land (Alghaberi 11).

This space-transcending relationship between the Palestinian diaspora and Palestine’s natural environment is evident in many instances throughout this novel. Take, for example, attachment of Palestinian characters to Palestinian olives and zata'ar. In one instance, Tamara is seen while writing the ingredients needed for making a zata'ar burger, to be emphasizing to

Nidali the importance of zata'ar being from Sido's (Sido means grandfather) farm to make good zata'ar burgers. Tamara writes in the ingredients’ sheet, “Zata’ar from Sido’s farm” (59). Ihab

Saloul comments on this employment of the symbol of zata'ar, by pointing out that in addition to the cultural memory included in such employment of the symbol, it represents a link between the lost home and exile (Saloul 73). Many Palestinians find in such symbols a stimulus to memory to remember places in Palestine that are famous for these plants or bear the same name, like Tel

Za'atar (Hill of Thyme).

In addition, the olive tree is another recurrent image that resurfaces throughout this novel.

This recurrent use of this image doesn’t arise only from the fact that the olive tree is a symbol of

Palestinian sumud and nationalism, but also because it is one of the most widespread plants in

Palestine (Kelly 96). It is a tree that can survive for thousands of years under harsh conditions and withstands drought and much abuse. Such distinctive features of the olive tree prompted the

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Palestinians to adopt it as a symbol of Palestinians’ nationalism and their armed struggle against the occupation of their homeland. Moreover, this employment of the olive tree seems to have a lot to do with the Palestinian national narrative and advancing its idea of Israel’s desire to remove this tree from the land of Palestine. The Palestinian narrative pushes the claim that the

Israeli government is replacing olive trees with pine and cypress as part of its expansion process and to deny Palestinian presence on these areas in order to justify its confiscation to these lands

(Slyomovics 48). The Palestinian lawyer and poet comments in her book on the use of the olive tree as a symbol to Palestinian nationalism, writing:

Sometimes, when I am walking in the hills unselfconsciously enjoying the touch of the

hard land under my feet, the smell of thyme and the hills and trees around me, I find

myself looking at an olive tree, and as I am looking at it, it transforms itself before my

eyes into a symbol of the samidin, of our struggle, of loss. And at that very moment I am

robbed of the tree; instead there is a hollow space into which anger and pain flow.

(Shehadeh 78)

In this novel, Jarrar uses the image of the olive tree to highlight Palestinians’ resilience and steadfastness in the diaspora at least in two main ways. In the first method, the olive tree is used to (re)create and (re)produce home in the imagination of the Palestinian diaspora. In the second method, the olive tree is used to associate some of its qualities (durability, longevity, and rootedness) to the steadfastness of Palestinians’ in the diaspora. These two ways are evident in many scenes throughout the novel and the following lines will show how the olive tree has been employed to reflect Palestinians' steadfastness in the diaspora.

Randa Jarrar presents the Palestinian diaspora in this novel as sharing characteristics with the olive tree in terms of its rootedness and attachment to the land. Similar to the olive tree, the

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Palestinian diaspora is attached to their national identity and won’t let go of it at any cost, or however long they have lived outside Palestine. This could be inferred from Nidali’s dialogue with her father regarding allowing her to have American friends. Ammar remarks to her, “We are not here to make a friend, we are here to study and get the best out of America! This is your baba’s mantra the entire time you are living under his roof. This is why he is in America, but not you. You want “a life,” a concept you’ve just learned of” (234-5). Jamel Alghaberi comments on the Palestinian characters’ attachment to their homeland and its resemblance to the olive tree, remarking that although Nidali comes from a mixed family with different attitudes towards

Palestine, her father’s strong attachment to his homeland and identity has reflected positively on his daughter's attachment to Palestine. He adds that “being a mix of different cultures and backgrounds, Nidali is set to explore such a mix and to figure out a way for herself from the constant journeying and intermixing. She is cut free from an anchoring idea of home and, thus, struggles to translate her Arab identity into an American context, especially in the first few months of her life in Texas” (Alghaberi 17). Jarrar presents this Palestinian connection to the homeland as very similar to the olive tree's connection to the land. Not only this, but the

Palestinian connection to the land is comparable to the olive tree's qualities like durability, rootedness, and longevity.

Durability is one of the olive tree’s attributes that Jarrar associates with the Palestinian diaspora’s steadfastness in this novel. Similar to the ability of the olive tree to throw up shoots even after the tree has been cut down, Palestinians in A Map of Home are depicted as being capable of flourishing in the hardest of situations and under the harshest of conditions. Their durability manifests, for instance, in the scene in which Ammar likens the fetus in his wife's belly to an olive seed. “Your mama has a baby the size of an olive in her tummy” (15). Ammar

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could have drawn this analogy using any other seeds or fruits that bears resemblance with the shape of a fetus, such as a cherry, a raisin, or a corn seed. But he opted to use an image of an olive fruit for this analogy. Therefore, it can be said that such a choice serves two main purposes.

The first purpose is to show Ammar’s attachment to Palestine and familiarity with its natural environment. Using any other kind of fruit that isn’t local to Palestine to draw such an analogy wouldn't have worked, or at least wouldn't have been as effective as the one he used. Moreover, this analogy suggests that this new baby is coming into a hostile world, where he isn’t going to have a home and wouldn’t even be able to go back to his ancestral home. The new baby is instead going to grow up in exile and is going to constantly suffer displacement. But at the same time, he is going to grow like an olive seed; his roots are going to dig deep into the hard-rocky soil and are going to live for thousands of years, despite displacement and exile. This analogy can also suggest that the seed of the olive tree is still there, in the womb of every Palestinian mother and it will grow up again in Palestine despite Israel’s attempts to replace it with pine trees (Rooney 201).

Durability also reflects the Palestinians’ abilities to endure difficulties and challenges facing them in the diaspora. Ammar’s family, for example, survives two experiences of displacement: first from Palestine in 1967, then from Kuwait after the Iraqi invasion in 1990.

Yet, the family manages to flourish and make the best of their situation. Ammar, the head of the family, on the one hand, manages while in exile to get a degree in Architecture and secure a job for himself in a big construction company in Kuwait. “Baba graduated with a degree in architecture, Mama a degree in music theory and composition, and soon Baba, who didn’t really know who he was or where he belonged, having forbidden from re-entering Palestine after the

1967 war, proposed to my Mama, who was so rooted she had been born and brought up in the

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same apartment” (37). However, majoring in engineering was not Ammar's first choice. Nidali tells us that her father had literary tendencies, and even dreamed of being a poet. But being realistic as he was, Ammar preferred to have a job in which he could earn his livelihood without having to rely on the help of others. Nidali remarks, “Baba letting Mama know he was still a poet, but he was very much interested in having food, and thus had chosen architecture as a day job” (33). This pragmatic thinking on the part of Ammar can be read as an embodiment of the trait of durability that characterizes the Palestinians. Ammar makes the best choice financially for him and his family in the long run. If he had pursued a career in poetry and pursued his dream, he wouldn't have been as successful as he became, and would not have managed to provide the life of his family’s dreams. Assmaa Naguib writes, commenting on the choice

Ammar made for his career path, says that this choice made the poet and writer in him to suffer, and prompted him to achieve this his dream of being a poet through his daughter and urging her to continue her education until she obtained a doctorate in literature (73-74).

Durability shows up in another aspect of the Ammar family’s struggle in the diaspora.

The family not only succeeded in overcoming the challenges facing them, but also managed to make the best of their situation. Nidali’s education is a good example of Ammar’s ability to turn the disadvantage of the situation into his favor. In Kuwait, for example, Nidali doesn’t go to a public school like children of poor and middle-class families, but to a private one, where the teaching staff is foreign, and English is the official language of teaching. Nidali tells us that, “At seven years old I attended The New English school in Jabriyya, Kuwait, a gray and blue brick and concrete monstrosity made up of three large buildings. The first building was the secondary, the second was the secondary school’s science and arts wing and the third was our building: the primary school” (10). In Egypt, as in Kuwait, Nidali goes to a private school. After leaving

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Kuwait due to the invasion, Nidali’s family resides with their in-laws in Alexandria until the situation in Kuwait becomes better. Although Ammar loses all his savings due to the war and the family's financial situation is not at its best, the family insists on enrolling Nidali in a private school to ensure her getting the best education possible. In Alexandria, Nidali attends El-Nasr

Girls’ school. Although the school is an hour and a half hour’s drive from their house, Nidali’s family insists on her going to this particular school, and she attempts to refuse, claiming that it's too far and that she prefers to be homeschooled. “You can hit and hit and hit me but I’m not going to go an Egyptian English school in stupid DOWNTOWN which will probably take me an hour and a half to get to on a Bus full of sweaty MEN who’ll try to grope me every goddam

MORNING for the next five MONTHS when I can just take a final exam in MAY” (164).

Ammar's keenness on providing his daughter with the best education possible is not only indicative of how important education is to the Ammars, but also of the durability of this ethnicity and how they are capable of flourishing under the hardest of conditions. However,

Ismet Bujupaj reads more into this scene in her article entitled, “Parents and Daughters in Two

Novels By Arab American Authors: "Khalas, Let her Go", viewing Ammar's keenness on

Nidali’s getting the best education possible as interference in shaping her future and identity, which reflects, as she puts it, an important feature in the Bildungsroman writing (Bujupaj 189).

3.2.1 Reproducing Home in Exile and Through the Olive Tree

The symbol of the olive tree is also used in A Map of Home to reproduce home in the imagination of the Palestinian diaspora. Being an exile herself, Jarrar knows how being away from home can be costly to the Palestinian diaspora at all levels, especially to those who are born outside Palestine. Some of the diaspora-born Palestinians lose ties with their homeland and identity altogether over time. Lack of elements that remind one of home and belonging, such as

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family and community, facilitates detachment and abandonment of one's identity and homeland.

Peggy Levitt reminds us in his book, Transnational Villagers, of the importance of these social and cultural reminders, pointing out that the existence of such social and cultural elements keeps the connection alive between migrants and their original homeland.

According to Levitt, social gatherings and public places like ethnic stores are important places for immigrants to recharge their transnational belongings and to keep them informed about social networks at home (Levitt 3-4). Jarrar highlights this aspect and the ways in which Palestinian immigrants (re)create home in exile to ward off total detachment with Palestine through the character of Ammar, and his struggle to keep his family’s ties alive with this place. In more than one instance in the novel, Ammar informs the reader about feelings of detachment and the loss of a sense of home that Palestinians may experience at some point of their lives in exile. In one instance, Ammar tells the reader that he himself had a confused sense of home at some point in his life. He thought home lies within one's soul and could be carried like luggage wherever one goes. “Our people carry the homeland in their souls,” he would tell me at night as he tucked me in. This was my bedtime story when I was three, four. “You can go wherever you want, but you’ll always have it in your heart” (9). After a while, however, Ammar has to face the hard realization that his idea about home is unrealistic and too dreamy. Carrying home within the soul is not enough and can’t make up for losing family and friends. Therefore, Ammar had to come up with a better way to deal with his sense of loss and make him feel more at home. Esra

Oztarhan comments on Ammar’s coping with his sense of homelessness and alienation, remarking that the solution that Ammar came up with to avoid this feeling was to reproduce home in exile through creating an imaginary homeland (Oztarhan 66). One of the ways that

Ammar comes up with to compensate for his loss of home and family is by immersing himself in

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his job and life. Nidali tells us that he used to hide his sadness and yearning for home using alcohol during his stay in Egypt. “Drink, drink, brother,” they would say and offer him cigarettes” (33). Moreover, Ammar claimed to have found a metaphorical home in education and hard work during a conversation with his daughter, Nidali. According to him, he forced himself into success to compensate for losing his home and family. “I lost my home, Baba said, leading me outside, and I gained an education…. which later became my home. That can also happen for you” (106). In this scene, Ammar doesn't want his daughter to go through a similar experience of displacement to the one he had gone through or to lose her sense of home and belonging due to their constant moving. He understands the pain involved in such an experience.

Therefore, he imposes on her the overwhelming masculinity of his vision for her future and what she should do with her life when she grows up. He wants her to get a PhD and be successful, despite her disagreement with her father's plans for her future. “You shut up,” Baba told him.

“You,” he turned to me, “will stay home, finish college and get a PhD” (280). In Ammar’s view, occupying oneself with work and education helps dull the sensation of alienation and uprootedness.

Although her father is very keen not to feel alienated or the suffering of being alienated and lost, Nadali also experiences this bitter experience. Nidali's family’s constant displacement makes her lose her sense of home. Öztarhan comments on Nidali’s feeling of being alienated, remarking “the feeling of ambiguity saddens Nidali more than the present situation of being away from anything familiar”. He adds, “The feeling of being away from home for her is to miss her old stereo, bed, piano, za’atar burgers, gulf, friends, school. But she knows that she will never be able to return to the same life even after Kuwait has been liberated” (Öztarhan 67).

Through the course of the novel, we learn she lived in several countries. She was born in the U.S.

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and grew up in Kuwait and spent a good deal of her life in Egypt, before returning to the U.S.

This continuous displacement made her form a confused understanding of the concept of home.

To her, home is a very narrow word and doesn’t encompass her feeling of belongingness to the many places she had lived in throughout her life. “One afternoon, I sat at the dining table and drew a map of Palestine from memory……. I pointed at the western border and asked, “Is that right?” “Who knows,” he said, waving his hand dismissively” (192).

However, Nidali’s understanding of home is confused sometimes. She reduces the meaning of home to her little home, the one she lives in with her family. “I thought about home, but I thought about the old apartment in Kuwait, the courtyard all brushy with long grass since we left it, because in my mind it had been neglected and uninhabited all this time” (282). In fact,

Nidali’s understanding of home is more materialized and her father’s idea of carrying home within one soul is hard for her to wrap her head around, “I’d think to myself: that’s such a heavy thing to carry. I’d visited this homeland once, noticed that there was a lot of grass, several rocks and mountains and thousands of olive trees and donkeys” (9). Therefore, Ammar finds himself forced to simplify his concept of home and make it more materialized for the sake of his children’s understanding. This materialization of home is one of the ways through which immigrants attempt to reproduce home outside the home.

Throughout the novel, Ammar is depicted as keen on bringing food items and products, such as olive oil, fig, cheese, and za’atar to recreate the Palestinian home in exile and to remind himself and his family of their past in the homeland. Helen Taylor comments on this aspect and contends that refugees in the diaspora employ diverse strategies to reproduce the lost home, as well as to engender the feeling of being ‘at home’ in exile, by mobilizing material and embodied aspects of home (Taylor 88). This materialization of home is evident in many scenes throughout

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the novel. Ammar, for instance, idolizes the olive tree and its oil. He uses it extensively during

his conversation when drawing analogies or giving examples about his homeland. He always

keeps it in his household and beside him on the food table in the hope of reminding him and his

family of their homeland.

3.3 Palestinian Traditional Cuisine as a Form of Sumud

The dichotomy of food and memory plays an important role in preserving Palestinian

identity among the diaspora. In addition to being a powerful trigger for memory, traditional food

represents a physical connection between the Palestinian diaspora and their homeland (Wilson

163). For many of them, it is a bridge via which they cross over to the Palestinian dimension of

their identity to rebuild broken ties with their ancestral land, which were destroyed by

displacement and exile. Nicholas Bascuñan-Wiley touches upon this point in her essay on the

Palestinians in Chile, emphasizing that Palestinian traditional food has always been an important

underpinning for Chilean-Palestinians to preserve their relationship with the Palestinian

homeland, adding that this diasporic Palestinian community views its attachment to traditional

food as a form of resistance against Israel’s violence and occupation of their homeland

(Bascuñan-Wiley 1).

This importance that traditional food holds for the Palestinian diaspora is embodied in many ways, not the least of which is the widespread consumption of Palestinian cuisine and traditional food. Today, you will find restaurants that serve Palestinian food in almost every major city like New York, Tokyo, Sydney, and many other places. Moreover, the importance of traditional food is reflected in the vast amount of Palestinian literature concerned with documenting the history of traditional food and cuisine. A quick survey of the literary writing in

Palestine and diaspora from the 1950s onwards reveals this fact. One of the main characterizing

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features of Post-Nakba literature is the multiplicity of images, themes, and topics discussing the

subject of Palestinian traditional food in the homeland and diaspora. Take, for example, the

literary works of the Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, and his interest in documenting

Palestinian traditional food in his prose and poetry. In his prose book, Memory of Forgetfulness

(1982), he incorporates, for instance, a detailed description of the Palestinian traditional method

of making Arabic coffee, or as he puts it the way his mother used to make it, writing:

Gently place one spoonful of the ground coffee, electrified with the aroma of cardamom,

on the ripping surface of the hot water, then stir slowly, first clockwise, then up and

down. Add the second spoonful and stir up and down, then counterclockwise. Now add

the third. Between spoonfuls, take the pot away from the fire and bring it back. For the

final touch, dip the spoon in the melting powder, fill and raise it a little over the pot, then

let it drop back. Repeat this several times until the water boils again and a small mass of

the blond coffee remains on the surface, rippling and ready to sink. Don't let it sink. Turn

off the heat, and pay no heed to the rockets. (Darwish 18-19)

Palestinians' celebration of their traditional food does not stem from its uniqueness or

peculiarity of its cooking methods. It rather arises from totally different reasons. Much

Palestinian food patterns are somewhat similar to that of its neighboring Arab countries like

Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Egypt. Its typical ingredients include lamb, yogurt, chicken, rice, bulgur, eggplant, garlic, tomatoes, and flat bread (Carew-Miller 105). Moreover, if we look at the preparation methods of dishes like falafel, hummus, tabbouleh, kunafa and baklava, we will discover that they are identical across these countries in terms of ingredients and preparation with the exception of minor differences here and there. According to Christian Nasser, this resemblance is a result of the successive occupations to this region by major colonial powers

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throughout history (Nasser 2). Every occupation imposes its own style and dietary habits on the people of this region. The Ottoman occupation of the Fertile Crescent, for example, introduced many Turkish dishes like Kufta, Shish kebab, Shawarma, and many other dishes to people of these regions.

However, the real reason behind Palestinians’ celebration of traditional food lies in the hidden meanings and messages that such celebration carries for them as a collectivity.

Traditional food represents a history, identity, heritage, and proof of existence for this diasporic group. Moreover, it carries with it the memory of an entire people about the Nakba, and the ensuing uprooting and displacement of the people. Joudie Kalla confirms this point in the introduction to her book on Palestinian traditional food, explaining that:

Palestinian food is an identity. It is something that we hold very dear to our hearts as it is

drenched in history from the generations that have passed. Palestinians are warm,

homely, family loving people; humble and devoted. Life is about living, giving and

keeping Palestinian history very much alive. (Kalla 8)

In the Palestinian context, traditional food is more than just a vital substance that provides bodies with the needed strength and energy. It is a means of nonviolent resistance, a way of belonging, and an affirmation of an identity. Take, for example, the frequent hunger strikes that Palestinian prisoners in Israel go on, or the many boycotts that they undertake against Israeli food products.

The Israeli sociologist, Liora Gvion, comments on the symbolic connotations that traditional food represents to Palestinians in her study on Palestinian cuisine, pointing out that the concept of food for Palestinians goes beyond the superficial meanings of the term onto more comprehensive social and political meanings. She writes, “As I proceeded with my study, I came to understand that social, political, financial, and gender issues lay behind daily food practices,

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and that food revealed social relations, traditions, pride, and resistance, all put in a pot and cooked-not necessarily to everyone's liking-into a multilayered repast” (Liora Gvion Xi).

These hidden meanings held in traditional food find its resonance in the Palestinian writing among the diaspora. The novel that we deal with in this chapter highlights food metaphors and imagery in more than one place and its employment as a means of nonviolent resistance. Randa Jarrar's A Map of Home introduces attachment to traditional food as a form of sumud. Jarrar in this novel depicts Palestinian diasporic communities as being attached to their traditional food and hold this attachment as a form of resistance against Israel and the identity erosion that arises from exile and being away from homeland of origin. Aslia Ertekin confirms this point, remarking that use of food imagery by Jarrar and other Arab-American writers is “to display the configuration of the hyphenated identity of Arab Americans, their experiences as members of ethnic group, the process of negotiation with the Other, their own ethnic identity, and their families” (Ertekin 159). This symbolic use of Palestinian traditional food is evident in more than one place in A Map of Home. In addition to being depicted as a tool for identity negotiation, Palestinian traditional food appears to reinforce the Palestinian diaspora's national identity and sense of belonging to Palestine. On the one hand, it assists in keeping the Palestinian homeland present in the imagination of the Palestinians living in the diaspora, through evoking memories about Palestine and Palestinians past life in it before the Nakba. During the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, for example, Ammar becomes angry at the lack of za’atar (thyme) from his house and that is enough reason for him to leave Kuwait. Although he had been reassuring his family that they would not leave again and that they would be fine, despite the ongoing war.

However, the lack of this element of Palestinian traditional food that is so dear to his heart caused him to change his attitude towards leaving Kuwait. These attitudes reflected by Ammar

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towards Palestinian traditional food tell us a lot about his keenness to have his children raised on

traditional Palestinian food, something which may be seen as an attempt on his part to indirectly

build their inner affiliation with their Palestinian identity. In addition, Ammar’s attachment to

traditional food suggests that it is one of the most important means of conveying identity in the

diaspora. Siri Schwabe emphasizes this point in her article on the Palestinian community in

Chile, and the methods by which they build identity and belongingness of their children to

Palestine, noting that “Palestinianness is formed, expressed, and explored, both temporally and

spatially, via a distinct form of traveling memory—or what I call transmemory—on the one

hand, and place-making on the other” (Bascuñan-Wiley 12). This traveling memory is

embodied in Ammar’s case through Palestinian food and its attachment to it. On the other hand,

it represents a unifying factor for the Palestinian community in the diaspora. Palestinian get-

togethers in this novel are usually associated with and around traditional food. In many scenes,

Palestinian traditional food is presented as the center around which Palestinian gatherings are

formed. During Sido's funeral ceremonies, traditional food was intensely present. Nidali tells us

that when her family travelled to attend Sido’s funeral, the first thing she woke up to after

arriving at Sido’s house was the smell of traditional food. “The next day, I woke up in my

grandma’s house to the sound of falafel and the bread delivery man on his bicycle” (101). Such a

focus on traditional food indicates its importance to Palestinian during formal and social

occasion. Palestinians have special food for formal occasions, like weddings, funerals, and

circumcisions. Christiane Nasser writes that mansaf, kidreh, and sidir are traditional Palestinian

dishes that usually served during formal occasions (Nasser 55).

Another way of using traditional food as a form of sumud in A Map of Home is through highlighting spices and herb products for which Palestine is famous. Olive oil and za’atar

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(thyme), for example, are two prominent traditional products associated with the Palestinian characters in this novel. These two items appear nearly in every eating scene in the novel, including food prepared for funerals, celebrations, and many other occasions. Linking such items and Palestinians living in the diaspora seems to suggest that these communities are so attached to the cultural identity of Palestine and are keen on showing its traditional food products, despite distance and exile. Helena Lindholm Schulz writes in her book on the Palestinian diaspora that the significance of using images of traditional food products in diasporic writings is rooted in reminding the Palestinians of their connection to the land and that the Palestinian people are peasants who cannot be separated from lands and farms for too long (Schulz 103). This metaphysical connection that Schulz speaks of between Palestinians and food products of their homeland manifests in this novel through the attachment of Palestinians with foods like olive oil and za’atar. The latter, for instance, (also pronounced Zatar or Za’atar with a long vowel) is one of the recurrent imageries of Palestinian traditional food in the novel. In addition to being a basic component of a number of dishes, such as za’atar sandwiches and burgers, it has been highlighted as an identity consolidation element, as well as a symbol of ethnic identity. The dietary habits of the Palestinian families in this novel (such as those of the Ammars’, their cousins’, and the grandfather’s) seem to revolve around this spice and its secondary products.

Za’atar is very important to Ammar’s family, not just because it is an indispensable component of the family’s dietary habits, but for more complex reasons. It represents a heritage, identity, and memory of a whole nation. Suffice to say, za’atar and olive have become of synonyms for

Palestinian Sumud and resilience or, as the Palestinian saying puts it, “We are remaining for as long as the zaatar and olive exist.” This “metaphysical” association between za’atar and the

Palestinian individual manifests in the scene where the Iraqi army invades Kuwait in 1990. The

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Ammar family, or the father to be more specific, doesn’t see any reason for leaving Kuwait, as other families do. On the contrary, he thinks they “are going to be alright”, even when an Iraqi rocket hits close to their residence. The father is not ready for another episode of displacement.

He has already experienced displacement once, when he was a college student in Egypt during the 1967 War and is not ready to let his family go through the same experience. However, when the family runs out of their supply of za’atar, the father thinks it is about time to leave Kuwait.

I heard baba go into the kitchen. Then, I heard him cry out. "Where is the za'atar?" Mama

yawaned, and said, " There is no more left" through her yawn. I couldn't hear you. You

were yawning. Nidali, what did your mother just say?" "There's no za'atar left, Baba," I

said, and quickly covered my ears with my hands. Gamal did the same. Mama groaned

and returned to the living room. "No, no- what kind of life is this? we're leaving. we have

to leave," Baba said. (138)

The family could take a war, but not lose another aspect of their identity. Za’atar seems to play a crucial role in father’s psychological stability; to him, za’atar is a reminder of a lost home and a link to his past.

Transmission of traditional food recipes among members of the Palestinian community is another form of sumud that stands out in this novel. The Palestinian characters in the novel seem very keen on passing on their family traditions of food to other Palestinians in the diaspora regardless of whether they are related through kinship or not. Nidali, for instance, learns how to make za'atar sandwiches from her friend Tamara, whose family happens to be members of the

Palestinian community in Fahaheel or the “Palestinian ghetto” as it is called in Kuwait (58). She tells us that during her visit to Tamara’s family’s house in Fahaheel, Hatim forces his sister,

Tamara, to write down the ingredients and preparation method of making za'atar sandwiches for

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Nidali. Although four years Nidali’s senior, Tamara in her childish handwriting jots down the preparation method, with a side note about the ingredients saying, “thyme sesame and spices from Sido's19 farm” (59).

First turn on your sandwich toaster. Then put three slices of cheese on bun and top cheese

with za’atar (2-4 tbsp). Then close bun and stuff in toaster till melted. When the cheese

melts outside of the sandwich and onto the toaster, you’ll be a lucky son of a dog. You

can scrape the cheese off with a knife and eat it, in fact, we highly recommend eating this

hardened, baked cheese. (59-60)

Despite the childish tone to this recipe, it reflects a great deal of what really happens within

Palestinian communities in the diaspora and how members of this community share their traditional food recipes as a form of sumud and attachment to their culture. Liora Gvion confirms this point, remarking that Palestinians use traditional food as “a milestone for the construction of a diasporic identity distinct from Jewish society. Simultaneously, they exchange recipes and food with their Jewish neighbors and friends, introducing their families to foods they are likely to eat out of the community” (Gvion 18).

The same thing happens to Nidali during her family’s visit to Gaza to give condolences upon the death of her grandfather. Her grandmother makes use of Nidali’s family's short visit to teach her how to make falafel20 and stuffed cabbage. Nidali tells us that she helped her Sitto21 making these traditional dishes, saying:

We rolled the red meat, rice cumin and oil mixture into triangles of boiled cabbage

leaves, placed them in a big pot, and dropped whole cloves of garlic in. When I looked

19Sido is a colloquial Arabic word commonly used in Palestine for grandfather 20 Falafel is a famous Middle Eastern dish made with deep fried chickpeas. 21 Sitto is a colloquial Arabic word commo nly used in Palestine for grandmother.

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into the pot, the rolls and the cloves reminded me of dashes and commas. I wanted to tell

Sitto this but I remembered that she couldn’t read or write. (100)

The interesting thing about this transmission of traditional food recipes in this novel is that it

seems it doesn't abide by food traditions in the Middle East, which gives priority for children of

the same family in learning these recipes over anyone else. Palestinians from outside the family

seem to have the same privilege of acquiring and learning these traditional food recipes as long

as it is going to assist in preserving this traditional recipe. Nidal, for instance, learns a za'atar

sandwich recipe from her friend Tamara.

Conclusion

There are several methods of national identity preservation in the diaspora, but the most

effective are those that stimulate the memory of the migrant and touch upon his daily life in the

host country. These two features are present in the narrative of sumud, especially in its dimension that addresses the cultural aspect of Palestinian identity. Looking closely at this narrative, one can find that many cultural symbols involved in the narrative of sumud, such as

indigenous plants, traditional food, and clothing, carry content closely related to the Palestinian

individual and his daily life in the diaspora. Take, for example, Palestinian traditional food, and

the keenness shown by Palestinian diaspora to preserve this cultural aspect and pass it on to the

Palestinian generations growing up far from their original home. Therefore, it is not surprising to

find the Palestinian diaspora so attached to its traditional food and even consider adhering to it a

form of sumud against Israel and its occupation of their homeland.

Palestinian diasporic writing has repeatedly dealt with the narrative of sumud, and its

relationship to preserving Palestinian identity in the diaspora. Randa Jarrar’s A Map of Home is

one of those Palestinian works that address this narrative and the role it plays in enhancing the

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resilience of Palestinians living abroad to staying attached to their identity and belonging. In this novel, Jarrar provides the reader with a close look at the challenges facing the Palestinian community in the diaspora and how they counteract existential threats surrounding their identity and attachment to their original homeland. To Jarrar, the challenges facing this diasporic group regarding the issue of identity are not very different from those facing their brothers and sisters in Israel. The identity of both groups is fraught with the same problems and threats, albeit to varying degrees. Jarrar suggests that being away from Israel's oppression and not being directly exposed to its attempts to obliterate and erase the Palestinian identity does not mean that the identity of the Palestinians living abroad is safe from dissolution and fragmentation as a result of distance from the homeland and uprooting. The national identity of many Palestinians living abroad faces many challenges, not the least of which is the lack of factors enhancing and building national identity in the host countries. As a result of this, many Palestinians in the diaspora are keen to consolidate this aspect and bring in aids to enhance their identity and national belonging.

Through her unique portrayal of the Ammars’ struggle with uprootedness and displacement, Jarrar sheds light on some of the cultural aspects widely used among Palestinian communities in the diaspora to enhance their national belonging to Palestine. Food and traditional clothing are among the cultural aspects that Jarrar highlights in this novel as factors reinforcing the Palestinian national identity in the diaspora. The olive oil and za’atar, for instance, have been used to reproduce home in the imaginations of the Palestinian diaspora and create a cultural experience similar to living at home. Besides, the Palestinians' adherence to these cultural aspects is portrayed as a form of steadfastness practiced by the Palestinians from abroad. It is seen also as peaceful resistance to Israel’s uprooting of them and their families from

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their homes and villages during the war of 1948. In conclusion, this novel provides glimpses of the extent to which the national narrative of sumud has penetrated the Palestinian-American writing and the way this group of writers views their writings as an extension of Palestinian writing at home.

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CONCLUSION

Out of the rubble of the Nakba, the Palestinian national narrative is born. This is a narrative that is not only intended to be a line of defense against Israel’s bullying, but also to convey the Palestinians’ voice and clarify the injustice they suffer on a daily basis at the hands of this occupation. Since the second half of the twentieth century, the Palestinians and their cause have been and still are helpless victims to the Israeli narrative and its control over the Western media and decision-making circles in the U.S. This narrative reinforces a dominance that transformed the image of the Palestinian individual into a distorted one in the Western imagination, in which the Palestinian is viewed as a cruel terrorist, a suicide bomber, or a hater of peace.

The result of this distorted image has been catastrophic on the Palestinians. In addition to adding burdens to their already deteriorating conditions, this distortion has restricted the freedom of movement for many of them around the world. Moreover, it pushed many of them to alienate themselves from their Palestinian identity and to conceal their connection to Palestine in order to gain more acceptance in their host countries. Many of these Palestinians abroad do not want to be associated with this distorted image or feel unwelcome in their host countries, let alone the fear of being forced into a new experience of deportation. Therefore, they’ve opted for assimilating themselves into cultures and identities of the countries in which they reside and turn their back to their roots.

The forced alienation to which many Palestinian diaspora have resorted has been alarming to what is so-called the Palestinian carrier-group. In fact, the carrier group have viewed

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it as an existential threat to Palestinian identity and culture, consequently pushing them to focus more on issues of nationalism and affiliation, as well as addressing the needs of these groups of

Palestinians in the diaspora. Thus, several national narratives have emerged, such as victimhood, the right of return, sumud and dispossession. The common objective to all of these narratives has been the unification of Palestinian diaspora and enhancing their sense of attachment to Palestine.

On their part, the Palestinians at home and the diaspora responded to these national narratives and embraced them with much enthusiasm. This positive reaction helped in circulating these national narratives among Palestinian communities in the diaspora. In fact, a big part of circulating these narratives has taken place using the medium of work by Palestinian authors.

Many Palestinian writers in the diaspora consider it part of their duty towards the Palestinian cause to address these national narratives in their writings. In addition, they viewed addressing these narratives as a good opportunity to rewrite the Palestinian history of the Nakba and correct many misconceptions about this ethnic group.

The Palestinian American writers, who are considered an important component of the

Palestinian carrier-group, have taken upon their shoulders – like Palestinians elsewhere – the task of communicating these national narratives in their literary writing. Many American writers of

Palestinian origins have addressed these national narratives and other issues of concern, such as the issue of identity, transnational belonging, and hybridity in their fiction and non-fiction writings. In fact, they made it part of their nonviolent resistance to the occupation of their original homeland. Countering the Israeli narrative and showcasing the Palestinian cause to the world was enough motive for many of these writers to address the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

In this research I have examined the extent to which contemporary Palestinian American writing is reflective of the main Palestinian national narratives like the right of return and sumud.

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In addition, I demonstrated that Palestinian diaspora writing plays a vital role in disseminating

the Palestinian master-narrative and its adoption by Palestinian communities around the globe.

Palestinian-American writing, as pointed out in this piece of research, has been a pioneer

in reflecting and adopting these narratives since the seventies. The literary works of famous

Palestinian-American writers, such as Edward Said, Naomi Nye, Lisa Majaj, and many others attest to fact. Not only this, the literary writing of a new generation of American writers of

Palestinian background is reflective of these narratives as well. Moreover, this research showed that this body of writing plays an important role in establishing the Nakba of 1948 as a

catastrophic event in the collective imagination of the Palestinian community in the diaspora. As

pointed out, the desired goal of establishing the Nakba as a traumatic event is to evoke feelings

of sympathy in post-Nakba generations, as well as to strengthen their attachment to their

Palestinian cultural and national identity

This research highlighted Palestinian-American writers’ adoption of these national narratives by tracing its representations in three major fictional works by writers of Palestinian diaspora. The first chapter, for example, traces the relationship between the work of memory and building Palestinian national identity in Shaw Dallal’s Scattered like seeds. The argument presented in this chapter is that the Palestinian carrier group has made tremendous efforts to establish identical memories about the Nakba at the individual and collective level in order to transform these events into painful events in the Palestinian collective imagination. This chapter also showed that social narratives like the narrative of resistance and heroism have been foregrounded by Palestinians, not only to accentuate their right to the land of Palestine, but also to associate the Palestinian national identity, as many scholars remark, with strength instead of

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the weakness that characterized the Palestinian identity in the few decades that followed the events of the Nakba.

The second chapter includes an examination of representations of the relationship between the continuity of Palestinian national identity in the diaspora, and the narrative of right of return in Susan Abulahawa’s Mornings in Jenin. It focuses on the nostalgic rhetoric embodied in this narrative, and the ways in which it contributes to maintaining the Palestinian diaspora’s relationship with the motherland and the continuation of its national affiliation to Palestine.

The third and the last chapter of this dissertation focuses on the Palestinian national narrative of sumud and its representation in Randa Jarrar’s A Map of Home. Unlike previous chapters, this chapter isn’t about the discursive aspect of the sumud, but focuses instead on the material dimension to this narrative and the ways in which Palestinian writing in the diaspora portrays Palestinians’ attachment to their culture and identity as a form of sumud. At the end,

Palestinian-American writing represents a central part of Palestinian writing around the world.

This is not only due to the common themes and subject, but also because of the common causes that many of these writers aim to achieve through their literary writing.

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