The World Is My Oyster

I finished reading Leon Uris’s ‘The Haj’ last night.

The novel is based on the circumstances that led to the creation of the State of Israel and the human tragedy that followed this historic event.

It revolves around a few central characters-

Haj Ibrahim, leader of his clan

His youngest son, Ishmael (the story is from his perspective)

and Gideon Asch, the sensitive and humane leader of the Palestinian Jews.

Most of us are aware of the long standing Israeli-Palestinian conflict. As a kid I remember the world news segment of DD news being dominated by the strife in that region. So I knew the brass tacks but never really understood why both sides were engaged in a never ending war that ruined the chances of a normal life for generations of their people.

This book is a human story about the people whose lives changed irreversibly owing to a battle fueled by false pride, hatred and vengeance.

It is one thing to learn about an event through history books and quite another thing to experience the pain, hopelessness, helplessness and destitution of a people even if it is only through words.

I got involved in the story and felt devastated by the human catastrophe that struck the Arabs and Jews of Palestine. Almost overnight the Arabs were forced to flee from the land that was their home for thousands of years and were reduced to penniless beggars in refugee homes where they were shunned by fellow Arabs and lived lives that stripped them of their human dignity.

I felt the anguish of Haj Ibrahim who could not save his people from themselves. I sensed his overwhelming feeling of impotency when he allowed tradition and dogma to stop him from doing what he knew was right for his people.

I felt the despair of Ishmael, a bright young boy, mature beyond his age, with a yearning to learn and a willingness to work hard who had to give up on his dream of a better life for himself and his family.

Most of all I felt Nada’s pain (Haj’s youngest daughter). Her character gave me a sense of what it means to be born a girl in the home of a tribal Arab. How feeling imprisoned in your own body can drive one to actions that extract a price too heavy to pay.   

When I put the book down last night, I realized yet again, that books are an incredible boon in my life.

We are all imprisoned in our lives in a way. We are defined by where and when we are born. We are shaped by our limited experiences. We are influenced by the people we encounter. But books open up the world for us and expose us to experiences that otherwise we would never have.

Jane Austen’s novels gave me a taste of the life of a lady of leisure in Regency England. ‘Sophie’s Choice’ was a glimpse into the trauma of being a Jew imprisoned in Auschwitz during the holocaust. ‘Nectar in a Sieve’ made me feel petty, sulking about the recession because it gave me a sense of the utter poverty that agricultural tenants in this country faced in the first half of the 20^th century. There is a part in the book where the central characters in the novel scrounge in the soil for a few grains of rice. ‘The Notebook’  brought me close to the plight of hundreds of innocent little girls that  are sold into prostitution in this country.

I could go on and on. But the point is, the books I have read have helped me break the shackles of my life.  They have bestowed on me the privilege of seeing many worlds, living many lives and entering many brilliant minds.