REVIEW: Some thoughts on ‘The Lemon Tree’ by Sandy Tolan
Contributed by Chandler Barton, graduate student and teaching assistant in the department of liberal arts
The Lemon Tree presents us with two unique (though not entirely unrelated) narratives intertwined and influenced by the chaotic events of both world wars as well as the partitioning of Palestine, Israel, and the wider Middle East: Dalia and her family, like many Jewish immigrants to Israel, were victims of persecution during the world wars and the Holocaust. Expelled from their homes, they fled to the one place that was established as a safe haven for her people: the newly established state of Israel. Likewise, Bashir and his family, along with countless other Palestinian Arabs, were expelled from their homes in the wake of fighting between the Israelis and Palestinians. Both have similar experiences, and coincidentally both end up living in the same residence with the eponymous lemon tree in the yard—Bashir and his family prior to their expulsion by the Israelis and Dalia and hers after immigrating.
A crucial insight that the backdrop and beginning of The Lemon Tree provides is just how difficult the delineation and dichotomy of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is, especially on an individual level. With the media and politics providing the primary lens with which the conflict is viewed through, it is all too easy to fall into the cycle of thinking of “aggressor against defender”—regardless of which side you ascribe to the Israelis and Palestinians. The reality is that many, a majority, maybe, of the stories of ordinary Israelis and Palestinians are far disconnected from such a dichotomy. Indeed, Bashir and Dalia’s stories are far more in sync than they are at odds: both suffered oppression and persecution and fled only to preserve their lives and well-being. Perhaps this shared history is what immediately established a bond between Dalia and Bashir the day the two met at the house with the lemon tree in Ramla.
The depths of political depravity that one may argue are largely responsible for the continued fighting and conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians are highlighted throughout Tolan’s book. Both Dalia and Bashir’s experiences show how the official narratives propagated by the Israeli and Palestinian governments are often twisted, even outright fabricated, to achieve a political end. At one point Dalia recounts how her and her friends began to learn the truth of what really happened at Ramla with the expulsion of the Arabs, how her love for her country and her conscience began to lose its innocence with the knowledge that the home they moved into was not merely “abandoned property,” but property forcefully seized from an Arab family (p. 200). It was this same realization that Dalia recounts in an open letter to Bashir many years later as he was being prepared for deportation for his association with acts of terror committed against Israelis—an association that Dalia likewise feels is the result of continued fighting and violence between the two peoples.
Over the span of decades, we see how both Dalia and Bashir are torn between their experiences and beliefs. Dalia struggles to balance her love for her country, support for self-determination of the Palestinian people, as well as the atrocities committed against innocent people by militants and forces on both sides of the divide. Bashir seems unapologetic for his commitment to the armed struggle against Israel and his right to return to his native town, but this does not prevent him from maintaining his friendship with an Israeli Jew.
Reconciling the narratives—Dalia’s, Bashir’s, that of the Israelis and Palestinians—at a certain point becomes incomprehensible. At each juncture of the book (and in the wider context of the conflict in general), we frantically fish for culpability, responsibility, and fault; someone to point the finger at, which side or group to blame. Relying on news media and politicians, this isn’t generally too hard to do, and depending on the inclinations and beliefs of said media or politicians, the blame will fall on one side or another, but Tolan’s book explicates a fact that I think is starting to become more apparent to onlookers of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as well as those embroiled in its midst: it is simply impractical, if not impossible, to do so.
The events of the conflict and the stories of the people involved make us keenly aware of this fact, but perhaps recognizing that placing the blame on either side for the continued chaos is a step in the right direction in stopping the constant dwelling on past events as well as advancing what Dalia often eludes to throughout the book: that violence does not have to be the only answer to resolving the dispute between the Israelis and Palestinians.
While there are few who would seriously disagree with such a sentiment, the harsh reality of present circumstances quickly reminds us that the baggage of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the history leading up to it is simply stacked too high on both sides. This is not to say that peace is impossible, or that violence is the answer—certainly not—but when the task of finding a starting point seems insurmountable, the chances of seeing a lasting peace agreement becomes exponentially more difficult.
Such sentiments lead full circle back to my earlier thoughts regarding the political depravity that overshadows the conflict. In the modern age especially, the global actors participating and influencing both sides play an increasingly impactful (though not always for the better) role in negotiating settlements between the Israelis and Palestinians. This is not even accounting for the political meandering by the Israeli and Palestinian governments themselves, engaged in (as Dalia’s narrative often shows) an endless tit-for-tat in terms of propaganda and violence.
While lingering on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict can produce an endless outpouring of negativity, pessimism, and ultimately desensitization, Tolan’s book and the narratives of Dalia, Bashir, and everyone else involved in the intimate recounting of events during the early tumultuous period of the partitioning of Israel and Palestine offers a few glimpses of hope for the ultimate triumph of humanity and peace. Dalia’s commitment to providing places of education for both Arab and Jewish children to learn side-by-side is one clue; as Tolan concludes, he recounts the replanting of the lemon tree by Dalia and Arab and Jewish youth as a sign, in Dalia’s words, of a new generation coming up to shape and change reality—one that must be shaped by sacrifices and compromises if it is to work.
Hot button political issues are often marred by impulsivity, rampant emotion, and distortion—intentional or not. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is no different, and here especially the individual narratives and stories of those ordinary people who are involved in the conflict get muted and washed out by the louder, more “appealing” voices in the media and politicians. The ultimate takeaway from The Lemon Tree, therefore, I think, is that the book makes us step back and reconsider the traditional narrative we’re used to hearing. It humanizes the conflict; not just the conflict itself, but the people involved, the stories and experiences surrounding them, and the circumstances—past and present—that continue to shape the destiny of the state of Israel and Palestine.
Also published on Medium.
