Day 138: 25 March 2026

 Reflection

Yesterday I finished reading The Book of Disappearance by Ibtisam Azem. 

It’s sort of dual POV. There are chapters narrated by Alaa, a Palestinian man, but they are told through his written reflections from a red notebook. And there are chapters narrated by Ariel, an Israeli man. They live in the same building and became friends when they met at a party years ago. 

And I am still thinking about this book. 

<Maybe spoilers ahead?>

The premise of the novel is that one day out of the blue, Israelis wake up and the Palestinians have just disappeared. They’re not at work or in their homes or prisons or interaction cells or refugee camps within Israel. They’re just gone. Of course, this leads to the question: How did they disappear? / What happened to them? 

Ariel, a journalist, in the process of trying to understand ends up letting himself into Alana’s flat (he has a key) and finding a red notebook. He starts to read it. And by doing so, he discovers there’s this chasm between how he understands the State and the world they’re living in and how his friend does (did?). 

Ariel looks at the State of Israel as imperfect but also as having brought civilization to an otherwise third world place. Alaa sees the State as something that has tried to erase his homeland and her people (Palestinians). 

And I couldn't help as I read to bring my own experiences from time in the West Bank into my reading of this novel. 

I couldn’t help but remember what it was like to cross at check points. I couldn’t help but remember how the Wall cuts like a wound they won’t heal through the land. I couldn’t help but remember the rows of closed shops in Hebron with their doors welded shut. I couldn’t help but remember the faces of the children we met in the refugee camp. I couldn’t help but remember sitting with my host family (I stayed with a Palestinian family for eight days while there) and talking about before and after. I couldn’t help but thinking of all the people who’ve already lost homes and land and who are trying still to be pushed out of land that’s been in their family for generations. 

This isn’t to say that all Israelis are bad. But it is to say that everything is not all right. 

I read this novel and I see Ariel wrestling with the fact that in his mind Palestinians are better off now that Israel is there. Yes, perhaps Israelis should stop annexing Palestinian land. But on the whole, he thinks both groups are living together just fine. 

I think about how I couldn’t even enter the Tel Aviv airport without having my bag searched and showing my passport several times, but I was profiled as too dark and not carrying enough luggage with me, and Palestinians aren’t allowed to fly in and out of Tel Aviv. 

The novel doesn’t end with an answer. 

And perhaps that makes it all the more poignant. 

I would be interested to hear what people think who read the novel who haven’t been to Palestine or Israel. Are they surprised? Do they believe it? What questions would they ask? 

But I also wonder: Am I allowed to bring my own experiences to this story?

It’s natural, right? As readers we continuously bring our own lives and beliefs and experiences into what we’re reading. It’s part of the reason that reading the same book at different times in our lives can make it resonate differently.

But sometimes, with… A book this honest? A situation so political? I wonder: How can I, who only spent a couple of weeks and am not even Palestinian, feel like my limited experience is allowed? But perhaps that’s also too egocentric of me?

To me, it was an honest novel. A brave novel. A novel to start discussions.