I asked Thrall if it’s right to characterize him as an anti-Zionist. It depends, he said, on what you mean by Zionist.
“Often the pro-Zionist side will say Zionism is the right of the Jewish people to establish a state in their ancestral homeland — meaning, in Palestine,” he noted. “That’s a backward-looking question: ‘Did you think that Jews had that right when the first Zionist settlers arrived in 1882 and the Jewish population of Palestine was 4 to 5%? I do not believe that Jews had a right to establish a state for themselves at that time, against the will of the majority of inhabitants of the place.
“From a forward-looking place, if tomorrow there were a proposal to make Israel a state of all its citizens — meaning full equality in individual and collective rights, any right that’s given to a Jew is also given to a Palestinian,” Thrall continued. “Let’s say there’s two states. So I’m talking about pre-67 Israel. I would fully support that. I fully support equality for all people irrespective of their inborn characteristics. And that makes me, within the Israeli debate, an anti-Zionist.”
I asked Thrall what his next book was going to be about, and he said he is not sure because he — like every other international journalist or researcher — is barred from entering Gaza right now. He has spent collective months in the coastal enclave since he first visited in 2010, knows it better than any outsider I’m aware of.
“Gaza is my favorite place in Israel-Palestine,” Thrall told me. “I always felt like going to Gaza was time travel. Because historically, the leaders of the Palestinian national movement come from Gaza. Gaza was the place that had the fiercest resistance against occupation.
“The conversation in Ramallah, everybody will tell you, is a bubble,” he added. “The West Bank is all these disconnected villages and towns.” Gaza is urban, “brimming with life. There was more hope and belief that they were going to be free.”
Now, he imagines it might take “a decade and a half” to again see “the Gaza that I knew.”
“I’ve talked to friends in Gaza who describe being unable to recognize their apartment block,” he shared. “It is so flattened that they are so disoriented in their own area that they spent their entire lives in, they can’t navigate.”
Thrall said he was using this period “of not being able to go into Gaza and do the work I really want to be doing to do a lot of reading.”
So what’s on his nightstand? Emil Habiby’s The Secret Life of Saeeed: The Pessoptimist, the classic satirical novel of Palestinian citizens of Israel. Khirbet Khizeh, S. Yitzhar’s famed novel about the 1948 expulsion of Palestinians.
And he just finished Primo Levi’s memoir, Survival in Auschwitz.
“It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read,” Thrall said. “First of all it’s so understated. What I found particularly powerful was his description of the different types of people who survived. I found that to be just fascinating.
“With all this talk about genocide, I’ve been reading a lot about horrible, horrible situations like Primo Levi’s,” he said. “I’m just trying to read as much as I can about the really, really, dark, dark parts of human nature.”
What I love about Thrall’s work, and what virtually every critic said about his book, is its humanity, its 360-degree view of not just its Palestinian protagonist but also its Israeli characters, in all their nuance and complexity and context and flaws. As the Pulitzer jury said in its citation, “an indelibly human portrait of the struggle over Israel/Palestine.”
So of course I wanted to know what its protagonist, Abed Salama, had to say about the prize.
The two men were supposed to do the book tour together, but a few days after Oct. 7, Salama felt he had to return to take care of his family because of the intensifying situation in the West Bank. They’ve done some joint Zoom events since, and text or talk most days. Thrall went to Salama’s home for lunch one day last week, and their families shared an iftar dinner during Ramadan.
Asked at an event last fall why he entrusted Thrall with his story, Salama said it was because the first time he told Thrall the story, he saw tears in his eyes. As they spent years talking about the accident that killed his son, Milad, Salama came to refer to Thrall as “the man who makes me cry.”
On Monday night, over WhatsApp, Salama told him, “You made me cry again.”
“Thank you very much because you made many people around the world utter the name of Milad and know it,” he texted. “You write with your feelings and not with ink, and this is what made your book win.” |