Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, May - June 2001, page 106

Book Review

 

The Land is in the Heart

By David A. Marrash, Monterey Pacific Publishing, 1999, 223 pp. List: $12; AET: $9.50.

 

Reviewed by Hugh S. Galford

In The Land is in the Heart, David Marrash gives us a glimpse of the promises and perils of the 20th century, as experienced by his family. Immigrants from Mishtai and Haba, small villages in northern Syria, his parents worked to make a life for themselves, but never really recovered from the hardships they suffered during the Great Depression. In addition to telling of his family’s travails, the book also recounts the author’s own travels, a journey that leads him, in the end, back to his roots.

His father, Ibrahim (Abe), and his uncle, Mike, left Mishtai in 1902, making their way to Tripoli and a ship that would take them to America. Their midnight journey was fueled in part by youthful adventurism, but also by the promise that led so many others to this country: wealth. Recounting his life to his sons, Abe remembered thinking: “Some day I will get to America…. I will be rich! They say that everybody is rich there.” The choice between wealth in a foreign land and a hard rural life at home was an easy one for Abe and Mike.

Like many other immigrants, the brothers soon found that the image of the U.S. was worlds apart from the reality. Fresh off the boat, wandering the streets of New York City, they were offered work. After two full days on a train, they finally arrived—on a farm in Kearney, Nebraska. For the next seven years, this was home.

The two men had to deal with taunts of “camel jockey” and “greenhorn” from the cowhands. While Abe immersed himself in learning to speak and read English, Mike fought back with his fists. Abe would later recall the cowboys as the toughest, meanest folk you could ever hope to meet, but he respected them: “Their word was gold.” Abe had found a bit of the Old Country in the New.

Having saved some money, the brothers moved to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, where there was a sizeable Syrian community. With his money, Abe set up shop as a cobbler, a skill he had learned on the ranch. He quickly became respected in the community because of his language skills, often translating and reading letters to his friends. After several good years, he bought a house, some furniture—and a ticket back to Syria to find himself a wife. Making the rounds of the villages near Mishtai, he was captivated by one girl’s exquisite singing. He married Sarah and brought her back with him.

He and Sarah enjoyed good times. Work was good, they started a family, and he taught her to read English. Then came the Depression. Work dried up, as did the money. Abe was forced to find whatever work he could to keep food on the table and to avoid the “Sheriff’s Sale”—foreclosure on the house. The stress of trying to provide for his family was too much, and he suffered the first of several strokes. Incapacitated, he still worked whenever there was business to be had.

Abe’s stroke was the start of a string of family misfortunes. Abe was attacked in his shop by two local Irish thugs; Mary, the daughter, suffered brain damage due to a high fever; and David, the author, found himself the victim of chronic bronchitis. The family stoically carried on, but the pressures were relentless. Abe suffered two more strokes, finally passing away after a comatose year.

David, the author, left Wilkes-Barre for North Carolina and a job in sales. His own story begins in earnest at his mother’s deathbed. During the last hours of her life, he promised her that he would return to Mishtai and Haba—his parents’ homes. Afterwards, he thought the idea crazy, but it kept gnawing at him. In 1984, he decided that the trip had to be taken.

He and his wife, Margaret, set off for Syria via Egypt. Marrash’s stories of their time in Cairo are wonderful moments of comic relief. Anyone who has visited the city will smile in warm (if a bit nervous) recognition of his description of the “walk of death.” (Note to those who have not been to Cairo: there is nothing at all sinister in this; here, it’s known as “crossing the street.”) The warmth and hospitality that they find—both in Cairo and in Damascus—are true portraits of the Middle East.

Their schedule allows David and Margaret only three days in Syria. Before leaving, Marrash is certain that this will be more than enough time. He only wants to spend an hour or so in each of the two villages, walking the streets—if they’re still there. Once he arrives in Damascus, however, panic starts to set in: no one seems ever to have heard of Mishtai or Haba.

Salvation arrives in the form of a hand-drawn map of the area, left outside his hotel room door at 3:30 a.m. On their last day in Syria, he and his wife finally start out to find the reason for their trip—and they find more than the author had ever hoped for. Not only are the two villages still standing, but he still has family in each. They, and the old-timers who remember his parents when they met and were married, allow him to connect with his roots. The title of the book is in fact an Arab proverb that Marrash heard in Haba for the first time.

Despite its often bleak story, the book is engagingly and simply written. The warmth Marrash felt for his family is evident throughout. The book would have benefited from editing: comments are repeated, punctuation and capitalization are missing in places, and I found the Arabic transliteration jarring (though, giving credit where due, Marrash is dealing with spoken Arabic, while the reviewer’s knowledge is of the written language). None of these minor quibbles, however, detract from the enjoyment or flow of the book. Marrash has given us an honest, straightforward tale of hardship, and an uplifting and inspiring look at finally finding oneself—7,000 miles from home, yet in the heart at the same time.

Hugh S. Galford is director of the AET Book Club.

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