The Almond Tree

By Michelle Cohen Corasanti

Against a background torn from the pages of today's headlines, The Almond Tree by Michelle Cohen Corasanti recasts the Palestinians in Israel and Gaza, a people frequently in the news but often misrepresented and deeply misunderstood. This stunning debut conveys a universal story of human courage and perseverance. Comparable to Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, this novel delivers an inspirational story of unfathomable pain and incredible perseverance. Gifted with a mind that continues to impress the elders in his village, Ahmed Hamid struggles with knowing that he can do nothing to save his friends and family. Living on occupied land, his entire village operates in fear of losing their homes, jobs and belongings. But more importantly, the people fear losing each other. On Ahmed's twelfth birthday, that fear becomes reality. With his father imprisoned, his family's home and possessions confiscated and his siblings quickly succumbing to hatred in the face of conflict, Ahmed begins an inspiring journey using his intellect to save his poor and dying family. In doing so he reclaims a love for others that was lost through a childhood rife with violence and loss and discovers a new hope for the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9789358564143

Book preview

PART ONE

1955

1

Mama always said Amal was mischievous. It was a joke we shared as a family—that my sister, just a few years old and shaky on her pudgy legs, had more energy for life than me and my younger brother Abbas combined. So when I went to check on her and she wasn’t in her crib, I felt a fear in my heart that gripped me and would not let go.

It was summer and the whole house breathed slowly from the heat. I stood alone in her room, hoping the quiet would tell me where she’d stumbled off to. A white curtain caught a breeze. The window was open—wide open. I rushed to the ledge, praying that when I looked over she wouldn’t be there, she wouldn’t be hurt. I was afraid to look, but I did anyway because not knowing was worse. Please God, please God, please God . . .

There was nothing below but Mama’s garden: colourful flowers moving in that same wind.

Downstairs, the air was filled with delicious smells, the big table laden with yummy foods. Baba and I loved sweets, so Mama was making a whole lot of them for our holiday party tonight.

‘Where’s Amal?’ I stuck a date cookie in each of my pockets when her back was turned. One for me and the other for Abbas.

‘Napping.’ Mama poured the syrup onto the baklava.

‘No, Mama, she’s not in her crib.’

‘Then where is she?’ Mama put the hot pan in the sink and cooled it with water that turned to steam.

‘Maybe she’s hiding?’

Mama’s black robes brushed across me as she rushed to the stairs. I followed closely, keeping quiet, ready to earn the treats in my pocket by finding her first.

‘I need help.’ Abbas stood at the top of the stairs with his shirt unbuttoned.

I gave him a dirty look. I had to make him understand that I was helping Mama with a serious problem.

Abbas and I followed Mama into her and Baba’s room. Amal wasn’t under their big bed. I pulled open the curtain that covered the place where they kept their clothes, expecting to find Amal crouching with a big smile, but she wasn’t there. I could tell Mama was getting really scared. Her dark eyes flashed in a way that made me scared too.

‘Don’t worry Mama,’ Abbas said. ‘Ahmed and I will help you find her.’

Mama put her fingers to her lips to tell Abbas and me not to speak as we crossed the hall to our younger brothers’ room. They were still sleeping, so she went in on tiptoes and motioned for us to stay outside. She knew how to be quieter than Abbas and me. But Amal was not there.

Abbas looked at me with scared eyes and I patted him on the back.

Downstairs, Mama called to Amal, over and over. She ransacked the living and dining rooms, ruining all the work she had put in for the holiday dinner with Uncle Kamal’s family.

When Mama ran to the sunroom, Abbas and I followed. The door to the courtyard was open. Mama gasped.

From the big window we spotted Amal running down the meadow towards the field in her nightgown.

Mama was in the courtyard in seconds. She cut right through her garden, crushing her roses, the thorns tearing at her robe. Abbas and I were right behind her.

‘Amal!’ Mama screamed. ‘Stop!’ My sides hurt from running, but I kept going. Mama stopped so fast at ‘the sign’ that Abbas and I ran right into her. Amal was in the field. I couldn’t breathe.

‘Stop!’ Mama screamed. ‘Don’t move!’

Amal was chasing a big red butterfly, her black curly hair bouncing. She turned and looked at us. ‘I get it,’ she chuckled, pointing at the butterfly.

‘No, Amal!’ Mama used her strictest voice. ‘Don’t move.’

Amal stood completely still and Mama blew air out of her mouth.

Abbas dropped to his knees, relieved. We were never, ever, supposed to go past the sign. That was the devil’s field.

The pretty butterfly landed about four metres in front of Amal.

‘No!’ Mama screamed.

Abbas and I looked up.

Amal made mischievous eyes at Mama and then ran towards the butterfly.

The next part was like slow motion. Like someone threw her up in the air. Smoke and fire were under her and the smile flew away. The sound hit us—really hit us—and knocked us back. And when I looked to where she was, she was gone. Just gone. I couldn’t hear anything.

And then the screams came. It was Mama’s voice, then Baba’s from somewhere far behind us. Then I realised that Amal wasn’t gone. I could see something. I could see her arm. It was her arm, but her body wasn’t attached to it anymore. I wiped my eyes. Amal was torn up like her doll after our watchdog ripped it apart. I opened my mouth and screamed so loud I felt like I was going to split in two.

Baba and Uncle Kamal ran up, panting, to the sign. Mama didn’t look at them, but when they got there she began to whimper, ‘My baby, my baby . . .’

Then Baba saw Amal, out there past the sign—the sign that said Closed Area. He lunged towards her, tears flooding down his face. But Uncle Kamal grabbed him hard with both hands. ‘No . . .’ He held on.

Baba tried to shake him off, but Uncle Kamal hung on. Fighting, Baba turned on his brother, screaming, ‘I can’t leave her!’

‘It’s too late.’ Uncle Kamal’s voice was strong.

I told Baba, ‘I know where they buried the mines.’

He didn’t look at me, but he said, ‘Direct me in, Ahmed.’

‘You’re going to put your life in the hands of a child?’ Uncle Kamal’s face looked like he was biting into a lemon.

‘He’s no ordinary seven-year-old,’ Baba said.

I took a step towards the men, leaving Abbas with Mama. They were both crying. ‘They planted them with their hands and I made a map.’

‘Go get it,’ Baba said, followed by something else, but I couldn’t understand him because he turned away towards the devil’s field—and Amal.

So I ran as fast as I could, grabbed the map from its hiding place on the veranda, swung around for Baba’s walking stick, and ran back to my family. Mama always said she didn’t want me to run when I was holding Baba’s stick because I could get hurt, but this was an emergency.

Baba took the stick and tapped the ground while I tried to get the wind back in me.

‘Go straight from the sign,’ I said. My tears blinded me, the salt stinging, but I wouldn’t look away.

Baba tapped the ground in front of him before every single step and when he was about three metres out, he stopped. Amal’s head was approximately a metre in front of him. Her curly hair was gone. White stuff stuck out in places where the skin was burned off. His arms weren’t long enough to reach it, so he crouched and tried again. Mama gasped. I wished he’d use the stick, but I was afraid to say it to him, in case he didn’t want to treat Amal that way.

‘Come back,’ Uncle Kamal pleaded. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘The children,’ Mama cried out. Baba almost fell over, but caught himself. ‘They’re alone in the house.’

‘I’ll go stay with them.’ Uncle Kamal turned away and I was glad because he was making things even worse.

‘Don’t bring them here!’ Baba called to him. ‘They can’t see Amal like this. And don’t let Nadia come down here either.’

‘Nadia!’ Mama sounded like she had just heard the name of her eldest daughter for the first time. ‘Nadia is at your house, Kamal, with your children.’

Uncle Kamal nodded and continued on.

Mama was on the ground next to Abbas. Tears streamed down her face. Like someone cursed and frozen in place, Abbas stared at what was left of Amal.

‘Which way now, Ahmed?’ Baba asked.

According to my map, there was a mine approximately two metres away from Amal’s head. The sun was hot, but I felt cold. Please God, let my map be accurate. What I knew for sure was that there was no pattern because I always looked for patterns and these were random, so no one could figure them out without a map.

‘Walk a metre to the left,’ I said, ‘and reach again.’ Without even knowing it, I had been holding my breath. When Baba lifted Amal’s head the air spilled out of me. He took off his kaffiyah and wrapped it around her little head, which was pretty much destroyed.

Baba reached for her arm, but it was too far away. It was hard to tell if her hand was still attached.

According to my map, there was another landmine between him and her arm, and it was up to me to direct him around it. He did exactly what I told him because he trusted me. I got him close and he gently grabbed her arm-bone and wrapped it in his kaffiyah. All that was left was her middle, and it was the furthest away.

‘Don’t step forward. There’s a mine. Step to your left.’

Baba cuddled Amal close to his chest. Before he stepped, he tapped the ground. I guided him the whole way; it was at least twelve metres. Afterwards, I had to guide him back.

‘From the sign, straight out, there aren’t any mines,’ I said. ‘But there’re two in between you and that straight line.’

I guided him forward, then sideways. Sweat dripped down my face, and when I wiped it with my hand, there was blood. I knew it was Amal’s blood. I wiped it again and again, but it wouldn’t come off.

Strands of Baba’s black hair lifted off his face in a gust. His white kaffiyah, no longer covering it, was soaked with blood. Red blossomed down his white robe. He held Amal in his arms the way he did when she fell asleep on his lap and he carried her upstairs. Baba looked like an angel from a story bringing Amal back from the field. His broad shoulders were heaving, his eyelashes wet.

Mama was still on the ground, crying. Abbas held her, but had no more tears. He was like a little man, watching over her. ‘Baba will put her back together,’ he assured Mama. ‘He can fix anything.’

‘Baba will take care of her.’ I put my hand on Abbas’ shoulder.

Baba knelt next to Mama on the ground with his shoulders by his ears and rocked Amal gently. Mama leaned into him.

‘Don’t be scared,’ Baba told Amal. ‘God will protect you.’ We remained like that, comforting Amal, for a long time.

‘Curfew begins in five minutes,’ a soldier announced through his megaphone from his military Jeep. ‘Anyone found outside will be arrested or shot.’

Baba said it was too late to get a permit to bury Amal, so we brought her back home.

2

Abbas and I heard the cries before Baba. He was focused on inspecting our oranges. He was like that. His family had owned the groves for generations and he said it was in his blood.

‘Baba.’ I tugged on his robe and broke his trance. He dropped the oranges in his arms and ran towards the cries. Abbas and I followed closely.

‘Abu Ahmed!’ Mama’s screams echoed off the trees. When I was born, they had changed their names to Abu Ahmed and Um Ahmed so as to include my name: that of their first son. It was the tradition of our people. Mama ran towards us with our baby sister Sara in her arms. ‘Come home!’ Mama gasped for air. ‘They’re at the house.’

I got really scared. For the last two years, when they thought Abbas and I were sleeping, my parents talked about them coming to take our land. The first time I heard them was the night Amal died. They fought because Mama wanted to bury Amal on our land so she could stay close to us and not be afraid, but Baba said no, that they’d come and take our land and then we’d either have to dig her up or leave her with them.

Baba took baby Sara from Mama’s arms and we ran back to our house.

More than a dozen soldiers were fencing our land and home with barbed wire. My sister Nadia was kneeling under our olive tree holding my middle brothers Fadi and Hani while they cried. She was younger than me and Abbas, but older than the others. Mama always said she’d make a good mother because she was very nurturing.

‘Can I help you?’ Baba asked a soldier, between gulps of air.

‘Mahmud Hamid?’

‘That’s me,’ Baba said.

The soldier handed Baba a document.

Baba’s face went white like milk. He started to shake his head. Soldiers with rifles, steel helmets, green military fatigues and heavy black boots surrounded him.

Mama pulled Abbas and me close, and I felt her heart beat through her robe.

‘You have thirty minutes to pack your possessions,’ the pimply-faced soldier said.

‘Please,’ Baba said. ‘This is our home.’

‘You heard me,’ Pimply-face said. ‘Now!’

‘Stay here with the little ones,’ Baba told Mama. She burst into tears.

‘Keep it down,’ Pimply-face said.

Abbas and I helped Baba carry out all one hundred and four of the portraits he had drawn over the last fifteen years; his art books of the great masters: Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, Rembrandt; the money he kept in his pillow case; the oud his father made him; the silver tea set Mama’s parents gave her; our dishes, cutlery, pots and pans; clothing and Mama’s wedding dress.

‘Time’s up,’ the soldier said. ‘We’re relocating you.’

‘An adventure.’ Baba’s eyes were wet and shiny as he put his arm around Mama, who was still sobbing.

We loaded the wagon with our possessions. The soldiers opened a hole in the barbed-wire fence so we could get out, and Baba led the horse as we followed the soldiers up the hill. Villagers disappeared as we passed them. I looked back; they had completely fenced in our house and orange groves with barbed wire, and I could see them beyond at Uncle Kamal’s, doing the same. They hammered in a sign: Keep Out! Closed Area. It was the same wording that was in front of the field of landmines where my little sister Amal had died.

I kept my arm around Abbas the whole time because he was crying hard, like Mama. I wept too. Baba didn’t deserve that. He was a good person, worth ten of them. More: a hundred; a thousand. All of them.

They led us up the hill through thickets that cut into my legs until we finally arrived at a mud-brick hut that was smaller than our chicken coop. The garden in front was overrun with weeds, and that must have made Mama feel bad because she hated weeds. The shutters were dusty and closed. The soldier cut the lock with bolt cutters and pushed the tin door open. There was only one room, with a dirt floor. We unloaded our belongings and the soldiers left with our horse and cart.

Inside the house there were rush mats piled up in the corner. Goat skins were folded on top of them. There was a kettle in the hearth, dishes in the cabinet, clothes in the closet. Everything was covered in a thick coat of dust.

On the wall was a portrait of a husband and wife and their six children, smiling. They were in our courtyard in front of Mama’s garden.

‘You drew them,’ I said to Baba.

‘That was Abu Ali and his family,’ he said.

‘Where are they now?’

‘With my mother and brothers and Mama’s family,’ he said. ‘God willing, one day they’ll come back, but, until then, we’ll have to pack their belongings in our crate.’

‘Who’s this?’ I pointed to the portrait of a boy my age with a thick red scar across his forehead.

‘That’s Ali,’ Baba said. ‘He loved horses. The first time he rode one, the horse bucked and Ali fell to the ground. He was unconscious for days, but when he woke, he went right back on that horse.’

Baba, Abbas and I organised our birthday portraits on the back wall in a bar graph. Across the top, Baba wrote the years, starting with 1948 until the present year, 1957. Mine was the only portrait in 1948. We continued with every year, adding the new children as they came. I was at the top followed by Abbas in 1949, Nadia in 1950, Fadi in 1951, Hani in 1953, Amal in 1954 and Sara in 1955. But there were only two portraits of Amal.

On the side walls, Baba, Abbas and I arranged the portraits of our family members who we knew were dead: Baba’s father and grandparents. Next to those, we hung up our family in exile: Baba’s mother embracing her ten children in front of the magnificent garden that Mama had built at Baba’s family’s house before they were married, when her parents were migrant workers in Baba’s family’s groves. When Baba came home from art school in Nazareth and saw Mama tending her garden, he had decided to marry her. Baba hung the portraits of himself and his brothers—watching their oranges loaded onto a ship at the port of Haifa, eating at a restaurant in Acre, in the market in Jerusalem, tasting the oranges of Jaffa, vacationing at a coastal resort in Gaza.

The front wall we reserved for immediate family. Baba had drawn many self-portraits while he was in art school in Nazareth. Plus there was: us having a picnic in our orange grove, my first day of school, Abbas and me at the village square looking into the box holes of the moving picture show while Abu Hussein turned the handle, and Mama in her garden—that one Baba had painted with water colours, unlike the others, which he had drawn with charcoal.

‘Where are our bedrooms?’ Abbas scanned the room.

‘We’re lucky to get a home with such a beautiful view,’ Baba said. ‘Ahmed, take him outside to see.’ Baba handed me the telescope I’d made from two magnifying glasses and a cardboard tube. It was the same one I’d used to watch the soldiers plant the landmines in the devil’s field. Behind the house, Abbas and I climbed a beautiful almond tree that overlooked the village.

Through my telescope, we took turns watching the new people, dressed in sleeveless shirts and shorts, already picking oranges from our trees. From our old bedroom window, Abbas and I had watched their land expand as they swallowed up our village. They brought in strange trees and planted them in the swamp. Right before our eyes, the trees grew fat from drinking the fetid juices. The swamp disappeared and in its place rich black topsoil appeared.

I saw their swimming pool. I moved my telescope to the left and could see across the Jordanian border. Thousands of tents with the letters UN littered the otherwise empty desert. I handed the telescope to Abbas so he could see too. One day I hoped to get a stronger lens so that I could see the refugees’ faces. But I’d have to wait. For the past nine years, Baba had been unable to sell his oranges outside the village, so our market shrank from the entire Middle East and Europe to 5,024 now-poor villagers. We were once very rich, but not anymore. Baba would have to find a job, and those were hard to come by. I wondered if that would make him worry.

***

In the two years we had lived in our new house with the almond tree, Abbas and I had spent many hours in the tree watching the moshav. There we’d seen things we’d never seen before. Boys and girls, older and younger than me, held hands and formed circles and danced and sang together, their arms and legs naked. They had electricity and green lawns, and yards with swing sets and slides. And they had a swimming pool that boys and girls and men and women of all ages swam in, wearing what looked like their underwear.

Villagers complained because the new people diverted the water from our village by digging deeper wells. We weren’t allowed to dig deeper wells like them. We were angry that while we had barely enough water to drink, the new people were swimming in it. But their swimming pool fascinated me. From our almond tree, I would watch the diver on the board and think how he had potential energy while he was on the platform and how that energy was converted to kinetic energy during the dive. I knew that the heat and wave energy of the swimming pool couldn’t throw the diver back onto the board, and I tried to think what physical laws prevented it. The waves intrigued me in the same way that the children splashing among them fascinated Abbas.

I knew from a young age that I wasn’t like the other boys in my village. Abbas was very social and had many friends. When they gathered at our house, they would speak of their hero Jamal Abdul Nasser, the President of Egypt, who had stood up to Israel in the 1956 Suez Canal Crisis and was championing Arab nationalism and the Palestinian cause. I idolised Albert Einstein.

As the Israelis controlled our curriculum, they always supplied us with ample books on the accomplishments of famous Jews. I read every book I could find on Einstein and after I fully understood the brilliance of his equation, E=mc², I was amazed at how it came to him. I wondered if he really did see a man falling from a building or if he had just imagined it while sitting in the patent office where he worked.

***

Today was the day I was going to measure how tall the almond tree was. The day before, I had planted a stick in the ground and cut it off at my eye level. Lying on the ground with my feet against the standing stick, I could see the treetop over the end of it. The stick and I made a right-angled triangle. I was the base, the stick was the perpendicular and the line of sight was the hypotenuse of the triangle. Before I could calculate the measurements, I heard footsteps.

‘Son,’ Baba called. ‘Are you all right?’

I got up. Baba must be home from his job building houses for the Jewish settlers. None of the other fathers worked in construction, partly because they refused to build houses for the Jews on razed Palestinian villages and partly because of the Israelis’ policy of ‘Hebrew Labour’: Jews only hired Jews. Many of the older boys at school said bad things about Baba working for the Jews.

‘Join me in the courtyard. I heard a few good jokes at work today,’ Baba said, before turning and walking back towards the front of the house.

I climbed back up the almond tree and looked at the barren land between our village and the moshav. Only five years earlier, it had been filled with olive trees. Now it was filled with land- mines. Landmines like the one that killed my baby sister, Amal.

‘Ahmed, come down,’ Baba called.

I climbed down the branches.

He pulled a sugar doughnut out of the crumpled brown paper bag in his hand. ‘Gadi from work gave it to me.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve saved it all day for you.’ Red gel oozed from the side.

I squinted at it. ‘Is that poison leaking out?’

‘Why, because he’s Jewish? Gadi’s my friend. There are all kinds of Israelis.’

My stomach contracted. ‘Everyone says the Israelis want to see us dead.’

‘When I sprained my ankle at work, it was Gadi who drove me home. He lost a half-day’s pay to help me.’ He extended the doughnut towards my mouth. ‘His wife made it.’

I crossed my arms. ‘No thanks.’

Baba shrugged and took a bite. His eyes closed. He chewed slowly. Then he licked the particles of sugar that had gathered on his upper lip. Opening one eye just a little, he glanced down at me. Then he took another bite, savouring it in the same way.

My stomach growled and he laughed. Once again he offered it to me, saying, ‘One cannot live on anger, my son.’

I opened my mouth and allowed him to feed it to me. It was delicious. An image of Amal rose, unbidden, in my mind, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with guilt at the flavour in my mouth. But . . . I kept eating.

3

Abrass tray of coloured tea glasses scattered the sunlight that streamed through the open window like a prism. Blues, golds, greens and reds bounced onto a group of old men in battered cloaks and white kaffiyahs secured by black rope. The men of the Abu Ibrahim clan sat cross-legged on floor pillows placed carefully around the low table now holding their steaming drinks. They had once owned all the olive groves in our village. Every Saturday they met here, only occasionally exchanging a word or greeting across the crowded room. They came to listen to the ‘Star of the East’, Um Kalthoum, on the tea house’s radio.

Abbas and I waited all week to hear her sing. Um Kalthoum was known for her contralto vocal range, her ability to produce approximately 14,000 vibrations per second with her vocal chords, her ability to sing every single Arabic scale, and the high importance she placed on interpreting the underlying meaning of her songs. Many of her songs lasted hours. Because of her great talent, men flocked to the only radio in the village to hear her.

Teacher Mohammad wiped the sweat that trickled down his nose and dangled there, about to drop onto the playing board. We both knew there was no way he could win, but he never quit and I admired that trait in him. The cluster of men gathered around

Reviews for The Almond Tree

[castlelass · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book tells the story of Ichmad Hamid, and his life growing up in a rural Palestinian village in the Triangle area under Israeli control. When his father is imprisoned, he becomes the primary support for his mother and siblings. Through a series of fortunate events, Ichmad obtains a scholarship and studies science. He is initially scorned by his Israeli professor, but they ultimately become research partners. Ichmad’s brother, Abbas, is injured as a youth, and takes a different path, joining forces with the resistance, and viewing Ichmad’s actions as traitorous.

The overarching goal is to portray the difficulties for Palestinians living in this region. It is written by a Jewish woman who has lived in the area. This book encourages reconciliation and working together. It is about overcoming pre-conceived notions. It shows that getting to know a person as an individual can make a huge difference.

There are a few minor issues with the execution. The characters tend to change almost instantaneously rather than organically and gradually. The plot jumps from one major life event to another with little transition. But still, it is hard to be too critical of a book encourages peace in the Middle East. I read this book as a fictional companion to a non-fiction book that covers similar topics (The Lemon Tree by Sandy Tolan).

[linyarai · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I received the book for free through Goodreads First Reads. Amazing! Very descriptive, and depressing. It's terrible that we still make people live like that.

[rascalstar · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book needed to be written. It's timely and just this past week, some in power are beginning to see what the author wrote about. It's refreshing to see news from a different point of view to what our biased news depicts. It's important in all cases to see things from both sides, to consider the issues and problems of both sides.

The Almond Tree is well written and brings the conflict in Gaza to a personal level. One boy and his family, living on occupied land and constantly in danger of death or imprisonment, witnesses his family being ripped apart by politics and religion. His father is imprisoned wrongly and things are never the same. The decreasing family lives in utter poverty without even shelter from weather, a powerful statement of strength, love, and the will to live. The boy, Ichmad, does his best to care for his family and eventually raises himself to a position beyond expectations and dreams. He's a brilliant child and young man, recognized by an early teacher who urges the boy not to discard his gifts.

Before you decide who is right in the Gaza conflict, read this book. While it's a difficult and eternally ancient conflict, we in America hear only what our government wishes us to hear. The book is about one family, one young man who overcomes the hatred that surrounds him to do something good for the world.

This is truly a Good Read. I recommend it to everyone who might enjoy this kind of work that keeps the reader's interest throughout. An intelligent read for those who value same.

[northern_light-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I received this book free from Goodreads First Read and am very pleased that I did.

I cannot praise this debut novel highly enough. The author who is herself Jewish has managed to tell the story of Ichmad and his Palestinian family in such a way as to make you believe that you are reading a true story.The book covers the years 1955-2010 without seeming rushed through though.


It starts with little Amal unknowingly wandering into a mine-field while chasing butterflies which has tragic consequences for the whole family as they come to terms with what has happened.

Do they take the line of revenge and bitterness espoused by the mother or peace and reconciliation taken by the father?

Ichmad is a brilliant mathematician but how can he study with no school and living in awful conditions in occupied land?

I wanted to know what would happen next while at the same time I didn't want it to finish.

If you only read one book about the conflict between Israel and the Palestinian people this is the one.

[yvonne.sevignykaiser · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I won this book as part of a Goodreads giveaway.

The book takes some time to get into. I picked it up from my reading stack several times in an attempt to get it read and reviewed. I would say you need to make it through the first 50 pages before it really begins to flow. The story hits you right in the face with a 2x4 but fails to grab you until you get farther into the book. I do think that Ichmad Hamid is a very believable character, but many of the others seemed flat in the story not much dimension.

One question I have is why Abbas anger did not also include the Arab who knocked him off the scaffolding. Everyone else seemed very supportive of the boys because they proved to be hard workers. Especially the foreman who was a Jew, he even raced him to the hospital.

Again, it would have been nice to see some depth given to the characters who did not have the intense hatred and why they chose to stick there necks out to side on the right thing to do.

This is the authors first novel and I believe she will grow as a writer.

[dannadee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This debut novel will had my attention right from the start. It's a coming of age which spans over 50 years. That's a lot of time to squeeze into these pages, but the author did it beautifully. Basically a tale of two brothers and how growing up during war and hard times they take different life paths.This got mixed reviews and even if it may not be historically accurate, it is fiction and one I would recommend.

[dream24-2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received a free copy of this book from Goodreads.
****
The book tells the story of Ichmad Hamid's story and life between the ages of 7 and mid 60s. I have to be honest, before reading this book, all I knew about the Middle East was that there were ongoing conflicts, but just didn't know how far back it went or how serious the situation was.

Oh my god. Almost immediately off the bat (only 3 pages in), the first of a series of violence occurs and I am immediately pulled in, with the need to know more. The more I read, the more fascinated and horrified I became by all the prejudice, violence and racial segregation themes that kept reoccurring. And despite everything that the Palestinians faced, Ichmad's father (Baba) kept his optimism and open mindedness and encouraged Ichmad to do the same. Knowledge, determination and hope kept Ichamd through hard times, and eventually landed him the greatest honour of all, the Nobel Peach Prize, which he received alongside his one time tormentor and eventual friend Menachem Sharon.

It was interesting to read how Ichamd and Abbas, grew up in similar situations, turned out so vastly different yet in the end almost the same. Ichmad became a brilliant scientist in his own right, who never forgot his family (through his continued financial contributions), understood early on the consequences of hatred and violence and who had put aside his difference to work with the 'enemies'. Whereas Abbas, he fed upon his hatred and became associated with 'terrorists'. However, it is not until Abbas tells his side of the story that we understand that the group he represents is not necessary 'terrorists' but a group of people fighting injustice and to free the Palestinians.

I felt that in the first 2 parts of the book, the history of violence and this separation thing was only touched upon briefly, to fill in the blanks for the time being. Whereas, in the latter 2 parts of the book, a lot more in depth details were provided about the 'war' and fighting between Middle Eastern countries since the 2000s. I would have liked it if a little more history was provided in the first 2 parts of the book. Also, while the main focus was on Ichamd and Abbas (to a certain extent), I would have loved to hear more about the secondary characters, like Justice, Yasmine or Teacher Mohammad (they are inspirational in their own way). After all we did get to know Menachem Sharon's back story.

Overall, this book briefly dived into the premise of the hostile situations in the Middle East, the trials some people faced throughout the years, and how a seed of hope or hatred and ultimately blossom into something much more in the end. And that propaganda was and still is a very, very powerful tool, so it is always a good idea to hear and see both sides of the story because you make up your mind about something. This is a wonderfully written book, with details that capture you or leave you in disbelief, and leaves you with an optimistic hope for the future of those in the Middle East or anywhere with conflict and segregation. I would definitely recommend this book because it gets your thinking, places you in that situation, and makes you question things. I know for sure that after reading this book, I will be reading a lot more about the history of the conflicts in the Middle East.

[jodeneg-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Quickly becoming my favorite author! Love the human emotion!

[christineellei · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

* I received this in a Goodreads “First Reads” Giveaway *

Ichmad Hamed is a young Palestinian boy living in a small village controlled by the Israeli army. While innocently chasing a butterfly across a field outside their home his 3-year-old sister, Ama, is blown up by a land mine. Not long afterwards his family is forcibly removed from their comfortable home and assigned to live in a mud hut. Ichmad is bitter about his family’s circumstances and decides that possibly the rebels have the right idea. This leads to one poor decision on his part causing his father to be imprisoned for 14 years. Guilty over his father’s imprisonment Ichmad vows to try and change things for his family, but instead of getting better, the harder he tries the more things seem to become continually worse.

The only constant is his life is the almond tree that grows beside their ramshackle home. That tree is the source of much of their meager food supply; it is Ichmad’s refuge and the site of his biggest downfall. Eventually it also becomes the place of his greatest sorrow. But it is his constant.

Ichmad is, however, blessed with an uncanny intellect when it comes to math and science so with the help of a kind and determined teacher and against his mother’s wishes he enters a math contest and succeeds in winning a scholarship to an Israeli university. He chooses to make this the beginning of a better life for himself and his family. Leaving behind a crippled brother, his mother and younger siblings he departs for school despite knowing his family will be left in dire straits.

Ichmad feels the full support and wisdom of his father through letters but it is never easy for Ichmad as he is determined to do well at school and make something of himself. He manages to win over one his greatest nay-sayers, the Israeli professor who at one point had him expelled from classes. The unlikely and very cautious relationship between the two turns into Ichmad’s saving grace.

With a move to America and a prestigious position at an American university Ichmad becomes a little more “westernized” and eventually takes an Israeli/American wife. But in gaining a wife he loses a brother.

Fifty years later Ichmad is still haunted by his missing brother and the need to make his family whole again.

Despite the all too real horrors of religious and race intolerance, poverty, injustice, cruelty and war this is a wonderful book. It is sad, it will pull at your heartstrings, it may make you cry and yet somehow it manages to be uplifting at the same time. I was enthralled from the first page to the last. Ms. Corasanti has given her readers a book that takes you on an unforgettable journey with Ichmad’s family. She shows us the depths of despair, the strength of family and love and how sometimes even the pinnacle of success can be overshadowed by loss, unsaid words and unresolved arguments. The book is rich with the texture and the culture of the Middle East and there are very vivid descriptions of landscapes both ugly and lovely.

I can’t leave this review without acknowledging the fact that some people (those with stronger political and religious views that myself) will undoubtedly find this story one-sided. It is! It is the fictionalized story of one man and one family.

Although the subject matter and locale are different I cannot help but draw comparisons to “The Kite Runner”. This book also proves that no matter what life throws at you, whatever decisions you make be they good or bad, if it is important enough to you and you are determined enough … “you can be good again”.

[jjean7-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Well written with many different emotions expressed & history of the area - An understanding between Israel & Palestinions, that we are all humans - Powerful presentation of growing up, falling in love,facing life with a of fear of lossing everything - shows love among different culture's and how it can work.

[crsini-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received this through a GoodReads giveaway. Much thanks to those who put the book in my hands.

I was a bit skeptical upon starting this book. Within the first two or three chapters, there was what seemed to be an inconsistency regarding the aging of a character in relation to the years the in which the story was taking place. However, this book ended up being tremendously powerful at parts, and the amount of emotion and soul was palpable. The characters all felt very well-developed and Corasanti covered many aspects and perspectives of the intricate and delicate situation.

That’s why I gave the book four stars: here’s why I couldn’t muster five. The first two thirds of the book seemed to be very emotionally-charged and it was hard hitting as a result. There was a string of compassion that tied all of the characters together. This string was easy to hold onto while there were intra-family conflicts but an overall sense of solidarity and support. That string was stretched taut during the final third of the book, thanks to the main character, Ichmad.

******POSSIBLE [MINOR] SPOILERS BEGIN******

Ichmad didn’t lose his compassion so much as he degenerated into a patronizing Westerner who, in his good fortune, lost all of the most important ties he had with his family and culture. I can’t say for sure whether or not the author intended for him to be a portrait of the negative effect that the “beau monde” can have on individuals, but my guess is that he wasn’t.

The deus ex machina came in the form of Abbas’ confession at the end about wanting to send his child to a school in the States. I must admit I was thoroughly disappointed by this ending as it seemed more like a self-congratulatory affirmation of U.S. superiority than a plausible ending.

******SPOILERS END******

It was obvious that this book promoted a sort of pacifism as a solution to the crisis in the West Bank and Gaza. Of course, this isn’t a bad thing, but the equal admonishment of all acts of violence, regardless of the conditions under which it was preempted, left a stale flavor in my mouth about a book that had previously captivated me with its humanity and unflinching look at Middle East conflict. The book is likely to put you on an emotional rollercoaster, but in taking the good with the bad comes the recognition that this book is an intense and inspiring novel.

[miriammartin-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I won this book as a goodreads giveaway.... And I am so happy that I did. This book was incredible. It was extremely well written, gripping, emotional and thought provoking... Everything that a good book should be. I loved it.

[dubaireader · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very powerful book.This well written book gave an excellent sense of the desperation felt by many Palestinians, that whatever they do, they are battling against impossible odds, yet, there is always hope. The only downside for me, was that Ichmad Hamid, who raises himself above all the desolation, only does so because of his supreme intelligence, which gives him exceptional mathematical abilities - I'd have preferred the hero to have been a more 'typical' member of the community.Beginning in 1955, the novel starts with one of the most powerful opening chapters of any book I have read. Fortunately not all the following chapters are as harrowing, or I do not think I could have read it. Ichmad's family is close-knit, with a father who advocates love in the face of hardship and holds his family together with wisdom. But the hardships that they face would test any growing boys and their reactions to events differ.The almond tree of the title became the centre of Ichmad's family's life after they had been evicted from their land to make space for the incoming Israeli population. it provided them with shelter, a source of food and income, and a view-point from which to watch their former land, now under Israeli occupation.It is remarkable that the author is in fact Jewish, rather than Palestinian, as I had expected. She felt she could reach the largest number of people with her message by becoming a writer and I hope this book will become as well known as The Kite Runner and she may achieve her aim.

[nubian_princesa · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

***GoodReads Giveaway***Despite the mixed reviews, I kept an open mind when I started reading this book. I thought it was an engaging read. A coming of age book with many ups and downs. It stared with a bang quite literally and never slowed down.The politics was startling to me and didn't take away from the plot at all but quite enhanced it.Overall a good read..

[patsaintsfan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

WOW! I was so excited when I won this book on a Goodreads giveaway, BUT I never expected to be amazed by this debut novel! I have no idea if the historical accuracy of this book is factual, but the story is engrossing. I loved the addictive writing by Michelle. I was great reading a novel set in a different country with wonderful characters. It was a true reminder that most other countries are NOT like America! It is hard to put my feelings about this book into words, but I highly recommend reading it! I will definitely read future books by this author!

[bonnie_ferrante · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I finished this book two weeks ago but kept procrastinating writing the review because the subject matter was so huge. This is the story of Ichmad Hamid struggling to survive and protect his family in a hostile and cruel environment. The author, Michelle Cohen Corasanti, is a Jewish American who has lived in several countries and spent seven years in Israel. One thing that makes her story so fascinating, is that she writes from the viewpoint of the occupied Palestinians with depth, compassion, and insight.Corasanti does not spend time explaining the complicated and lengthy history of the Israelis and the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip. Instead, she brings us into the lives of a fascinating family whose conflicted opinions and actions mirror the complexities of the relationships between the cultures two. Ichmad works as hard as possible to provide for his family but knows that his talent with mathematics is the only true way out of extreme poverty and subjugation. His younger brother, already embittered by the brutalities forced upon them by the rulers and the death of his baby sister, sufferers an unfair and shocking injury at the hands of an Israeli. He becomes a freedom fighter, a person referred to in the news as a terrorist. Ichmad's mother wants her children to keep their heads down and work like slaves and the hope that they may survive. His father, however, has dreams for his children, dreams of achievement and peace.One character, Professor Sharon, hates Israelites with a passion. Through hard work, honesty, patience, and brilliance, Ichmad is able to make a friend of an enemy. This, to me, is the true message of this book. No matter the history, no matter the pain, the only way for both Israelis and Palestinians to survive and prosper is to treat each other the way they wish to be treated. The golden rule was never more needed than it is in the Gaza Strip.This isn't a preachy book nor does it spend a lot of effort trying to push a political agenda. It is a book about people, family, love, forgiveness, and hope. It is a book that will make you look at the media differently, make you question what you have believed in the news, and make your heart ache for both the oppressed and the oppressors.

[literarychanteuse · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This story is heart wrenching, thrilling and thought provoking. A view of political and war torn Palestine and Israel from the point of view of the common people who are caught in between. Absolutely compelling! A must read!I received a copy in exchange for an honest review.

[musichick52 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A Palestinian boy growing up in an occupied land has an aptitude for math. He gets the opportunity for an education and his conflicted adviser is an Israeli Jew. They both overcome many obstacles to become colleagues and research partners sharing in a Nobel. Told from the viewpoint of the boy, This work is am amazing glimpse into the life of the hunted and persecuted peoples of the Middle East. You will be enlightened upon reading this book. We all think we have endured struggle. Read this and then we'll talk about struggle. My thanks to the author and Goodreads for a complimentary copy

[nadinec.keels · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"May the battles that we fight be for the advancement of humanity."That's not a quote from The Almond Tree; it's the note from the author, Michelle Cohen Corasanti, that accompanied the copy of the book I received: a novel I don't think would garner so much attention, both positive and negative, if it wasn't important.I understand Ichmad's relationship with science, his passion, from the way he uses it to solve everyday and practical problems to how it provides his active mind with something productive to do when his present circumstances would otherwise cripple his spirit, and that passion ultimately creates for him a much needed platform to speak on behalf of others, for humanity's sake.I wouldn't get into a wrangle about the politics in the story. Considering the modest portion of knowledge I possess in that area, writing The Movement of Crowns Series is likely the closet I'll get to politics in this season of my life. However, reading of others' political views, even in a fiction work, has value.Another thing I wouldn't do is say that this novel has the most sophisticated prose or plot and character development, but I think to look for that kind of "sophistication" in this book would be to miss the point. The story of The Almond Tree is told simply, often with the feel of a memoir, and its beauty is in that very simplicity. It's much like some of the cons I've heard about the film The Nativity Story, that the dialogue is "stiff" or what have you, but I'm pretty sure the filmmakers weren't trying to portray the characters as modern and Western, speaking as modern Westerners would. Keeping the dialogue simple helped to support the time, place, and culture of the film's story, in my opinion, and I think the simplicity in Corasanti's novel serves a similar purpose, giving the reader a sense of the narrative of a man who wasn't born and raised in the West, whose thoughts wouldn't be in English, and whose aim isn't to give us a "novel" but to tell us his life story in the way that he, a man of science, can best tell it for "the advancement of humanity."If this book fuels the reader's consideration and compassion for humankind, as it has for me, then I believe it has done its job.____________I received a free copy of this book through Goodreads First Reads.

[arhoads29 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Almond Tree is a gripping novel about the not so black and white takeover of Palestine to become Israel. It is an eye-opening account (though fictional) of just what took place when Israel took over and how the Palestinians had land, business' and loved ones ripped away from them for no reason other than not being Israeli. Ichmad is a young boy of much promise whose family is torn apart when his father's orchards and home are taken from him to give to others for no reason at all. They are forced to live in a home that is too small for them but his father remains optimistic even after he is jailed for years without being charged. Now, his family lives in a tent and Ichmad and his brother must work for less pay then others because of their heritage in order to keep their mother and sister alive. As they grow Ichmad goes to school in hopes of improving his families lives while his brother grows dangerously bitter.I loved this novel. Five out of five enthusiastic stars.

[lubazuck · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Ichmad, a Palestinian,wanted to save the world and make it a better place. His journey took us from the war-torn 50's to the present day.The author did alot of research in writing this book and I think, gives encouragement to many

[georgiann-4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Ichmad Hamid is gifted with a mind that continues to impress the Elders of his Village. Yet he struggles with the knowledge that he can do nothing to save his family and friend. They live on occupied land his entire village operates in fear of losing everything, but they mostly fear losing weach other. On his tweltfh birhtday. His father is imprisoned and they lose everything! His siblings succumb to hatred in the face of conflict. Ichmad begins an inspiring journet using his intellect to save his dying poor family. By doing this he reclaims a love for others that was lost through a childhood which was filled with violence and finds a new hope for the future(less)

[gttexas · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Without question the best book I've read in a long, long time.

[myorangekiss · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is seriously one of the best books I have ever read. It had me expressing my emotions throughout the whole book. This book is about one young boys journey to success and how determination plays a big role in success. He didn't let anything get in his way. This book also opened my eyes to the outside world in that within the united states we are a blessed nation. There are some countries so impoverished that they don't even know what clean water is let alone how to read or write. Michelle shows us in her book that no matter what your background is or how much you have or don't have in life, the key to being successful is in the mind and will power of us all. Anyone can be successful. It just depends on how bad they crave success.

[piperup · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received a copy of this book thru a goodreads giveaway.This book deals with the very complex & political situation in Palestine territories and Israel in a way that provides both humanizing insight and a perspective not often seen. It's a book with so much loss experienced but contains a nice balance of hope as well as the belief that education opens doors while bridging cultural differences & prejudices. For a debut novel it is quite impressive.

[vibrantminds · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The story of Ichmad in the Almond Tree is compelling to read. The story is full of tragedy that he overcomes and triumphs that he must come to terms with for the guilt he feels on behalf of leaving his family behind in a war ridden Palestine. Ichmad is a talented mathematician and is able to break free from a life of despair. However, he is not free from the heartache, which is shown throughout the story in different aspects. At times I found the story line to hop from place to place with no smooth transitions and although interesting I found it to be a bit unbelievable and full of clichés.. Overall it is a good story that brings a light of hope when there seems to be none.

[peggy.s · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I only give a book 5 stars if it is one that affects me to the point that I feel I need to discuss it with everyone around me. This is one of those books. This is the story of Ichmad, a Palestinian living in Israel. On Ichmad’s twelfth birthday, he finds himself the man of the house when his father is sent to prison. Ichmad must try to support his mother and siblings, while continuing his own education. He is a mathematical genius, and the local school teacher will not allow him to stop his education, but insists on tutoring him in the evenings, after Ichmad has completed his day’s work. Life is a constant struggle – but Ichmad never gives up. Baba, his father, even though in prison, is Ichmad’s guiding light – and constantly supports and advices him.This book is a very moving, emotional read about the situation in the Middle East, told from a pro-Palestinian point of view. According to the short biography on the back cover of the book, Ms. Corasanti herself is Jewish, and has several degrees in Middle Eastern studies. I find it very interesting that she chose to write a book in which “her people” are the “bad guys.” I am sure it would have been much easier for her to write the story of a Jewish boy growing up in Israel at the same time. I also understand from author interviews that this novel is based on a person she met while she was in college. If I had to find one fault with the novel, it would be that it seems the main character and his family are subject to every bad (and good) thing that happened to any Palestinian between 1955 and 2009. I do understand, however, that sometimes authors do this to make a point – in this case, she was trying to tell how badly the Palestinians were treated by the Israel government.

[kristen11-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I found this book to be unabashedly biased. The first few chapters, I was so drawn in to this novel. But as the pages stretched on, the author could not hide her bias, and I felt it really overshadowed the story she was trying to tell. Most of the characters didn't seem well developed to me. The only one who was, was Ahmed. And I did not care for him. He's very much a special snowflake type, and his internal thinking left me glaring at times. Overall, this book has potential and can definitely be enjoyed if you can overlook the biased tone concerning the Palestine/Israel conflict.**I was gifted this book for free in exchange for an honest review. My thanks to the author and/or publisher.

[kaymackey · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Disclosure: I received a free copy of The Almond Tree by Michelle Cohen Corasanti courtesy of the author, via GoodReads First Reads.

The Almond Tree is the compelling story of a young Palestinian's struggle to get an education and make a better life for himself, his family, and his people. Ambitious, hard-working, and devoted to those he loves, the main character Ichmad is not only captivating to read about, but an admirable example to aspire to as well. The detailed, nuanced relationships between the characters and the rich cultural background upon which the story is drawn make it almost easy to forget that one is reading a work of fiction, rather than a narrative biography. Readers will almost certainly learn something about the history and culture of Palestine and Israel by reading this book, as well as being inspired by Ichmad's trials and triumphs.

Fans of Khaled Hussaini's The Kite Runner or Andrea Busfield's Born Under a Million Shadows will certainly enjoy The Almond Tree as well.

[bittycornwell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Ichmad Hamid is from Palestine, and his story takes place from 1950-2010. He is a gifted mathematician who struggles to help support his family from a very young age. His family is living in occupied territory, and they must do as the military demands. When his father is wrongfully imprisoned Ichmad struggles to maintain his ideals and avoid the hate his family is rapidly succumbing to. He must choose between feeding his family and getting an education.I won this book in the Goodreads First Reads Program. I found it to be a captivating book. I liked that the author told the Israeli/Palestine conflict from a Palestinian perspective. It is a view that is not often portrayed in the West, although that seems to be slowly changing. I also liked the emphasis in the story of the need to form relationships with people to create understanding.I thought that was a completely engrossing book. Despite the hopelessness that is present throughout the book, there are moments of beauty that give you kernels of hope. This is a poignant story that will stir strong emotions, and make you reevaluate what is important in your life. I recommend reading this excellent book.