In the Shadow of Men

By Nadia Harhash

Born in Jerusalem in the early 1970s and growing up there, the main character in this gripping novel felt all along that something was unsettling that came with being a female living in a society dominated by a patriarchal social order. But, it would take a broken marriage that ended in a bitter divorce experience for her to examine anew her early life experiences and understand them as outcomes largely shaped by male dominance, hence the excellent choice of title. Surely, male dominance is not projected as completely defining or foreclosing choices available to women. If it did, the main character would not have considered divorce, much less acted on it, as she eventually did. But, the patriarchy almost always shaped experiences and outcomes in ways that reflected the influence of the crippling power asymmetries women tended to be confronted with in male- dominated organizations and social structures.
Harhash provides a brilliant account of a wide variety of forms of injustice endured by women living in men's shadow. The breadth of her knowledge, as well as her deep intellect, render that account at once striking and unsurprising. She does this very well, often seeking explanations deeply rooted in philosophical discourse on human behavior and the evolution of human thought throughout history. Nor did she fail to highlight, even if only in passing, the variety of ways in which living under an oppressive colonial occupation magnified the ill effects of the power asymmetries associated with the workings of the patriarchal social order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al Nasher Technical Services
• Release date: May 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9789950385955

Book preview

novel

In the Shadow of Men

Nadia Harhash

ISBN: 978-9950-385-95-5

© All rights reserved for the author. Reproduction of this book is not permitted without a written permission of the author.

First Edition: Ramallah, 2023

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the opinion of Dar Al Nasher

Ramallah, Palestine - Tel: [phone]

Amman, Jordan - Tel: [phone]

Amman, Downtown, Bl. 12, Jordan

Tel: [phone] - Fax: [phone]

To My Children

From You… I am

And to You…. I become

Foreword

THERE IS A SPACE inside us all that is dark and light at the same time. Dark, because it is here that we confront head-on being disconnected from the way we instinctively know we want to be, from the way we know we should be. Light, because within this space, we know our true selves, and when need be, we somehow find the power to push through to actualize that truth.

In the Shadow of Men is a journey from dark to light of author Nadia Harhash. She navigates the physical venues, in Jerusalem, of her childhood, her married family life, and then her emergence as an independent single woman. Her identity markers are female, Arab, Palestinian, and Muslim. She reveals the contours of her interior space, filled with determination forged as a very young girl: How could a four-year-old child travel from her school to her father’s office on her own? she writes. As I grew up, this memory helped me imagine myself as Supergirl.

In that interior space, Harhash found the resolve to change her course and, by doing so, pave a freer one for her four children, three daughters, and a son. I was secretly raising my children to pursue dreams hidden from them by the patriarchy, she writes. I wanted my children to hear a single message from me: Become whom you want to become. At the same time, that interior space is grounded in Harhash’s awareness of her privilege: How do you leave a life filled with glory and money? How do you rebel against a life that most women dream of?

In the starkest of terms, Harhash relates the battle lines she drew with nearly all those surrounding her by initiating what was to become a traumatizing divorce. In an instant, she writes, I became like a contagious disease. Everyone tried to stay far away from me. Divorce became a divorce from society, not just from the man. As if leaving the flock makes the sky smaller, no matter how spacious it seems. It remains a sky controlled by pre-set rules.

It was as if my divorce threatened to break apart all the marriages in society. Suddenly, I became a threat to every man and woman and my own family – both my married and unmarried sisters. I brought disgrace when I asked for a divorce. Women conspired against me, even my mother and my sisters. My husband was backed by an army of men dedicated to serving him and distorting me.

In the thick of this fight, though, she demanded of herself, from deep within, not to become defined by it, even as it marked her with a metaphorical scarlet letter. How could I pretend to raise the next generation with better values when I could not be a good example myself? she wondered, once again with her children at the forefront of her thinking. I wanted them to grow up with enough power that they could be the shapers of their destinies. As a divorced mother, I tried to give each child a brush and allow him to paint whatever he wanted into our life’s portrait.

I sought out Nadia Harhash in late 2018, asking to interview her for the book of Palestinian narratives I was researching, particularly for the chapter I would write on day-to-day Palestinian life in Jerusalem. I contacted her knowing she was a journalist who pulled a few punches in her writing on politics and social trends in her society. During the long afternoon I spent with her in her home in the Beit Hanina neighborhood – during which she introduced me to one of her daughters, her father, and her paternal grandmother – Harhash spoke candidly about her life, including but not limited to her work as a journalist and writer.

She provided what I was seeking, that her words and ideas would not only flesh out her humanity but that they also would enable me to construct a narrative of Palestinian life in Jerusalem that could be accessible and relatable to outsiders who are often exposed, through media and other representations of Palestinians in Jerusalem and elsewhere, to filtering and framing that tend toward political and religious conflict. No – here, as we sat in Harhash’s kitchen on that sunny Saturday afternoon, she shared details of a personal narrative common to people around the world: of growing up and getting married and raising children; of working and struggling and trying to build a better future.

Throughout the several hours of our conversation, I was struck by Harhash’s thoughtfulness in formulating answers to the questions I put to her, her generosity and humor in relating the details of her struggle, and by capacity as an original thinker. These qualities are laced through the pages of In the Shadow of Men, an English-language translation that Harhash had given me and I had read to prepare for our interview. As much of her narrative in the book and beyond draws on tensions between womanhood and patriarchy, I asked her whether she considers herself a feminist.

She was quick to tell me that she prefers the term womanist instead. The source of power in being a woman is genuine. It puts me on an equal level of creation, Harhash said, asserting that being a woman is a natural state, just like being a man. I don’t need to become a feminist to ask for what I deserve to have.

After our meeting, as I pondered what Harhash had told me, along with what she wrote in Shadow, the particular and the universal took shape in her words, enabling me to grasp meaning and dynamism in her narrative.

The particular go beyond the details of her own life experience to include its context, specifically the constraints women face in the traditional and patriarchal Palestinian Arab society that Harhash inhabits – even in an urban (versus rural) setting and on a socio-economic level of relatively high education and income. Within this particular framework, Harhash also presents, in real terms, Palestinians’ being confronted with – and also confronting – the Israeli occupation, which she more than suggests is linked to other forms of patriarchy.

Parallel to this thread, or perhaps intertwined with it, In the Shadow of Men renders universal strains of personal growth, struggle, and triumph: of the self-discoveries of maturing through childhood to adulthood; of embarking on an intended life partnership through marriage and building a family; of the collapse of that original family structure and reconstituting another in its place, anew. This universality is relatable to readers the world over: to women and men in circumstances of privilege and underprivileged, in societies developed and developing, and in communities secular and faith-based.

This, in essence, is the journey Harhash relates in In the Shadow of Men. It is not only a woman’s story – although it is undoubtedly and compellingly that. It is also a story of the human drive to overcome limiting circumstances that would hinder one’s vision of freedom with the goal of becoming one’s better self.

Imparting a narrative that is distinctly female and Palestinian, In the Shadow of Men is at once Nadia Harhash’s declaration of determination and a profile of humility and courage – the courage to question one’s life and surroundings and the courage to seize agency and bring change. In her words:

This story might be the story of all women. Perhaps the trials I endured are extreme compared to those of other women, or perhaps my life is no more complicated than anyone else’s. Its simplicity could be ridiculous, and its boldness could be tragic. And it could be, and it could be …

But, in the end, this is a human story that, through its revelations, forms me and liberates me from the complexities that liberation alone can dismantle.

Marda Dunsky

Chicago

December 2019

Write,

She yelled in my ears.

In writing, you will be.

Stop scattering the parts of yourself.

Stop hiding in the shadows of others.

You are your own God.

Do not allow another human to become your God

Or your inspiration,

For you are the inspiration of yourself.

God is within you.

Let this inspiration guide your way.

Write.

In writing lies life.

Writing is a virtue many don’t possess

And you are elaborately flowing.

Writing is creativity.

And creativity is existence.

I see you standing at a crossroads.

Looking at yourself.

Unsure which path to take.

The road everyone chooses?

Becoming like everyone else?

Or to be you?

You, the writer.

Writing is your creativity drawn in words.

Do not leave it.

But hold it up.

Marry writing.

It is what remains.

Be you.

You, the Goddess.

Do not allow a god to drive you or inspire you.

You are the path.

And the inspiration.

Write and inspire.

(1) The Beginning

I was born in a patriarchal society, into a conventional family with ordinary behaviors and average education. My mother was fifteen when her family arranged for her to marry my nineteen-year-old father; marriage was one way to keep his behavior in check.

My mother gave birth to me shortly after she turned sixteen—a child giving birth to a child, I always thought. I was raised in the midst of my parents’ teenage dreams and the uncertainty of their new adult lives. Memories became lost in the flow of life. This made us forget what had been and simply carry on a moment to moment.

Each of us grows, and inside are our mothers’ lost dreams and thwarted wishes. You are the origin of her dreams’ demise. You are asked to rise to the challenges of the moment because, despite being a woman, you will face this world and prove you are worthy to exist within it.

Girl after girl after girl was born, and our mother’s dreams broke around us, their shrapnel scattered and then reshaped into another dream far away from us—the dream of the male—the boy. No matter how abundant and well-bred girls may be, they can never make up for the absence of a boy.

As I grew up, this conflict left a crack in my identity. I was the eldest daughter, responsible for the long line of sisters that followed. Each time my mother gave birth to another girl, faces would frown, and the sky’s colors would fade. Strangely, I didn’t see this disappointment in the family’s males. But the tears of my mother, the gossip of my grandmother, and the words of my neighbors haunted me. It’s okay. May God compensate you. Even the word Mabrouk—congratulations—went unspoken. However, we girls continued to grow, one after the other, and we were treated with compassion.

My memories of my father during my childhood are limited. He was a workaholic, too busy providing a life my mother insisted should be better. She would not accept the idea of sending us to public schools, even though we were girls. Instead, we were sent to expensive private schools that only the children of the rich and highly educated could attend.

Though my grandfather was a tyrant, he invested in our education, as he had done for our aunts before us. Perhaps he had done the same for the boys, but his sons were not as diligent as his daughters. One of my aunts attended college