Do Not Ask the River Her Name review: The story of a Kerala nurse in Nazareth

Ruth Albert, who comes from Kollam, works as a metapelet (Hebrew for nurse) to an elderly Jewish man in Nazareth, ‘the Arab capital of Israel’. The story unfolds from her unusual perspective; she runs a popular vlog named ‘Nazareth’. Initially, her sole purpose in Jerusalem is to provide for her family back home, with no personal investment in the region. However, Ruth soon untangles the web of complex identities that have evolved on this troubled land — an innocent Palestinian-turned-refugee in his own homeland, a moderate Jew empathetic toward the Palestinian cause, an ordinary citizen who has suffered loss at the hands of Hamas, and a battle-hardened Israeli who argues, ‘We Jews, the owners of this land, are fighting for our property.’

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The inheritance of loss and suffering

Ruth finds herself among characters who represent these diverse identities. Sahal Al Fadi, a Palestinian poet under the watch of Israeli authorities, uses his pen to bring his people’s suffering to the world’s attention. In his efforts to evade capture, Sahal is aided by his friend Asher, a Jewish anthropologist. Asher’s father, David Mehahem, for whom Ruth works as a nurse, is an Arab Jew displaced from Baghdad and resettled in Israel, where he faces discrimination from Ashkenazi, or European Jews. On the other hand, Asher’s mother, Esther, an Ashkenazi Jew, suffered at the hands of Hamas. Amid all this, there is Ruth’s own struggle with displacement — driven not by politics or conflict but by poverty. She has travelled across seas to earn a living for her family, braving uncertainty, loneliness, exploitation, and even becoming entangled in a human trafficking racket.

With so many — and such intense — themes packed into one, the book had the potential to feel over-ambitious, but it never becomes overwhelming. Here, Tomy deserves credit for keeping both the premise and language simple while addressing such complex subjects. She unpeels the complexities, presenting them with such finesse that it enables readers to understand the historical, religious, political, and personal elements of the Holy Land more clearly than many nonfiction works. The poems of Mahmoud Darwish, regarded as Palestine’s national poet, are woven into the story; the novel’s title itself is a line from one of his poems.

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Tomy adeptly intersperses cultural elements throughout the novel. The Temple Mount, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and Via Dolorosa, along with the music of the Oud, the sight of falafels and challah, and the presence of olives and figs, not only offer well-timed relief from the harrowing and heartbreaking narrative but also provide a much deeper glimpse into the culture of what is now Israel and Palestine, beyond the conflict that has long defined the land. While these elements add a necessary layer to the Palestinian story, they also deepen the sense of loss as readers realise how much is at stake in this ongoing conflict — people, culture, relationships, homes, music, food, and art.

The struggles of expatriate women

While much of the novel centres on Palestinian Muslims and Israeli Jews, the story of Jesus Christ, born and crucified on the same land, also crops up. “Every innocent’s murder is a crucifixion,” writes Tomy, as Ruth uncovers the killings and torments not only of Palestinians but also of some Israelis. The way Jesus Christ’s story is woven into the narrative is striking and adds a profound third dimension to the conflict.

Ruth is an atypical but essential facilitator for this story. Her perspective not only brings a fresh lens to the conflict but also highlights the experiences of countless Indian women who migrate to the Middle East, enduring great hardships to support their families. “Kerala has many families that survived only due to the hard work of the women expatriates. Those who eulogize the male journeys across the sea, from the time of ancient wooden barges, often forget about those pioneering women and their dedication,” Tomy writes.

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Though Ruth’s story seems as distant from Sahal’s and Asher’s as India is from Palestine and Israel, her journey is interspersed in such a way that it both evokes a sense of familiarity and amplifies the voices of countless undocumented women; Tomy deftly integrates this story, making Ruth a believable guide while also putting the struggles of many expatriate women on the map. The thorough research underpinning the novel is palpable, and Tomy’s ability to distil it into such accessible language is commendable.

It’s an excellent time for translations, and Ministhy deserves praise for bringing Tomy’s work to a wider audience. The translation is crisp, lyrical, and keeps the narrative flowing easily. Though Tomy wrote the novel before the events of October 7, 2023, when the Hamas’ attack killed over a thousand in Israel and led to a devastating retaliation, these developments make the novel’s themes even more resonant. For its premise, storytelling, and attention to detail, Do Not Ask the River Her Name is a must-read.