My Father’s Paradise, by Ariel Sabar, is a beautiful tribute to the author’s father, Yona Sabar. The book is filled with so many vivid details, and it fills our senses with, not only the varied flavors of life in Kurdistan, but also with a sense of time and place.

Sabar’s father was born a Jew, in Zakho, Kurdish Iraq. He was born Yona Sabagha. He spent his early childhood there, living amidst an ancient people, people who spoke Aramaic, and who were basically isolated from the rest of Iraq. Jews and Muslims alike, lived together in an environment of harmony. Most of the community members were traders, of one kind or another. Sabar’s family were known as fabric “dyers”, and the family had a long ancestral line, tracing back to an early Jewish tribe, some considering them part of The Lost Tribes.

Life was not easy in any aspect, and the family eventually became Israeli immigrants, initially settling in camps. The road to Israel was a long one, though, and obtaining their visas proved to be difficult. Once they arrived in Israel, the lived in basically sub-standard situation, in a camp atmosphere. The family name was changed so they could assimilate easier. Finding work was not easy, and the Jewish-Kurds were considered the lowest in the chain of life.

Yona eventually was granted a scholarship to study in America. He was quite the linguist, and was trying to complete a degree in Neo-Aramaic, a language that his family spoke, but one that was being lost and diminished in today’s world. In fact, he was compiling a dictionary of Aramaic words, comparing them to Hebrew. This was his stronghold to a former life, his sense of time and place, remnants of his childhood and his ancestral line. His contribution to the world of Neo-Aramaic was, and still is, unparalleled, and he was, and still is, well-respected by his peers and by the community of linguists, scientists, and social-climbers trying to advance themselves in the world, and in the history of Aramaic, Kurdish Jews, etc.

Sabar was an angry child, and was embarrassed by his father’s naive mannerisms, old-world customs, inflections in voice, manner of dress, etc. Nothing pleased him, and he often disrespected his father. It mattered not that his father had made an astounding contribution in the historical and educational world. He was a child of the times, and couldn’t comprehend or understand his father’s attitude and way of being. This lasted until he married and had a son of his own…then life took on a new turn for him. He wanted answers to questions that were brought to the forefront.

“Ours was a CLASH of civilizations, writ small. He was ancient Kurdistan. I was a 1980s L.A.“.

Therein begins the journey of Self, not only for Sabar, but for Yona. They both eventually travel back to Iraq, and make their way to Zakho. Each is seeking something different, yet each is seeking similar ground. The son wants to redeem himself in his father’s eyes, and the father wants his son to comprehend the intensity of the innate emotions he has for his own homeland, a homeland he had to forfeit, and a homeland his own father had to sign a waiver to never return to. Life stopped for Yona, the day he left Zakho, he stood still in time’s continuum.

Through harrowing journeys through the desert lands, dirt roads, mud huts, their search for identity begins and ends. They grow closer in heart and mind, and Sabar begins to have an inkling of an understanding of his father. Each one was looking for a foundation, each one receiving a sense of renewal and redemption.

They traveled through the harshest of times in the Middle East, with an ongoing war, when Americans, and especially Jews, were not welcome in Iraq. They and retraced family steps, and traveled back in time, to a place that once relied on religious affiliation to define people as individuals and as belonging to a group or tribe, or part of the whole in their environment. All religions lived and thrived together under an umbrella within Kurdish Iraq, each with their own sense of familial tribes. The Jews were not the primary force Israel during those times, but their force was strong in Kurdish Iraq.

What is the value of a life? What is the value of our past? Can one return back home? Can one adjust to the changes? Is one’s life stagnant when they are separated from their original homeland? Are they lost in time and place? Is home a state of mind, state of Being, or a place where we have put down new roots? Exactly what defines home?

I highly recommend My Father’s Paradise, by Ariel Sabar, for its educational and historical value. But, more importantly, I recommend it for the insight that Sabar evokes within the story, and for his ability to vividly demonstrate how a language of the past breathes through the pages, soaking up the past within its pores. This is a book not to be missed. Ariel Sabar has paid tribute to his father and his deceased ancestors, bringing them to life, breathing their souls to the forefront. He has documented his father’s contribution to the world, for all to read. He has captured the essence of his ancestry, and their lives as best as anyone could possibly have done, demonstrating them as the central force in the composition of who he has become, today.

My Father’s Paradise is impressive, with well-articulated writing, and a book of historical dimensions. It offers a window to the past, through the present, and a window to ancestral souls. It is a must-read for all, who are interested in Jewish history, Middle East history, familial ties, assimilation, and the Kurdish Jews of Iraq. I wouldn’t have missed reading this, and in fact, I moved it up to the top of my “to read” list after purchasing it.

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Jew Wishes…Peace to you all.
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Tuesday 13th January 2009 – 17th of Tevet, 5769