02/11/2023
"I didn’t feel Palestinian. (A sensation that is not particular to that night: I don’t speak Arabic, my mother is Jewish, and I am American born and bred, so I have always felt disingenuous asserting belonging within such a tormented narrative.) But I did feel something as our descent hastened, as the view below dizzied and dazzled and tempted and sickened me. What I felt was that awful inclination that has always plagued me—not to Falestine—but to falling, a desire to fall, to no country but death’s country. L’appel du vide, the French call it. The call of the void."
Today, on Literary Hub, Hannah Lillith Assadi writes about her father and losing home.
November 2022 On the telephone from the hospital, my father tells me he wants a cigarette. He has fallen again. His once hearty frame is now so frail, I can hardly bear to look at him. The cancer i…