Samir and Yonatan

Daniella Carmi (author)

Yael Lotan (translator)

Scholastic, USA: 1994; 183pp

ISBN: 0439135230

Genres: realistic fiction, war

Issues: friendship, identity, peace, racism, religion, tolerance

• Winner of the 2001 Mildred. D. Batchelder Award for Best Translated Novel.
• A 2001 Notable Book for a Global Society.
• UNESCO Prize for Children's Literature in the Service of Tolerance, Honorable Mention.

Samir, a young Palestinan boy, has been injured. Nothing heroic, as he is glumly aware - just sheer stupidity, actually, as he rode his bicycle down several flights of stairs. His knee has been badly broken and his parents have finally obtained the correct paperwork that will enable him to pass into the Occupied Territories to have surgery at ‘the Jews' Hospital' as he refers to it. Samir's younger brother, Fadi was killed during one of the endless string of running street battles. Spending time in a hospital run by the very people he blames for his brother's death is therefore not something to look forward to.

Waiting in the children's ward for the arrival of the American doctor who will perform the operation on his knee, Samir finds himself surrounded by others who have been equally traumatised by the war that surrounds them. There is Ludmilla, a Russian immigrant who has found the transition to Israel somewhat traumatic. She barely speaks and has difficulty eating. There is Razia, whose father hit her hard when he was drunk, causing a serious head wound. There is Tzahi, who has a problem that means he has to wear a catheter. And there is Yonatan, who has a damaged hand. Yonatan is an unusual boy, from Samir's point of view. He reads constantly and seems more interested in the world of his books than what's going on around him.

Despite that, it is always Yonatan who manages to divert Tzahi when the boy from Israel seems determined to taunt and distress Samir, the boy from Palestine. It is Yonatan who reassures the children on the ward when there is a sudden and unexplained blackout, even it is by talking about his favourite subject - the stars and planets. And it is Yonatan who invites Samir to ‘go to Mars' with him after Samir has had his operation. Samir has no idea what Yonatan means, but is grateful for the kindness.

Narrated in the third person but seen principally through Samir's eyes, the experiences of the children in the hospital give the reader a moving insight into the consequences of war. None of them are unaffected. Yonatan's mother has fled to America and although he is glad that she is safe, he misses her dreadfully. Tzahi's brother is a soldier and he obviously lives with the fear of him being killed.

More than anything, however, this novel is a cry for tolerance - for the acceptance of differences between cultures, and for a genuine attempt at peace. Daniella Carmi does not romanticise war, nor does she over simplify peace. Her story epitomises the complex, deeply felt fears, beliefs and resentments that cause such conflicts to continue; but it also demonstrates the commonality of the human experience and reminds readers that through war we are injuring ourselves even more than others.

Samir, as the outsider, allows the reader to feel the intense isolation and uncertainty, the rapid changes from hope to fear to laughter, which are experienced when a person feels insecure and threatened. The ongoing war is peripheral, in many ways - there are no gory descriptions of battles and bomb blasts. The writing concentrates on the feelings and reactions of the characters in the hospital. The subtle relationships that develop between the children, and between children and staff, emphasise that our best hope for peace lies in remembering that ‘the enemy' is a group made of many individuals whose lives are not very different from our own.

Sensitively written and thought-provoking in its content, this is a good novel to share with a group, and could be studied in parallel to Soraya the Storyteller, which is about a different aspect of war and how it affects children.