A Melody of Memories and Missed Connections
Have you ever heard a song that instantly transports you to another time and place? The kind that resurfaces long-buried memories and emotions? Ayelet Tsabari’s debut novel “Songs for the Brokenhearted” is like that haunting melody – a story that weaves together past and present, love and loss, identity and belonging. It’s a book that lingers in your mind long after you’ve turned the final page, much like the Yemeni folk songs that serve as its backbone.
As I dove into this rich tapestry of a novel, I found myself completely swept up in the intertwining narratives of Saida and her daughter Zohara. Their voices—separated by decades but bound by blood and shared trauma—create a powerful harmony that resonates deeply. Tsabari’s prose has a musicality to it, at times lilting and poetic, at others raw and unflinching. Reading it felt like eavesdropping on a private performance, one that left me both moved and unsettled.
A Tale of Two Times, Two Hearts
The story unfolds in dual timelines, alternating between 1950s Israel and the mid-1990s. In 1950, we meet Saida, a young Yemeni Jewish woman newly arrived in Israel. Married with a child, she unexpectedly falls for Yaqub, a fellow immigrant. Their forbidden romance blooms against the backdrop of overcrowded camps and cultural upheaval.
Flash forward to 1995, and we’re introduced to Saida’s daughter Zohara. She’s built a life for herself in New York, purposefully distanced from her Yemeni roots and complicated family history. But when her mother dies, Zohara reluctantly returns to Israel, unearthing long-buried secrets and confronting the identity she’s tried so hard to escape.
Love in the Time of Displacement
Tsabari paints a vivid picture of life in the immigrant camps of 1950s Israel. The descriptions are so evocative you can almost feel the dust in your throat and hear the cacophony of languages. Amidst this chaos, Saida and Yaqub’s forbidden romance unfolds with a bittersweet intensity. Their stolen moments by the river are charged with longing and the weight of societal expectations.
“He wiped her tears with his finger. She didn’t look away, didn’t move. So he leaned over and kissed her wet cheek, then the other, tasting salt. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her forehead, then her eyes, then, finally her lips. Softly, again and again and again. And she kissed him back.“
The author doesn’t shy away from the complexities of their situation. Saida’s guilt, Yaqub’s idealism, the very real consequences they face—it’s all laid bare with unflinching honesty. Their love story is both beautiful and heartbreaking, a reminder of how circumstances can shape our choices.
A Reluctant Homecoming
Zohara’s narrative in 1995 provides a fascinating counterpoint. Her initial reluctance to engage with her heritage is palpable:
“My mom couldn’t read.
Why did she keep stories she couldn’t read? And how did he get them to her? What if my father had found them?”
I held up the first page and began to read.
As she uncovers her mother’s hidden past, Zohara is forced to confront her own prejudices and the complexities of her identity. Tsabari skillfully captures the internal struggle of a woman caught between two worlds, never quite feeling at home in either.
The Power of Unsung Voices
One of the most captivating aspects of the novel is its exploration of Yemeni women’s folk songs. These songs, passed down orally through generations, serve as a secret language of sorts. They give voice to experiences and emotions that were often silenced in their patriarchal society.
Tsabari’s inclusion of these songs (both real and invented) adds incredible depth to the story. They act as a bridge between past and present, mother and daughter. As Zohara begins to understand and appreciate these songs, she gains new insight into her mother’s life:
“I sang in her kitchen, as I washed the dishes. I sang along with the radio. When I drove. When I cleaned. One day at the beach, I swam to the rocks, climbed on top, sat facing the sunset and sang my heart out. I could almost hear my mother’s voice accompanying me, harmonizing.”
This rediscovery of cultural heritage through music is beautifully rendered and deeply moving.
A Tapestry of Complex Characters
Tsabari excels at creating multifaceted, flawed characters that feel startlingly real. Saida, in particular, is a triumph—a woman who defies easy categorization. She’s traditional yet rebellious, resigned yet yearning. Her struggle to reconcile duty with desire is heart-wrenching.
Zohara’s journey of self-discovery is equally compelling. Her initial disdain for her Yemeni background slowly gives way to curiosity and eventually, a tentative embrace. It’s a transformation that feels organic and earned.
Supporting characters like Lizzie (Zohara’s sister), Yoni (her nephew), and Bruria (Saida’s co-wife) are also richly drawn. Each adds another layer to the complex family dynamics at play.
The Weight of Secrets
Family secrets form the core of the novel’s tension. The gradual unraveling of these long-held secrets is masterfully paced, with each revelation landing with maximum impact. Tsabari explores how secrets can shape entire lives, creating rifts between loved ones and distorting self-perception.
The moment Zohara discovers the truth about her mother’s past is particularly powerful:
“Everything about my family history, even my memories, felt tainted.”
It’s a stark reminder of how the stories we tell ourselves about our families can be wildly inaccurate.
A Lyrical Exploration of Identity
At its heart, “Songs for the Brokenhearted” is a profound meditation on identity. It grapples with questions of belonging, assimilation, and the inheritance of trauma. Tsabari doesn’t offer easy answers, instead presenting the messy reality of navigating multiple cultures and conflicting loyalties.
The novel sheds light on the often-overlooked experience of Mizrahi Jews (those from Middle Eastern and North African countries). It challenges the dominant Ashkenazi narrative of Israeli history, giving voice to a community that has frequently been marginalized.
Zohara’s struggle to reconcile her Yemeni heritage with her American life will resonate with many children of immigrants. Her journey towards self-acceptance is both specific to her experience and universally relatable.
A Feast for the Senses
Tsabari’s writing is lush and sensory, bringing both 1950s Israel and 1990s New York vividly to life. The descriptions of food are particularly evocative—you can almost taste the Yemeni soup and smell the fresh pita.
The author has a gift for small, telling details that instantly transport the reader:
“The cafés on Ibn Gabirol Street were bustling with people who couldn’t be bothered to take a stand, sipping espressos and beer and smoking cigarettes.”
These vivid snapshots create a rich, immersive reading experience.
Not Without Flaws
While “Songs for the Brokenhearted” is undoubtedly a powerful debut, it’s not without its imperfections. At times, the pacing in the 1995 timeline feels a bit uneven, with some plot threads resolved too quickly. The political backdrop of the 1995 sections (centering around Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination) occasionally feels shoehorned in, not fully integrated with the main narrative.
Additionally, some readers might find the ending a touch too neat, with reconciliations happening rather swiftly given the decades of misunderstanding and hurt.
A Promising Debut
Despite these minor quibbles, “Songs for the Brokenhearted” announces Ayelet Tsabari as a major new voice in literary fiction. Her ability to weave together multiple timelines, voices, and themes is impressive. The novel builds on the promise shown in her award-winning short story collection “The Best Place on Earth” and her memoir “The Art of Leaving.”
Fans of multigenerational family sagas and explorations of cultural identity will find much to love here. The book pairs well with works like Dalia Sofer’s “The Septembers of Shiraz” or Nadia Hashimi’s “The Pearl That Broke Its Shell.”
Final Notes
“Songs for the Brokenhearted” is a deeply moving exploration of love, loss, and the power of uncovering long-buried truths. It’s a novel that asks difficult questions about identity and belonging, all while spinning a compelling narrative that keeps you turning pages.
Tsabari’s prose sings with the cadence of the Yemeni folk songs that inspired it. By the end, you’ll feel as though you’ve been privy to a secret concert, one that leaves you humming unfamiliar melodies and pondering the hidden stories in your own family tree.
This is a book that lingers, its characters and themes echoing in your mind long after you’ve closed its covers. For readers seeking a rich, emotionally resonant story that bridges cultures and generations, “Songs for the Brokenhearted” hits all the right notes.
