Until the Walls Come Down
A contemporary novel
After a terrorist attack claimed the lives of her parents, Tammar receives devastating news: her childhood home in Jaffa is slated for demolition. Pregnant and grieving, she throws herself into a legal battle to save the house—only to discover it once belonged to her Palestinian husband’s family, who fled during the war of 1947.
With the council hell-bent on demolishing the house for a new development, Tammar needs all the help she can get. She must reunite her estranged brothers with her husband’s family—each claiming the house as their heritage. As neighbours join their fight against displacement, Tammar learns that in her conflict-scarred homeland, every stone holds multiple histories.
Exploring questions of ownership and belonging, Until the Walls Come Down is a story about the tangled roots of family and place, and the power of unity.
Reviewers say...
From Kirkus: "An affecting, thoughtful family drama crackling with energy. Podjarny’s involving, layered tale tackles personal, racial, and political themes. Still, it’s never overcomplicated, nor is there a drop of saccharine sentimentality here, only authentic emotion conveyed by a cast of fully developed characters. The result is a deeply affecting tale that will haunt one long after it’s read."
From Feathered Quill: Until the Walls Come Down is a touching and deeply emotional novel... Throughout the narrative, readers are drawn into a deeply inspiring environment of two people holding firmly on to each other even when the world around them feels like it’s falling apart. Podjarny's writing style is soft and poetic, filled with quiet details that bring the world to life... she shows us how grief can hurt deeply but also open the door to healing, how family can break but still find its way back together, and how even in a country full of conflict and division, peace can begin with a quiet conversation, a shared memory, or a single act of kindness.
From Readers' Favorite: "... a deeply layered literary novel set in modern-day Israel, where grief, identity, and history collide. Podjarny’s prose is both intimate and sweeping, capturing the emotional complexity of a land where every stone bears witness to competing claims and hard-won peace. Author Gal Podjarny has written a story with much-needed empathy for our time, placing conflict back in a context we can relate to rather than in the hands of world powers arguing over human lives. What results is a beautifully written exploration of heritage, grief, and contested identity that has a lot of complexity; it’s a story with no clear right or wrong answers, just like life.
For Book Clubs
Or: I've read the book, now what?
Discussion Questions 1. What assumptions did you bring into this book, and where did the story break them? I deliberately wrote characters who contradict the narratives we're used to. Where did a character do something you didn't expect? 2. The novel mixes Hebrew, Arabic, and Yiddish without always translating. Israeli society is like a stained glass window — it's made up of distinct pieces, different languages, cultures, backgrounds, that together create something beautiful, especially if we let the light shine through. How did the untranslated words make you feel? 3. Tammar suspects she couldn't have given up her family for Ali, but Ali did exactly that. What do you think that asymmetry means for their relationship? Do you think the power balance changed during the story? How? 4. Sharon takes Tammar dancing in the middle of her crisis and compares it to a rest day during training. Is that wisdom or avoidance? When does stepping away from a problem become running from it? 5. Tammar lived in the house for years without asking about its history. Is that wilful ignorance, or just how people survive in contested places? I'm interested in this because I grew up in Israel without questioning the history of the places I lived in. It took me years, and leaving the country, to start asking those questions. When have you avoided a question because you sensed you wouldn't like the answer? 6. There are no villains in this story. That was important to me. Even Hezzi, the city inspector, is just doing his job. Does a story about systemic injustice need a villain? Is it harder or easier to sit with the idea that everyone is trying to do the right thing, and it still goes wrong? 7. Ali says you can't own land — that we're stewards, not owners. Barak says no one washes a rental car. Who do you agree with, and did that change over the course of the book? Why do you think Ali, specifically, is the one arguing against ownership? 8. During the community meeting, there’s a moment where the Jewish Israeli activist realise that Tammar’s case can be used as a precedent to advance the right of return for Palestinians. What does that moment reveal about the gap between personal sympathy and political solidarity? Have you experienced that gap yourself? 9. I named the baby Amal, which means hope in Arabic. What kind of hope does the ending offer — and is it enough? 10. A question for after you read the deleted scene: Did the scene make you view Daniel in a different light? Have you changed your mind about him? How?
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