Today is the 2nd birthday of the my book Shira & Esther’s Double Dream Debut.

Two years ago, I went to the woods for some hiking, camping, and calm before my October 10th book launch. There wasn’t any cell service on the mountain, but that holiday weekend, I made a video about my joy (that my writing would finally be available to a larger audience) and my gratitude (for all who had helped me along the way.) On my way down the mountain, as soon as I had a few bars, I posted the video, packed up camp, and headed home where I learned of the terrorist attack on Israel, the massacre at the Nova music festival, and the pogroms at the kibbutzim on the border.

Over the next weeks and months I’d find out more about the 251 hostages held in terror tunnels under Gaza and the brutal and grizzly deaths that took place on October 7th, the largest number of Jews killed at one time since the Holocaust.

The morning of October 10, 2023, I wondered, was I even allowed to feel joy about my debut book? The story was specifically about Jewish Joy and the wonderful ways we learn, disagree, and celebrate. Would people ask me about the horrors of October 7th? Would I be heckled? Attacked? Did Jewish authors now need extra security?

Luckily, my launch was well-attended by people who loved me throughout my life and it was one of the most joyous events of my life.

The book gained critical praise with stars and lists. Currently, the New Jersey Library Association has nominated my book for the Garden State Teen Book Award Teen Votes Fiction: Grades 6-8.

At the same time the book gained accolades, my Jewish community counted days. Fifty days that hostages were in captivity. One-hundred days. Two, then three-hundred days. Rachel Goldberg-Polin the American-Israeli mother of Hersh Goldberg-Polin (in his early 20s) wore her masking tape tally of the days she’d prayed, worked, and cried for his release. I wore my “Bring them Home” dog tags.

As I did with my 20-something sons, she called herself, “Mama,” and her son was her, “Sweet Boy.” I felt deeply connected to her in the way one does with a celebrity or public figure—sure that if we went to the same synagogue, we’d be best friends.

On day 328, the family members of the hostage families gathered on the Israeli border with a microphone and massive speakers. “Hersh, it’s Mama,” she starts. My heart broke and broke again as she shouted into Gaza the priestly blessing that parents say over their children on Shabbat: “May God bless you and keep you. May God shine his face upon you and be gracious to you…” Around the same time, terrorist were executing her son.

Over the last two years, it’s felt both selfish and escapist to write. However, in that time, I’ve connected with other Jewish authors who have been my port in the storm of anti-semitism online and in real life. They encourage me to pursue my next stories. My synagogue community continually reminds me of the importance of Jewish Joy, and my family gives me unconditional love.

Today, on October 10, 2025, thanks to my mother, I’m on a writing retreat. In addition to celebrating the 2nd anniversary of my debut novel, I’m crossing my fingers for the possible release of the 40 hostages still in captivity. Twenty or so are still thought to be alive. In this bucolic place, I recommit to my work in progress, I light Shabbat candles and I pray: may we finally be able to celebrate the living, mourn those who have died, and have endless Shabbats filled with peace.