In a cruel world of unforgiving judgement, can a secular grandmother protect a Hasidic boy from discrimination?
Zila is shocked from the unexpected phone call. The messy and slightly disorganised college professor is stunned when her Hasidic grandchild Yitzchak suddenly appears in Israel, desperate for her help.
Vowing to keep Yitzchak safe and discover why he’s here all alone, Zila sets out to pick him up and find out what happened to her daughter. But being surrounded by people who question her daughter’s choice of marrying Yitzchak’s father, Zila struggles to get the support she needs, and Yitzchak’s emotional wellbeing is in danger.
Can a brave secular woman meet the religious needs of her traumatised grandson, while agonising over her memories of her daughter’s life changing journey – after an injury that left her hanging between life and death?
Praised on Amazon:
“Short and sweet. I’m having trouble reading anything new these days. This sweet short story about empathy and acceptance was exactly what I needed to break the reading slump.”
“Well written! Loved this book. Very well written, makes you feel like you’re really in the story of an Orthodox boy and his life! It took me for a nice ride. I wished it was longer.”
“Gripping and important. I loved this book! I was drawn in right away! It’s an important voice on religious differences and hope for the future. Beautifully, clearly written and just the right sized story!”
A Word from the Author
This is not the kind of story I usually write. It’s special to me. I normally do vegan cookbooks, and fantasy fiction (witches, Camelot, funny fairy tales).
But, I had to write it. I cried when I wrote it.
It started when I watched an interview with Malky Weingarten – a Hasidic woman filmmaker from Brooklyn. I was so moved by her openness and how much she wanted to explain her way of living, that…I started writing.
I had had my own welcoming experience of Hasidic Judaism at two Chabad centers: in Edinburgh where I live, and in Oxford where I studied business – it remained a life-long friendship.
Like Zila, I started out secular, in Rehovot, and learned slowly. Through my teen friendship with my orthodox neighbor. My Orthodox best friend in first year of college, when I studied opera singing in Jerusalem. Jerusalem itself. My best friend in my final year of bachelors studies, who was a young Haredi (ultra religious) rabbi. My work as a singer in liberal synagogues in Berlin. My kabbalah teacher – a reform woman rabba. My three months in secular Brooklyn with an unexpected invite to spend Yom Kippur day with a religious family.
And the Hasidic Chabad rebbetzin who mentored me on this project.
Now, I can say that I know enough to be open. And to write a story like this one. I hope you liked it.