Over the past two years, I have published two books in the United States. On paper, both were products of the same mind and the same pen. Both explored the intimate, universal themes of home, family, and the complex threads that bind us to our roots. Both were launched into the vast, competitive American market with the hope of finding a home in the hearts of readers.
In practice, however, they landed in two completely different worlds. One found itself facing impenetrable walls, while the other became a bestseller. The journey between these two publications became more than just a professional milestone; it became a window into a tectonic shift in the relationship between Israel and the world and, more importantly, within the Jewish people itself.
Two worlds
The first book, On Her Own (published by HarperCollins), was launched into the jarring, deafening silence of the early days of the Gaza war. Despite the immense backing of a major international publisher, I suddenly found myself standing before closed doors.
In the heart of New York – a city that has always prided itself on being a bastion of culture and diversity – not a single bookstore in Manhattan was willing to host an event for an Israeli author. The fact that I am also the wife of a senior politician only added to the weight.
That silence was a message. It marked the exact moment when “Israeli identity” became a burden too heavy for the American cultural mainstream to carry. For the first time, the vibrant, creative spirit of Israel was being pushed to the margins, silenced by the complexities of a geopolitical storm.
Then came the second book, I Wanted To Be Wonderful. This time, the path was different. Published by Zibby Publishing, the book was marketed directly to Jewish communities. The response was immediate and overwhelming. Within a single week, it hit the USA Today’s Best-selling Booklist.
This contrast is not merely a story about the mechanics of the publishing industry. It is evidence of a profound transformation in how we perceive ourselves and each other. The relationship between Israel and the Diaspora changed forever after October 7, and that change manifested in my life with stark clarity.
Between these two releases, I embarked on three tours across the United States. I traveled from a wounded, aching Israel – a country fighting for its very existence and under constant attack – into the heart of Jewish communities that were experiencing their own unprecedented trauma.
For many of them, it was the first time they felt truly under attack in their own neighborhoods. For the first time, their children were returning from schools and prestigious college campuses sharing stories of antisemitism and hostility they had never imagined possible.
Walking through these communities, I saw the shift happening in real time. I saw a connection that had been fraying for years – weakened by distance, politics, and a lack of mutual understanding – suddenly tighten. I saw both sides longing to be together again.
I began to call this, in my heart, the “Jewish humbling process.” It is a process that has created a rare opportunity for a blessed and necessary change.
Mutual awakening
Coming from the Israeli side, I can attest that for many years, we were perhaps a bit too self-assured. We were the “Sabras” – strong, independent, and resilient. We believed we had the strongest army, the best technology, and that we could manage everything on our own.
We were the ones who rescued hostages at Entebbe and won wars against all odds. We were grateful for the support from world Jewry, but we projected a message that we didn’t truly need anyone.
On October 7, that bubble burst. The swiftness with which the world turned against us in the aftermath made it painfully clear: We desperately need the support of the Jewish world. We discovered how much we crave that partnership. Every social media post from a Jewish celebrity meant the world to us; every brave stance by Jerry Seinfeld against antisemitism was met with a standing ovation from one end of Israel to the other. We realized that we do not want to be alone.
On the other side of the ocean, the Diaspora experienced its own wake-up call. Many Jews had lived with the assumption that the antisemitism of the past had vanished from the modern world. They viewed Israel as a “product on a shelf” – a spiritual insurance policy that would always be there, free of charge, for a rainy day.
After October 7, a harsh truth asserted itself. They realized that if they wanted Israel to be there for them – to remain their emotional and national home – they must fight for it. They must take a stand, be active participants, and use their voices. And they did. They did it in their homes, in their social circles, and across social media. Two parts of a people, separated by a wide sea, suddenly looked at each other and realized they were one. They realized they needed each other to survive.
Cultural ties
But this renewed connection cannot be a temporary reaction to tragedy. It must not end when the headlines fade. We cannot afford to return to the way things were. To ensure that the younger generation of Jews remain connected to Israel and intertwined with their Jewish destiny, we must find a bridge that lasts.
That bridge is our shared culture. It is the same thread that has held us together for 2,000 years, even when we had no land and no army.
That is why I believe so strongly in the power of our stories.
Currently, I am working on a television adaptation of my book On Her Own. We have seen many Israeli series and films cross the ocean in recent years, and each one opens another heart. Culture is the language that bypasses politics and reaches the soul. It is the most effective way to connect the People of the Book who live on opposite sides of the sea.
So, I ask you: Read Israeli literature. Watch Israeli creators. Our stories are no longer just the epic tales of the founding generation, the “giants” like Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua. There is a young, vibrant, and gripping literary scene in Israel today that is full of life and grit. It is not translated nearly enough – but the more books you read, the more books will be translated.
In our books, you won’t just find a foreign country; you will find your own childhood memories. You will find the Passover Seder, the figure of your grandmother, the specific scents of a Jewish home.
We are one people with one history. We may live in different places today, but our hearts must beat as one. Our future depends on it.■
Lihi Lapid is a best-selling author and journalist. She is the wife of Israel’s former prime minister and current opposition leader, Yair Lapid.