This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

I’m the Jew­ish debut author of the his­tor­i­cal fic­tion nov­el The Star on the Grave. Set in 1968 and span­ning three coun­tries — Aus­tralia, Japan, and the USSR — it is the sto­ry of a moth­er­less young woman who has had her Jew­ish her­itage con­cealed from her. Her father is a Holo­caust sur­vivor, and emo­tion­al­ly very dis­con­nect­ed; he har­bors a tremen­dous amount of fear that they will be per­se­cut­ed in their new home­land and so he hides his faith. Upon learn­ing the truth that she is Jew­ish and that they are in fact alive because of the brave actions of a Japan­ese diplo­mat, my pro­tag­o­nist embarks on a jour­ney back to Japan to thank the man to whom they owe their lives. 

I secured a pub­lish­ing deal with a sec­u­lar pub­lish­er in Mel­bourne, Aus­tralia in Sep­tem­ber 2022, and the edit­ing jour­ney com­menced. The man­u­script was final­ly ready a year lat­er and went to print the week of Octo­ber 7, 2023. As details emerged, illus­trat­ing the absolute hor­ror of the pogrom — the most Jews slaugh­tered in one day since the Holo­caust — rock­ing our com­mu­ni­ty, it sud­den­ly dawned on me how chill­ing­ly rel­e­vant one of my book’s cen­tral themes was: the inher­ent para­noia in Holo­caust sur­vivors that anti­semitism is present in most indi­vid­u­als and lies there fes­ter­ing, just wait­ing for the right con­di­tions to bub­ble to the sur­face and express itself in all its glo­ry. While writ­ing, I won­dered if I had been a lit­tle heavy-hand­ed and over­ly dra­mat­ic about this sub­ject, but now, I couldn’t believe how time­ly it was. 

In shock and trau­ma­tized — as we all were — I called my book’s edi­tor to dis­cuss what they’d like to do in light of this hor­rif­ic mas­sacre. I was reas­sured it would be okay. 

I remem­ber the Zoom call with a hand­ful of rep­re­sen­ta­tives from the pub­lish­ing firm, includ­ing the own­er. One by one they each expressed how pro­found­ly sor­ry they were for me and my com­mu­ni­ty. I was par­tic­u­lar­ly struck by the imme­di­ate and immense sup­port of non-Jews, some­thing I had not come to expect. Cau­tious­ly, I accept­ed their well wish­es, but the fear that the tides would soon turn stuck in the back of my mind. A ver­i­ta­ble tsuna­mi of anti­se­mit­ic activ­i­ty pelt­ed com­mu­ni­ties world­wide upon Israel’s entrance into Gaza.

My pub­lish­er reas­sured me that they thought things would set­tle soon and pro­ceed­ed to go ahead with the release of the nov­el, which they had high hopes for, on Jan­u­ary 30, 2024. After excit­ed­ly reveal­ing the cov­er of my book on their Face­book page (which fea­tures a huge gilt-edged Star of David), what result­ed can only be described as an avalanche of vit­ri­olic anti-Israel and anti­se­mit­ic trolling began. It began with­in min­utes of the post, and con­tin­ued for the next twen­ty four hours. It was a Sun­day and I couldn’t get hold of any­one at the publisher’s offices. First thing Mon­day morn­ing, I final­ly reached some­one and urged them to remove and block com­ments, as it had become a debate on Israel’s actions in Gaza. I screen­shot­ted and blocked on my end, should any of these trolls decide to try and glean infor­ma­tion from my per­son­al pro­file — I was fear­ful for the safe­ty of my fam­i­ly, as many of these com­ments were par­tic­u­lar­ly hate­ful and direct­ed at me, the author. 

In the months that fol­lowed, I organ­ised speak­ing events and book talks at libraries, wary of the high­ly regard­ed and pub­li­cized writ­ers fes­ti­vals. I found solace and com­mu­ni­ty in the Jew­ish organ­i­sa­tions and venues, secure in the knowl­edge that they had my back.

It is now a year on from my ini­tial pub­li­ca­tion and the events of Octo­ber 7 2023. Due to a lot of hard work on my own behalf — and a won­der­ful­ly sup­port­ive Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ty here — I’ve achieved best­seller sta­tus in Aus­tralia. When asked if I think I would have done even bet­ter pre-Octo­ber 7, I can’t right­ly say. What I can say with cer­tain­ty is that the push­back from some inter­na­tion­al pub­lish­ing hous­es is very real, whose cook­ie-cut­ter response cur­rent­ly is Despite the mer­its of this book, a won­der­ful sto­ry the world should know, it is not for us at this time’…” 

One pub­lish­er in the US sug­gest­ed I have the cov­er redesigned and print­ed with­out the Star of David in order to enhance my chances of being picked up.

My answer to that? No. I’m not going to water down the incred­i­bly rel­e­vant themes and mes­sages in my nov­el, nor am I going to con­ceal the fact it is a Jew­ish-themed book writ­ten by a Jew. I won’t water down who I am.

I am Jew­ish and proud of it.

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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Lin­da Mar­golin Roy­al is the author of the best­selling nov­el The Star on the Grave. Inspired by the true sto­ry of the Japan­ese Schindler who saved her fam­i­ly and 6,000 oth­ers from the Holocaust.