I will not open the post for comments. You can reach out to me if you want, but please do so with kindness. I’ve been dealing with high blood pressure and insomnia, and I don’t want to spend the holidays in the hospital. I hear they get understaffed. But writing is my therapy, my way of processing, grieving, letting go, and learning from the experience.

2024 and 2025 were filled with new experiences as the author of Abigail’s Song, a book about a Christian girl finding a loving home in a Jewish family. It all started with the Hadassah (an organization of women supporting Israeli hospitals that provide life-saving treatments for all patients) group inviting me to speak on how I came to write Jewish historical fiction. At the meeting in the local synagogue, I shared stories from my childhood, how my grandma gave me a piece of matza and said that I should never ever tell anybody. I told them how I laid flowers at Babi Yar, a place where thousands of people, mostly Jews, were killed in WWII. I told them how it said “Jewish” in our Soviet passports and how that caused my uncle trouble getting into college despite his perfect grades.

I enjoyed speaking to these Jewish women, and I liked their intelligent questions. I read them an excerpt from Abigail’s Song where Moishe learns why he must learn the violin, and not only the pianoforte. Many attendees bought my books. They were not the first Jewish people to read my books, of course. When I was writing Abigail's Song, I had many Jewish beta readers. I specifically asked observant Jews to help me, so I don’t make mistakes regarding Jewish customs. I was not an expert by any means. Let me tell you exactly how much I know about Judaism.

I came to the United States from Kyiv (then Kiev, under the USSR) in 1991, when I was 11. For a few months I attended a Jewish transitional Russian-Jewish transitional school. For the first time in my life, my parents and I had the responsibility of choosing school clothes. In Ukraine, we wore uniforms. We were warned that skirts are mandatory, so my mom bought me two miniskirts. We studied English in the mornings and Hebrew in the afternoons. Hebrew lessons also included Jewish traditions, which were all new to us.

Next year I attended Solomon Schechter School in Northbrook. Jewish organizations covered tuition for kids fresh out of the USSR. I tried my best to fit in. To bring chicken sandwiches on meat days and cheese sandwiches on dairy days and not to get mixed up. But then I did get mixed up in an extremely humiliating way.

My mom and I were shopping for something at Walmart. It was December. We noticed a red and green sweater with Minnie Mouse and Mickey Mouse exchanging gifts for their anniversary, perhaps. We both thought that the sweater was extremely cute, and even though we had so little money, my mom decided to treat me and bought it.

The next day I wore my new sweater to my Jewish school. The judgmental glares, the looks of dismay, and even disgust  — I will not forget. One girl came up to me, pointed at the mice, and said, “You can’t wear this here.” I said, “Why?” “Can't you tell it's for Christmas? It's red and green. It has holly on it.” I didn't know that red and green were the colors of Christmas. I've never seen Christmas before I came to the United States. Neither Hanukkah nor Christmas was celebrated openly. And I had no idea that a picture of mice exchanging presents could cause offence. I never wore that sweater again. I didn’t tell my mom about the horrible mistake we made. She suffered from cancer, and I didn’t want to upset her.

Few people ever talked to me that school year. In January I became sick. During recess, all the kids who sang in the choir rehearsed inside. I was not in choir and therefore was supposed to play outside with a handful of other kids who stayed away from me. It was freezing, and my coat was not warm enough. One teacher taught me to play a game with a racket and ball to keep me warm. Playing that game made me sweat. Soon I developed a cough, which would not go away even with medication. After a month of coughing, my parents took me to the ER. The X-ray showed that I had pneumonia. The doctor ordered me to take antibiotics and rest at home for three weeks. Only towards the end of the third week did one classmate call me to see how I'm doing.

Soon after I came back, we had a unit on Ancient Egypt. We rode the school bus to visit the Field Museum. I was in heaven, seeing the history we studied in front of me. When we got back to school, the teacher asked to share our thoughts. “It was so boring.” “We've been there a million times.” “There’s nothing there hands on.” Those were the responses of my classmates. Shocked, I raised my hand to praise the experience. The teacher didn't call on me, even though she called on everyone else who raised their hands. When I was getting my jacket at the end of the day, she came up to me. “I knew you wanted to say something positive. I could tell you loved the museum. But I didn't want you to be the only one saying that.” After that day, I couldn't wait for the year to end, knowing that next year I would attend public school.

After public middle school and high school, I attended DePaul University, studying IT. I had to take a religion class, and I took Judaism. There were students who were Jewish and not, but everybody was curious and liked to discuss and question things. Why no work on the Sabbath? Why no pizza with sausage for Jews who keep kosher? And much more. I loved it.

I married a Jewish man originally from Moscow. His knowledge and experience of Judaism were similar to mine. We had a Jewish wedding. When I was pregnant, people asked me if we would raise our child Jewish. I said We will teach her that she is Jewish and expose her to various Jewish traditions. She can choose to be as observant as she wants to be. Our daughter attended a daycare where they celebrated American and Jewish holidays, as well as New Year's like we celebrated in our childhood. She went to a Jewish day camp one summer and didn't want to go back. Now I wonder if her experience was similar to mine at Jewish school.

When my daughter joined the choir, we had to purchase clothes for the holiday concert. The instructions said to wear Christmas colors (red and green) or Hanukkah colors (blue and white). When we went shopping, she pointed out a Christmas sweater with a cat dancing. I asked, “You understand that it's for Christmas?” She said, “Mom, it's a dancing cat. And it's appropriate for the concert.” I bought her the sweater. When they sang “Deck the halls” “Jingle Bells” and “Feliz Navidad,” I clapped. When Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and all other kids sang Hanukkah songs in Yiddish, Ladino, and English, I clapped my loudest.

But back to our journey in 2024-2025. I received more opportunities to speak at Jewish book clubs in synagogues and other venues. Each year, the experience was warm and positive, the questions respectful and interesting, even if a particular reader didn’t agree with something. I was offered the opportunity to attend the Rosh Hashanah service at the synagogue where I spoke. I felt honored and brought my daughter with me. Seeing interest from Jewish readers, I joined some Facebook groups that promote books written by Jews. I felt like I made more friends in the Jewish community. And that was my feeling until the eighth day of Chanukah.

I mentioned that I had joined several Facebook groups for Jewish readers. One of them had a giveaway for Hanukkah, and I sent two winners my books A Girl with a Knife and Abigail’s Song. And then I noticed a post from somebody who said that she's a librarian at a synagogue. I thought it would be a good idea for me to send her my book, Abigail's Song, to see if it's a fit for her library. After all my experiences with Jewish readers so far had been so positive. I wrote a nice note and shipped the book. A little investment, maybe worth it, and hey, it's Hanukkah.

 I figured there’s a small chance she’ll read it and add it to the library. And the worst thing that could happen is she’ll tell me it’s not the type of book people in her library would read. Little did I know.

On the eighth day of Hanukkah, when I checked my phone early in the morning, there was already a message there from the librarian. She was full of outrage. She was extremely offended by the scene where Abigail, sometime after converting to Judaism, stood at her mother's grave and offered a prayer to Mary, the deity her mother worshipped. The point of my including that scene was Abigail opening the door to her past. She can honor her mother, who was Christian, and she can go to the synagogue with her adopted Jewish family. Her beliefs can be her own. Apparently, that’s extremely offensive to Jewish readers.

 She noted many inaccuracies, shamed me for self-publishing my book, and for writing a happy ending where the mixed family lives in harmony, respecting each other’s traditions. She told me that not only she won’t include this book in her collection, but as a Jewish librarian she must warn others about my book. And instead of celebrating the holiday, she got to work. She left a lengthy 1-star review on Goodreads, saying she is completely outraged that this book has been offered in a Jewish reading group. She then made a post in the Facebook group where I did the giveaway, warning everyone against Abigail’s Song. (The name and mission of the group suggest it’s to connect Jewish authors and readers, not necessarily only to read Jewish books.) This is what she wrote about the book I gifted her:

“I was offered a book by a member of this group because I'm a Jewish librarian at a synagogue. I am posting my review to warn others that this is NOT a book for us. This is a Christian book, masked as a Jewish story. The Christian protagonist converts, but ultimately prays to Mary at the end. And they all live happily ever after (in the 1800's in antisemitic England). Besides the stiff dialogue, and self-published aspect of the book, it just doesn't meet the requirement for a Jewish book, despite the amount of Jewish content.” Then a link to her 1-star review on Goodreads.

 Immediately there were lots of likes and surprise icons, and several people thanked her for the warning. I watched it all in shock. How could I, a Jewish person, pen a fiction story about Jewish characters, and somehow write a Christian book? By no means did I say that a Jewish person should ever convert to Christianity. In my thoughts, Abigail’s prayer did not hurt anybody. Apparently, it was completely unacceptable. But in all the discussions I had with Jewish book clubs, no one brought up that scene as offensive.

First, I felt twelve years old again, standing in my Christmas sweater in the Jewish school lunchroom all over again. Then I felt like I sent people poisoned apples for Chanukah, except I didn't know that they were poisoned. I thought they would bring joy. I never meant to hurt anybody. I meant my story to be heartwarming, and yes, it has a happy ending, a little light in this world that’s so full of terrible events, often involving Jews.

But why didn't anybody tell me? Where were all the Jewish people who were helping me write the book? Who read my advanced copies and left five-star reviews? Who received or purchased books from me at synagogue book clubs? They are members of this Facebook group. No one chimed in to say that they had a different opinion of the book. All those friends I thought I made, not one joined the conversation to say something positive. Just like at the Jewish school.