What It's Like to Be a Canadian Editor in Israel Right Now

 People have to realize that Israelis have all the same problems everybody else has—plus the war. Our other day-to-day issues don't go anywhere; they just get piled on top of the new, harsher realities. 

 I moved to Israel in 1994, armed with a Bachelor of Journalism degree, decent Hebrew, and no clue about the job market here. I'd double-majored in literature, which turned out to be more relevant than I realized at the time. After marrying, I went to a few job interviews, but in those days, Israel's workweek was 45 hours, with travel time and the implicit expectation of overtime thrown in for good measure. The message was clear: if I wanted to see my baby while he was awake, this wasn't going to work.

Part-time jobs were scarce, underpaid, and often mind-numbing. A friend warned me that even if I found something engaging part-time, I'd likely end up working full-time hours for part-time pay. So I knew I had to find something I could do independently. With barely any internet back then, and certainly no Zoom, options were slim. I started by editing a friend's non-fiction book for free (it went okay, not amazing but okay) and then volunteered as an editor for a local charity newsletter to put something on my resume that locals would recognize.

I also offered free evaluations to prospective clients. I quickly learned that offering free services wasn't the path to serious clients—no one ever hired me afterward. I realized if I didn't charge, no one would take me seriously. So I began charging a basic rate, even as I continued building experience. In 2013, I published my first novel, which helped boost my credibility as both a writer and editor. Before that, all of my short story publications were definitely a big help. 

Since then, I've completed an MA in Creative Writing at Bar-Ilan, published six novels, dozens of stories, and established myself as a full-spectrum manuscript editor and writing coach (thank you, Zoom!). I've managed to break into academia after years of persistence (without knowing anyone on the inside) and have spent a decade teaching English as a Foreign Language (EFL). From 2009 for ten years I taught online creative writing workshops across all levels. In short, I wear a lot of hats, and they all fit because they've been earned over time.

But since October 7, things have changed in ways I couldn't have anticipated.

Emails now from colleagues, clients, and readers outside Israel often begin with expressions of concern, questions about my safety, and warnings about the long-term health effects of this crisis. I appreciate the good intentions, though I have mixed feelings about these messages. One of the wisest things I heard was from a Toronto podcaster who said, "People have to realize that Israelis have all the same problems everybody else has—plus the war." Our other day-to-day issues don't go anywhere; they just get piled on top of the new, harsher realities. The war escalates everything, from basic concerns about personal safety to worrying about children serving, to inflation to fund the war, and disrupted school schedules. And there's the mental toll of anxiety, stress, and, for many, panic attacks.

As a college teacher, I now follow protocols for students called up for reserve duty, as well as their spouses. Some students email about panic attacks or ask to attend remotely because they're afraid to travel in.

As an editor, almost every message begins with a similar tone of concern. As an author, it feels impossible to promote my work as I normally would. How do you market a psychological thriller when the backdrop is a nation in mourning? People I know personally or peripherally are attending funeral after funeral. Teenagers are talking about their siblings who are traumatized in the army, and their own eagerness to serve in the coming years, to take their turn protecting civilians. These are everyday realities right now, and it's hard to feel motivated to talk about plot twists when there's this weight on everyone's hearts.

And as much as this time has shifted my personal projects, it has also altered the content I work with as an editor. Recently, I finished editing a Holocaust memoir, and I found myself drawn into uncomfortable and painful parallels that became clearer with each page. Then, more recently, I was asked to edit memoirs about the October 7 attacks—lives taken at the Nova Festival, the impact on loved ones, memories that people don't want to let fade. That first October 7 memoir left me holding my breath, even after I'd finished for the day.

All the while, I try to remember that life moves on. There are still birthdays and weddings, holidays and graduations. People still get promotions, make new friends, start new projects. There's a sense of moving forward while carrying a heavy weight that didn't exist before.

So, I keep editing, keep teaching, and keep connecting with writers from all over the world. It's not easy, but, as I remind myself, resilience is the job—and right now, that's more relevant than ever. I include a photo taken of Tel Aviv today from the 46 floor of Azrieli Tower. Inspiration.