Non­fic­tion

When We See You Again

  • Review
By – May 7, 2026

Writ­ing a mem­oir about grief can be tricky, but Rachel Gold­berg-Polin han­dles it skill­ful­ly in When We See You Again. I chose to start writ­ing with­out time or dis­tance from the impact, so I have no per­spec­tive.… What I real­ize now, since my heart is shat­tered into tiny pieces, is that it is eas­i­er to share than when it was one mighty, sol­id, and strong heart.” Gold­berg-Polin writes this ear­ly on in the book, in her author’s note. But these words belie the fact that this book feels ful­ly present and ready — per­haps because of her stark hon­esty: She is not try­ing to con­vince read­ers that she is fine or will be fine; instead, she search­es Jew­ish texts and tra­di­tions and her own mem­o­ries for indi­ca­tions that one day she might be okay. At least until when she is reunit­ed with her son Hersh in The World to Come. 

The nar­ra­tive of the mem­oir isn’t lin­ear: Gold­berg-Polin moves between her child­hood, Hersh’s child­hood, the days lead­ing up to Octo­ber 7, Octo­ber 7 itself, and every­thing that came after it. But this feels right, struc­tural­ly, since grief itself is not lin­ear, much less grief when it is com­bined with trau­ma. Judaism is a con­stant through­out the book, whether it appears in ref­er­ence to Pirkei Avot (which is cit­ed fre­quent­ly), Vik­tor Fran­kl, Shab­bat rou­tines, or Jew­ish mourn­ing laws. Gold­berg-Polin often sim­ply refers to peo­ple by their first names only, as if the read­er also knows them, cre­at­ing a sense of inti­ma­cy that allows for her to turn her­self inside out in her grief and out­rage and lostness.

But for all her raw hon­esty, Gold­berg-Polin retains con­trol of her writ­ing; the book is expert­ly craft­ed=. She nev­er los­es the nar­ra­tive thread and it is clear that she’s processed a lot and con­tin­ues to do so in a thought­ful and deeply Jew­ish way. Reli­gion is not a sim­ple balm for her grief; it is some­thing that she then turns over again and again, exam­ines, con­nects to oth­er texts or events, and then for­mu­lates her own thoughts on how it applies to her and her sit­u­a­tion. She writes about how the bib­li­cal word for cri­sis” and birth pangs” is the same, cit­ing Rab­bi Lord Jonathan Sacks when she explains that what is actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing in that exact moment of near shat­tered-ness is there is an open­ing to pos­si­bil­i­ty, poten­tial, and life.” And then on the very next page, she quotes Vonnegut. 

In describ­ing her advo­ca­cy in the months after Octo­ber 7, she writes, I want­ed to empha­size the urgency of the sit­u­a­tion. I said, The time is run­ning out to save them. The time is run­ning out to save all of us.’” It is gut-wrench­ing because she was right. Because we know how the sit­u­a­tion end­ed. Read­ers look­ing for a sto­ry of grief and recov­ery” tied up in a neat pack­age will not find that in this book. Instead, When We See You Again pro­vides some­thing much more real: a mother’s fight to save her son, her anguish laid bare when it turned out she could not, and how life con­tin­ued on. 

Jaime Hern­don is a med­ical writer who also writes about par­ent­ing and pop cul­ture in her spare time. Her writ­ing can be seen on Kveller, Undark, Book Riot, and more. When she’s not work­ing or home­school­ing, she’s at work on an essay collection.

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