A New Jersey congregation was already falling apart. Then came Oct 7.
In the novel ‘Partly Strong, Partly Broken,’ a rabbi tries to keep her congregants together in the weeks leading up to October 7
In Nathaniel Popkin’s latest novel ‘Partly Strong, Partly Broken,’ a rabbi tries to keep her synagogue from falling apart — metaphorically and physically. Courtesy of Nathaniel Popkin/Cover design by Isaak Popkin
By Olivia Haynie May 4, 2026
Partly Strong, Partly Broken
By Nathaniel Popkin
New Door Books, $19.95, 249 pages
When Rabbi Adinah Feld returns to her reform congregation in New Jersey after a nearly week-long trip to Israel, she discovers two crises have occurred in her absence: The roof of the synagogue has collapsed after a heavy storm and the Muslim teenager, Fami, who helps clean the shul is in the hospital after a savage attack by a local white supremacist.
Things only further devolve from here in Partly Strong, Partly Broken, a new novel from author and former Wall Street Journal critic Nathaniel Popkin. The fictional synagogue of Temple Beth Israel fractures — metaphorically and physically — in the month leading up to the Oct. 7 Hamas attack.
Feld is presented as the archetypal neo-liberal American rabbi. Her trip to Israel, we quickly learn, consisted of participating in the pro-democracy protests and pining for her Palestinian ex-girlfriend, whom she first met nearly two decades earlier while living in Israel. Once she’s home, her attention is split between trying to fix the storm-damaged roof, respond to the attack, and finally launch the Hebrew learning center she’s been advocating for the synagogue to have for years.
But at every turn there’s a challenge: The incompetent and combative building manager can’t seem to get the roof fixed; some congregants believe Feld’s concern for Fami is proof she cares more about Muslims than Jews; a wealthy board member wants his name on the Hebrew center and his project manager in charge — a woman who takes personal offense when Feld invites the local Imam to join tashlich.
Many readers will probably see their own congregation in the fictional Temple Beth Israel, especially if they’ve served on a synagogue’s board or committee. But for those who have avoided seeing behind the administrative curtain of a synagogue, the complex power dynamics might come as a shock.
Popkin deftly captures a stark truth: The attack on Oct. 7 and the subsequent war didn’t create the divisions over Israel in the Jewish community; it exposed tensions that were already there. This reality, combined with a prophecy from the Book of Daniel — Daniel tells Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar that his dream of a statue with feet made of iron and clay reveal that the foundations of his kingdom were “partly strong, and partly broken.” — is the inspiration for the book’s title.
For some, the fact that Jews have always been divided over Israel may not seem like a particularly insightful observation. But after Oct. 7, there was a lot of shock and outrage among the Jewish community at the wide range of opinions in their communities. As Partly Strong shows, when synagogues avoid talking about Israel to mitigate conflict (or please wealthy donors, as Feld does in the book), they don’t prevent conflict — they just make disagreements and tough discussions about Israel taboo and volatile.
In Popkin’s novel, the conflict comes to a head less than a week before Oct. 7 at a whiskey-fueled book talk where a Jewish comparative literature professor presents his claims about understanding the role of epigenetics and inherited trauma in the book of Genesis. The conversation quickly turns towards trauma among Israelis and Palestinians — a subject the drunken congregants are not prepared to discuss civilly.
As startlingly realistic as Popkin’s story is, the strong narrative occasionally feels disrupted by verbose, overexplanatory writing (“She’d better go find Fami right away and give her the silver chain with the hamesh pendant, the palm-shaped amulet of protection that is usually called by its Arabic name, hamsa, and sometimes the hand of Fatima, for the daughter of Mohammed”) and a surfeit of subplots. At one point, readers are pulled away from the main story for a brief and sappy sex scene between two teenage Hebrew school instructors on a faux polar bear rug (the girl is described as “dessert” and the boy is described as an “Olympic eater”). While it was impressive to see what seemed like half of my home congregation represented, at some point it becomes too much to keep track of all the characters, big or small, and all their issues.
We don’t actually see how the characters respond to Oct. 7 — the book ends with a small group of them huddled together watching the first reports of the attack on a television. We’re left to imagine how Feld and her congregation will handle the aftermath — although readers have probably already lived it themselves.
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