Tommy Lapid recalls, Carlebach "shut himself up in the Dan Hotel and from there he sent us his typewritten pages, ready for the printing press. I was his very young secretary, and I watched, with thirst and surprise, the birth of the book. Carlebach was driven to write the book by a powerful inner force, in a creative endeavour that was almost compulsive. Two months later he was dead, at 48. He left a widow, a daughter, and an orphaned newspaper, and this book – a creative outburst of the greatest journalist who wrote in Hebrew."