In the food world, a background in activism is powerful, Assil explains, because it provides an awareness of the power dynamic involved in entering a new community and an ability to find the right audience for your message. “Yasmin didn’t write this book to make herself feel good,” she says. “She knew there was an audience that needed to hear these stories. She’s leading from behind, allowing an avenue for other voices.”

In that regard, Zaitoun is a natural continuation of the mission Khan first laid out in her 2016 book The Saffron Tales: Recipes from the Persian Kitchen: to create books that go beyond sharing recipes in order to offer insight into the everyday lives of people in a given place. Food is a compassionate way to start the difficult conversations that Khan isn’t afraid to have. But while Saffron Tales was informed by her own identity as the daughter of an Iranian mother and a Pakistani father, Zaitoun takes a more anthropological approach.

From the start, Khan was incredibly sensitive about being an outsider writing about Palestine. “A lot of my internal struggles with this book were very much about accurately portraying what I saw while also creating a joyous book that people would want to cook from,” she says. As a result, she wrote for a very specific reader: not only a Palestinian, not only an Israeli, but someone who “in the simplest and most human of terms” wants to understand—and to cook incredibly delicious food. She checked every sentence against that lens.

To Assil, it’s actually Khan’s perspective as an informed outsider that allowed her to capture nuance and present a clear chorus of voices. “Obviously, the Palestinian community is one of many that has experienced war and genocide and imperialism. Khan is in a unique position to understand how all those struggles are connected,” she says. “It’s important to evaluate those intersections and see that it’s not just one microcosm or one group of people. She comes from that history. She understands the root causes.”

“People in the Middle East are only seen through the prism of terrorists or victims. But why does Muhammad always have to be one of those two things? Why can’t he just be, like, on his sofa watching Netflix, eating a cookie? That’s how many people live! The more that can be done to humanize people from these communities, the better. I think this is the kind of conversation that people in the US want to have. It just seems to be that there hasn’t been a space to do that.”

She hopes Zaitoun—the Arabic word for olive, notable as both a cornerstone ingredient and a symbol of peace—can be one such space. In many ways, the timing feels right: Most of us want to widen our lens. Our favorite books and shows—whether it’s Samin Nosrat’s deep-dive travels in Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat or the renewed emphasis on global narratives on shows like Chef’s Table—grapple with issues of representation and identity. Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi’s runaway hit Jerusalem now shares a shelf with Reem Kassis’s The Palestinian Table, and, of course, Zaitoun.

“I wanted it to feel hopeful,” she says. “We live in a polarized and divisive time when people’s communication—online, offline, in the political realm, in any realm—is hostile. I understand that. There’s a lot of toxicity, but I wanted to create a book that would make people feel optimistic and connected, because I really believe that they’re the feelings we need to foster if we want to progress forward.”

She mentions a farmer she met during one trip who continues to harvest his olives despite the risk of being shot at for doing so. “Resilience is an incredibly optimistic thing,” she says. “Cooking is a place where [people in the Palestinian community] still find a lot of joy. When you travel around the world cooking in people’s kitchens, breaking bread with people in their favorite restaurants, you end up sharing so many joyous experiences even in the hardest of places. You can always find a thread of commonality. I think that becomes very empowering.”