Bookishly Jewish

It wasn’t until my third book that I found the courage to write a Jewish character, and it wasn’t until revisions with my agent that I realized I could actually tell the reader that she was Jewish rather than just know it in my head. I wasn’t particularly embarrassed about being Jewish. Nor was this a financial decision about what I thought publishers would buy. Having read a wide variety of traditionally published books as a kid in which there was nary a Jew in sight (unless we count certain Shakespearean villains and the notable exception of Daniel Deronda), having a Jewish protagonist was simply a possibility that never occurred to me. Jews were for books published by small Jewish publishers printed exclusively for our community. They didn’t belong in regular traditionally published fiction.

Except they did, and they do, and they always will. 

Recently I’ve been pleased to find more and more Jewish characters making their ways onto bookshelves. Most notably in the romance category, Jewish authors are finally succeeding in getting their Jewish characters into the hands of readers. There’s just one problem – while I am overjoyed to see these diverse portrayals of Judaism, I’m still searching for the books that reflect my own experience. You see, Judaism is not a monolith and there’s one group that tends to embarrass all the others who sometimes prefer to pretend we don’t exist. Yep, you guessed it, the orthodox. 

Even within orthodoxy there are many different groups – modern orthodox, ultra orthodox, chassidim etc. – and I’ve been in some pretty uncomfortable situations when people, even Jewish people, forget that this is where my roots grew. They make certain jokes or comments that I won’t repeat here. Suffice it to say, I am made to feel like less than a person and that if I am offended it is my own fault rather than theirs. I wonder how much that would change if an actually nuanced Orthodox Jewish character made its way onto their reading list. Each community is different, each with its own challenges, but also each with its own beauty and I was saddened not to see that on the page even within anthologies supposedly featuring Jews of all types.

Until recently. 

Books featuring Orthodox Jews are not many, but they are mighty, and I am delighted to finally see them getting some space on the shelf along with their other Jewish counterparts. These books feature Orthodox Jews in all their complicated glory. Sure they have their issues – but their Jewish practice is not necessarily the crux of their problems or the main source of conflict for the plot. Even for those straining against their backgrounds, the beauty is shown along with the struggle because they were written by sensitive hands who had felt that joy for themselves. 

I’m so glad to share these books with you. I am hoping to find many more in the days to come. And if you are a publisher or editor who would like to be part of that movement – I am agented and I’ve got a book for you. 

Dear Reader, I found a better home for that story and so did Miss Lowe. Aviva and her world are depicted with so much love you can feel it radiating across the page. This book excels at showing one of the major benefits of an orthodox life, the thing that many people miss the most when not around their orthodox peers for whatever reason – the community. Sure, everyone knowing your business can be oppressive, but there’s no love like hundreds of people feeling responsible for you and thinking of you as a sister or brother. Aviva’s ultra orthodox community is warm, loving, and it will always has her back. 

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This book had something for everyone and allows a nuanced and critical look at orthodox communities and the teens living within them to varying degrees of success. It’s a story of grief but also one of forgiveness. 

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In this book the joy and the pain were packaged together. Chani prepares for her wedding and grapples with certain aspects of her community but her dreams are fulfilled in much the same ways I dreamed about as a teen- within orthodoxy. The character that unravels is actually her mentor, the Rebbetzin. Through very moving flashbacks we discover that the Rebbetzin and her husband were not born Orthodox but chose that path later. The spirituality of their youth was vibrant and inclusive, involving prayers accompanied by instruments in egalitarian services that are a far cry from the strict London community where they now reside. How did this happen, we wonder. The answer is essentially death by a thousand compromises. Each choice was right at the time, but together they add up to something that does not reflect her or her desired connection to Judaism. And so it she, and not Chani, who is leaving the community. The book was balanced and thought provoking, showing the hope and joy right along with the gender inequality and overbearing neighbors.

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Some loved the portrayal of Hoodie’s struggle in his given role (what if a boy doesn’t have a head for Talmud?), his sisters fierce refusal to to obey gender rules, and the poignant depiction of how some rules just can’t be broken. Others felt there were too many factual inaccuracies in terms of religious practice and worried that non Jews would take what was presented as universal fact. As the saying goes, two Jews three opinions. I fall somewhere between the two camps. I loved the humor and voice (and the chashuve Rabbi) but I would remind readers that orthodoxy is not uniform in terms of both practice and community attitudes, and even the best proofreaders and content readers let some things fall through the cracks.

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She also covers some of the more beautiful aspects of our high holidays and captures the joy of being a kid without too much tech in their life – the reviewer that commented the book is unrealistic because no kids roller skate anymore can jump in a lake. She can also kindly realize that we do not all run our households the same way or raise our kids with the same devices as she does. That being said, what I loved the most was the dedication in which Lowe tells sixth graders everywhere “gam ze ya’avor”. This too shall pass. From even before the first chapter, I knew I was with my people here. 

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Penina is sharp, she’s fashionable, and she’s incredibly kind. There is no stereotypical shrew from whom Jewish men must run into the arms of the nearest non Jewish woman. There is just love and family and even a peek at the matchmaking process that so many of us love and hate all at once. 

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Orthodoxy is not just shown with love, it is presented as completely normal. Because for Ezra it is. This is his life, complete with an amazing family and peer group in Yeshivah plus one very funny rabbi. I’d give this book to any kid in my life, orthodox or not, in a heartbeat. 

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I hope some of my Orthodox readers find themselves in these pages, but I also hope that everyone else finds some humanity for us in them. Most of all, I’d like more. I’d like for the Orthodox to be included in Jewish projects and I’d like for us all to find a way to get along. That’s my new years wish. Help me make it true.

A Letter In The Scroll by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks is that rarest of things – a radical book written by an Orthodox Rabbi that is easily read and understood by lay people. From the introduction, in which the central premise of the book is laid out, it is clear that A Letter In The Scroll is different than other books I’ve read on Jewish thought and identity. Written in response to a group of students seeking to understand modern Jewish life and identity the Rabbi poses a question – why be Jewish at all?

This might not seem revolutionary to someone who is not Jewish, but for a person born and raised an Orthodox Jew, that question is wild. It almost doesn’t make sense. We’re raised knowing that we are Jewish because we’re born Jewish. There’s no escape, no way to undo it. Our Jewish souls are part and parcel of our existence, even if we wish they weren’t. Even if we no longer practice Judaism at all. It’s a burden so heavy it can at times feel oppressive. Having a Rabbi indicate that being Jewish is in fact a choice – one that should be made with joy and pride – is deeply moving. (A feeling I get every single time I speak with a Jew by choice BTW).

Rabbi Sacks is discussing the phenomenon of Jews across multiple types of Jewish observance choosing to remove themselves from Jewish life and identity, but his compelling answer to the question – why be a Jew at all? – is just as useful for those of us who never entertained leaving Judaism as a possibility. 

You can read the book for the answer to that particular question. It would be a disservice to summarize it here when Rabbi Sacks is significantly more eloquent than whatever I’m going to type. Instead I’d like to focus on a few key concepts: that every human was created in the image of God, and the Dignity of Difference. Meaning, in Rabbi Sack’s view, even non Jews deserve respect and care. It’s a concept that too often gets overlooked in favor of “chosen people” rhetoric. As a little girl I always held an idea in my heart that everyone was worshiping the same God in the end, even if we went about it in different ways, including some deeply problematic and harmful ways (crusades anyone?). I never said it out loud because I assumed it was heresy likely to get me criticized for being overly sentimental and naive. That little girl full of love and compassion felt really validated by this book. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss the chapters dealing with antisemitism and how Jews have begun to identify themselves in response to it or in spite of it. Although the book was published in 2004, this is especially relevant right now. Of course we’re hemorrhaging members. Who wants to be defined by someone else who keeps changing the rules of the game to your disadvantage? Far better to forget the Jew hatred and instead remember the old Yiddish adage, which I recognized immediately because it was a favorite of my high school Chumash teacher – es gut tzu zein a yid. It’s good to be a Jew. 

The Rabbi anticipated the Jewish Joy movement years before it hit hashtag status. It’s good to be a Jew – and we should celebrate that. Not because we’re forced into it but because we are part of a special heritage that teaches us our religion is not about a perfect world. It’s about repairing an imperfect one and in so doing become partners with God. This is our legacy, the ongoing story of our forebears that we seek to continue as letters in their scroll. And it is a joy. So was reading this book.

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I’ve been waiting for about a year to share my thoughts on Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg’s deep dive into the Jewish concept of atonement, On Repentance And Repair. I wanted the post to be thematically linked to the time of year, so I waited for the Yamim Noraim – the days of awe- in between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur when Jews around the world are focused on the process of Teshuvah, attempting to repair past wrongs and become better people. What better time to talk about a book that discusses how both individuals and societies can achieve atonement?

Unfortunately, when I opened the saved file to review my notes, I found they were unusable. Not because they were illegible. (That’s a real issue with me. When other people say they ‘fast draft’ they usually mean they skip difficult scenes or don’t fix their word echos. I literally have typos that result in difficulty determining what word I was attempting to write). The notes were easily interpreted, but I was not the same person as I was a year ago when I wrote them. Frankly, none of us are the same people we were a year ago. So I had to start from scratch. 

The truth is, becoming new people through our experiences is part of On Repentance and Repair‘s central message. Jewish forgiveness, and the process to achieve it, is about changing oneself internally so as to be a different person than the one that committed those actions in the first place. The term teshuva is derived from the root word that means ‘return’ or ‘restore’ in Hebrew. The person that committed harm is seeking to return to God’s ways, restore balance in the world, and there’s a very specific process they are are required to complete. 

Notably the root word for forgiveness was not chosen. That’s because in Judaism we do not require the harmed to forgive, nor do we want the repentant to ask for forgiveness in ways that further strain and harm the object of their misdeed. This is a process that centers the harmed. If participating is not healthy or useful for them, they are under no obligation to do so. It gets more complicated than that – you can read the book to find out the details!- but I’d like to stop and dwell on that concept.

I grew up in a majority Christian society where phrases like “turn the other cheek” are held as the moral high ground. It’s revolutionary to have a Rabbi eloquently remind everyone that they do not have to forgive, that true atonement comes from reparative action and not an empty ritual devoid of true personal change or a grudging ‘I forgive you’ from a victim that has been bullied into it. It removes so much victim blaming and guilt from the scenario and places the onus squarely where it belongs – on the person seeking atonement.

Let’s face it. We’ve all been both harmed and the person performing the harm – whether in a big or small way – and having a process to work through that is essential. When I write romance, I’m careful that my “third act grovel” is actually my “third act reparative action”. Is that different than what readers have been conditioned to expect by mainstream romance? Maybe, but I think it’s healthier and more fulfilling in the end. Even in other genres, I’ve centered entire plots around this desire to right past wrongs and become a different person. It’s the ultimate character arc because it is the one we wish for ourselves.

As a reader, I was also deeply moved to see this conversation coming from someone who was not born a cis male. My options for participating in Judaism were somewhat limited by the unfortunate accidents of my gender and the particular form of Jewish observance I was born into. I sometimes wonder if I might not have become a Rabbi if things had been different. While I’ve read many books, both fiction and nonfiction, written by people who are not cis males, Rabbi Ruttenberg’s book was one of the first I’ve read by such a person who uses the term Rabbi and has a newsletter about living life Jewishly. And it’s one of the best books I’ve ever read – period. No qualifiers.

On Repentance and Repair has the power to effect so much change, both on a societal level and an interpersonal one. I opened by explaining that I’m a different person than I was a year ago. Some of that is due to outside forces thrust upon me, but some of that is because I’ve internalized these concepts and tried to become a better person. I’d like to think that while this book is ostensibly about teshuvah, it is also about hope. Because it gives people a way to return not only to God, but also to each other. 

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As the high holidays approach I am reminded of how we mark our days with food. More specifically, I think about how Jews mark their time with challah. Forget pumpkin spice lattes. This Jew knows the Fall is here when the round challot appear in the bakery window. From Rosh Hashana until after Sukkot it is traditional to shape the ritual breads into rounds instead of braided loaves. Fillings like raisins and crumb toppings will become the regular rather than the specialty offering. The loaves will even be dipped in something sweet like honey or sugar when served at the holiday or shabbat table. (My sephardic friends tell me they have adopted challah for their tables instead of pita breads, but they hold firm to the tradition of using sugar instead of honey).

Challah is also one of the first foods a Jewish child might help bake. If you think about it, this makes sense. It’s pretty resilient, and is even meant to be pounded a bit. Which is why Challah, Challah For You and Me, written by Barbara Bietz and June Sobel is likely to be a topic of interest for picture book readers. The illustrations by Ruth Waters feature a variety of animals baking and eating challah, adding a little charm for our young readers who might also enjoy pointing out the different creatures and naming them.

There are several varieties of challah shown, from traditional braids to hearts and rainbows. I would encourage adults to take that inspiration into the kitchen and let their kids model and sculpt the challah. Maybe even mimic some of the patterns (although you might want to take some precautions with the food coloring if you’ve got toddlers). Toppings are also featured and the sky is the limit!

As the text says, challah is meant to be shared. That doesn’t just refer to eating. Baking it in a variety of flavors and shapes is a wonderful way to share Jewish history and traditions with children. Plus, many people still keep the custom of ‘taking challah’, which in the times of the temple meant portioning off a piece of dough for the priests. These days, the portion is burnt since we no longer have a temple, but it is a mitzvah particular special for women. Many use it as an opportunity to pray for the sick right after they say the blessing for taking challah in the hopes that keeping this mitzvah will provide a merit towards healing. In fact, groups of women have coordinated together to all make challah in their homes and pray for a particular individual as they remove their piece. What better way to teach a child to care for others?

May the new year bring health and healing for all.

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Note: BookishlyJewish received a e-copy of this book from the author after they filled out our suggest a book form.

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I love a good genre mash. Which is why I don’t mind that I cannot tell you exactly what genre How To Find Your Way In The Dark by Derek B. Miller is. Candidates include historical thriller, detective noir, family drama, and even literary. What I can tell you is that reading it was a good time. 

The book can be divided into 2.5 parts. The first chunk deals with the childhood of one Sheldon Horowotiz as he tries to discover the truth behind his fathers death. There’s no shortage of twists and Sheldon is shown to be very tenacious. Meanwhile readers all gain a huge respect for Sheldon’s older cousin Abe who refuses to let casual antisemitism go unnoticed and flees to Canada to join the air force and fight the Germans when the US won’t enter the war. 

In the second half of How To Find Your Way In The Dark things take a comedic turn when Sheldon and his friend Lenny con their way into jobs at a popular borscht belt hotel. Shenanigans ensue as Lenny tries to work the comedy circuit. There’s some biting social commentary about what is and isn’t allowed in comedy, as well as a thoughtfulness about the cost of war when Sheldon discovers his deceased, veteran father took measures to make it impossible for him to enlist. Unable to follow in Abe’s footsteps, Sheldon must pave his own way. Most gripping though is the quasi heist that takes place when Sheldon’s cousin Mirabelle arrives as a guest, unaware of just how much trouble she’s in. 

I’ve given the last bit of the book its own .5 because while technically it could be linked to the part right before, I found it thematically and emotionally distinct. We have the heart wrenching story of Abe’ war service, and also a glimpse into Sheldon’s future. Once again antisemitism is called out for what it is, even when society refuses to look it in the face, and Mirabelle finally gets her happy ending. 

Sheldon is an engaging character. He moves between these genres like a ninja, graceful, smooth, but also whiplash smart and capable of inflicting some serious damage when he so chooses. In the afterword, Miller thanks the reader and tells them that if they haven’t read his prior book Norwegian by Night then he is envious because there is so much more Sheldon in store. Apparently, that book features Sheldon all grown up and with grandkids of his own. The character was so interesting, Miller felt the need to go back and write a prequel which resulted in How To Find Your Way In The Dark. Not having known any of that going in, I kind of agree. I am lucky there’s more Sheldon in store!

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I grew up on New York’s Lower East Side, and my father served in the US Army during WWII. Dean Cycon’s novel, Finding Home (Hungary 1945) is a story of the holocaust era that is not often discussed. It is poignant to consider what kind of homecoming the death-camp survivors experienced. The reader sympathizes with their suffering, but also admires Jewish resolve and perseverance despite the bewildering obstacles they had to confront.

Finding Home is a soulful narrative about the lives of several holocaust survivors traveling home from a displaced persons’ camp (after being in a Nazi concentration camp during the war). Six survivors are seeking out familiar places and links to a hopeful future, a new phase of their lives. Their destination is their village in Hungary. Eva Fleiss, (a teenager who is a pianist), Yossel Roth (a baker), Oskar Lazar (the butcher), Mendel and Herschel Fischer (farmers), and Naftali, a Hassid who came from a neighboring Shtetl community.

Cycon narrates interwoven stories of four of these six extensively, based on years of research and study of historical post-war conditions. (The Fischer brothers are not followed as much as the other four.) Starting their lives over, traveling by cattle car in a train from defeated Germany, these survivors head home to Laszlo, a Hungarian village. Cycon captures well the feelings of bewildered survivors needing food, shelter and clothing, and rediscovering the place where they used to live.

How does a village reabsorb, and integrate returning inhabitants? How do secular authorities plan and assist returning survivors? Some in Hungary suggested forming reservations, similar to America’s reservations for Native Americans. How does a village reach its previous functioning state, the order of society, with Jewish professionals gone—such as dentist, doctor, accountant, lawyer. Some villagers are faced with awkward situations of survivors demanding the return of buildings and land taken over by non-Jews when the Jewish owners were sent away. Re-opening the old synagogue as a “cultural center” is a shocking idea to some at first, but a real possibility in Laszlo village. It serves a cultural purpose and continues a role of usefulness to the community, even now when the number of Jewish villagers has become so small.

Loss of home, and homecoming, are deep themes in literature, from the hero-traveler Ulysses’ return, to the Epics of other cultures, with stories of families in long-term exiles. Some attempts at starting life over again fail or only partially answer felt needs. Herschel and Mendel Fischer, the farmers, wonder if joining the Zionist movement and setting out for Palestine will help them start over. Yossel wonders if he should go with them when his attempts to re-open his bakery fail.

Cycon researched and re-imagined thoroughly the vital elements of the Hungarian village, and individual villagers’ experiences there. Immersing himself in interviews, written memoirs and telling the stories of exiled Jews, he has written a book with empathy and knowledge of human nature, and a dedicated love of storytelling. This is a project of learning, memory and reflections, celebrating, recounting the experiences of a people, sharing with others and new generations what it meant to be a returning Jew in Hungary after the war.

Being a musician was Eva’s way of attaining relief and achievements, and forgetfulness of life’s disappointments. Whatever her troubles, Eva persisted in making music. Interruptions and losses were passing clouds as she practiced, finding solace and peace of mind in producing heavenly sounds. Learning to turn pain into deep meaning and grace beyond the transient sufferings, Eva came to know success.

The spirit of this novel is encouraging and celebratory, despite the darkness of Nazism during the time being depicted, a darkness that clouded entire nations and took so many good lives. This book honors the past and the souls who played their parts in making meaningful life possible parenting, cooking food, creating culture, farming, cultivating learning and practicing arts and crafts. The story presents a dynamic continuum of lives facing challenges, finding their way in a perilous world. It nurtures meaning and hopeful examples of tradition for Jewish readers and the larger human community as well .

Note: the reviewer received a free copy of the book from the author.

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Marcia Plant Jackson is a retired Family  Nurse Practitioner. She enjoys life in the beautiful Pioneer Valley in western Massachusetts.

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I hadn’t planned on reading The Familiar because the cover creeped me out a bit and I wasn’t sure if it would be too dark for me. How wrong I was. I’m so glad my friend persuaded me to give this a read because it was a heartbreaking, beautiful love story, one only Leigh Bardugo could have written.

Though I haven’t read her new Ninth House series, I have read all but one of Bardugo’s Grishaverse books. To me, Bardugo is a superior writer because she has a way of weaving tragedy so humane into the fabric of her worlds. Everything is tinged with a bittersweetness, like biting into a semi-sweet chocolate chip. The Familiar is no exception, and it is one of her best, I think. 

Set during the height of the Spanish Inquisition, a young Jewish woman named Luiza finds herself thrown into the midst of political tensions when she accidentally reveals her magical abilities to her employer. Luiza’s mistress uses her magic to gain influence and climb Madrid’s social ladder, but things quickly sour when Luiza’s powers capture the eye of Senor Victor de Paredes, an affluent and scheming man. Senor Paredes is aided by his familiar, Santangel, who senses a great power in Luiza, and is tasked with helping her unleash it. She’s been chosen to perform in a series of magical trials before the king’s former secretary, and she must not fail. As Luiza enters the torneo, she finds herself falling deeper into a world of suspicion and lies with only Santangel to guide her and help her hide her true identity before the Inquisitors sniff her out.

What I appreciated most about Luiza is her struggle to find herself, to be true to herself, when all her life she’s been told to hide, to suppress, to withhold. As a converso, she lives a dual life, one for the public as a dutiful Catholic and another secret one of memories and weaving magic through the remnants of her Hebrew. Each time she wields her magic, she fears the Inquisitors will throw her into prison at Toledo, but her need to escape a scullion’s life, to live, is worth that risk. Though many tell Luiza she’s too ambitious, it is her fierce determination which attracts Santangel to her.

One of the images Bardugo paints is a scene where the two women helping Luiza prepare for the trials discuss what to do about her hair. They uncover it from her maid’s cap and take out her braids to reveal a luscious mane of thick rich curls. Desert hair as her mother called it as she would comb and oil it for her before she died. A hair bred from survival.

The two women weigh their options, leaning towards shaving all Luiza’s hair off and having her wear wigs. Santangel appears from the shadows and commands they will not touch a single strand of hair on her head. Luiza is stunned by his protectiveness, and the women comply with his wishes. It is Luiza’s hair which becomes an intoxicating lure and bewitches Santangel as he succumbs to his feelings for her.

As someone who has hair similar to Luiza, not nearly as springy, but definitely thick and curly and usually unmanageable, to read about a character like me in that way when I never have before—it was deeply moving.

I expected a much darker, more supernatural, story, but the magic suffused throughout the world gave it a touch of realism so it read more like a tragic fairy tale. Luiza’s struggles with her identity I think are a very real and current, if not prevalent, challenge many of us face, especially in the midst of such adversity. The Familiar, is a relevant and potent story, especially in our climate of Jewish survival. The juxtaposition of Luiza finding love and acceptance in the midst of persecution, and the freedom she obtains when she surrenders and embraces her Jewishness, is exquisitely poignant and will haunt you long after you close the book.

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She also maintains a blog where she shares her pursuits of becoming an author. When she’s not scribbling away or has her nose stuck in a book, Lynn enjoys completing jigsaw puzzles with her husband or challenging him to the latest board game. You can follow her musings at writinglynn.com or @writinglynn on most socials.

The thing about dead people, is that you can’t argue with them. While this may seem extremely obvious, it has some far reaching implications that are explored in Rachel Runya Katz’s new sapphic romance Whenever You’re Ready. Yes, you read that correctly. A steamy adult romance has a deep exploration of grief on both a personal and societal level, and it just kind of works. Don’t ask me how. The author is clearly a wizard.

Best friends Nia and Jade lost the third friend, Michal, to metastatic brain cancer before the opening of Whenever You’re Ready. Without Michal’s presence, they’ve let their own friendship peter out. Grudges and miscommunication have festered without the third party who could have mediated them. Except maybe Michal still can help her friends, because when Nia receives a letter written by Michal that she was instructed to open on her 29th birthday she is forced to reach out to Jade. Michal has asked Nia to take Jade (and Jade’s twin brother Jonah who just so happened to be Michal’s boyfriend) on the Southern Jewish history trip they were all planning before Michal’s cancer resurfaced. Now the two must awkwardly meet in person again and deal with feelings they’ve both been harboring for years.

Michal and her memory loom large over the plot. It’s not just a question of how to enjoy a trip that was initially planned for their deceased best friend, but also how to become a different person than the one that friend knew. For Jade and Nia to reopen their past, which is shown through flashbacks, and give in to their mutual longing, they must also let go of the versions of themselves that Michal saw. Each moment of growth, of life change, feels like a betrayal of the friend who cannot be there with them to experience it.

Heavy enough for you yet? Well, the Jewish South is no picnic either. Jade and Jonah learn that their Jewish ancestors on their fathers side participated in a system that enslaved people that looked like their mother. Not to mention some horrific antisemitic history, including the lynching of a Jew. How can one square with such a history? How can they even try given all the people involved are now dead? One interesting option is presented when Jade and Jonah meet their long lost cousin who himself has been struggling to deal with his ancestors mistakes. Nia is a steady force at Jade’s side as she goes through all of this, which makes the reader really root for their relationship.

Whenever You’re Ready is a steamy book with longing so fierce it could knock the reader over, and one very hot sex scene. It is a book that holds no punches, yet somehow also manages to be gentle. Jonah’s character arc in particular shows evidence of how everyone can grow. The ending is satisfying and the way the epilogue mirrors the prologue is wonderful. I appreciated the way the author trusted the readers to handle both difficult topics and steam. It gave the characters more nuance and I really learned something while reading.

Note: BookishlyJewish received an ARC of this book from the publisher.

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I’ve been wanting to attend the Jewish Book Council’s “Raid The Shelves” event ever since I heard about it a few years ago, but the timing never worked out for me. This Tuesday, I finally got the chance to participate. For those that don’t know, once a year the Jewish Book Council combs over their shelves and removes books to make space for new publications. In an epic stroke of genius, they turned Fall cleaning into a fundraiser. For a small fee, intrepid readers can come and fill their bags with as many books as they want. For an additional price attendees can be an “early bird” and gain access to the room fifteen minutes before the general crowd. 

I was super pumped, but also a little nervous. I was concerned I wouldn’t make it in time for early bird and was unsure what books would be leftover after I got out from work. Both of those worries turned out to be unfounded. Work let me go in time, AND there were plenty of books still left when general entry began. I received an email with very clear instructions stating that people could bring any bag they wanted – including one suitcase each. Dear readers, I failed to take the hint and only brought a couple of tote bags. Epic mistake. I should have brought the suitcase. What was I thinking???

I’m pretty sure I spotted some of my fellow reviewers and bookstagrammers checking in, but I was too shy to go say hi and inquire so if you noticed me awkwardly staring – super sorry. The staff was fun as they announced the rules and I met some veterans of the event while waiting in line. Mostly their advice boiled down to this – if you think you might want a book, then pick it up. You can always sort through and put it back later. There was even a side room to do exactly that. Or to pack your suitcase if you were smart enough to bring one. 

Upon entering the space I tried to make a game plan about what areas to hit up in the 15 early bird minutes. When I looked to my right, I saw tables of fiction. When I looked left, I saw a sign labelled “Holocaust”. I plunged to the right because Holocaust books are not usually my preferred reading. This turned out to be a tactical error. Behind the Holocaust books were the Jewish thought, history, and biography tables. I’ve been trying to expand those sections of the blog AND this seemed to be the most popular table with the early birders who included quite a few Yeshiva University alumni looking dudes who were snapping up the Torah commentary and Jewish history. But also – the cookbooks were on a small spot to the left! Luckily I still snagged the one I wanted, but whew that initial decision to turn right first could have cost me.

Don’t get me wrong, fiction is still my fave and constitutes the bulk of the reviews on the blog, but I freaking love cookbooks and there was less early bird competition in the fiction areas. Plus, I have an easier time obtaining reviewer copies of fiction than nonfiction.

I saw many familiar books on the shelves, but I didn’t pick up anything I have already read. Instead, I proceeded to tell my fellow shoppers why they should be taking those books. Obviously you’re not likely to find an upcoming book on the shelf – these are the books the JBC is finished with- but I have found that unlike what publishing industry hoopla would have you believe, most readers do not care when a book came out or even know what the terms front list and back list mean. They just want a good book. That’s why I review front list and back list titles despite knowing what those terms mean and the disproportionate importance traditional publishing places on them. So yeah, I picked up A LOT of books and I haven’t no regrets. The variety was great. 

The one genre I didn’t find on the shelf was sci fi (which is my personal wheelhouse) but they can only put out what they receive and there were plenty of fantasy titles available. In addition, the children’s sections were mostly ignored by early birders but disappeared within seconds of general entry. So next year I’ll rethink which tables I hit first. Many shoppers were working in teams. Others seemed to be part of loosely organized groups. Quite a few were on the phone consulting with friends and family. There were definitely a lot of veterans, and even a couple who just so happened to be visiting from Florida but heard about the event and signed up!

There were plenty of books available for the regular entry period, but the room was definitely more crowded and some books were gone FAST. I was aided in making quick decisions by having recently updated my spreadsheet of Jewish books and therefore recognized some of the covers, knew what they were about, and could grab them quickly without reading the cover copy. For every book I recognized, there were five I hadn’t heard of before. This was both wonderful from a yay-there-are-so-many-Jewish-books perspective and intimidating from a which-ones-should-I-take perspective. 

Special shout out to the guy in the suitcase packing room who was only there to help his wife carry her books home. You two are relationship goals. I also loved how while we were sorting, several of us shopped each others reject piles. Each book found its proper home. Plus, the staff was again incredibly kind and helpful and offered to take back our returns for us. They were also guiding people around the room and helping them find what they were looking for. 

I was really torn about a few books and ended up putting them back because of lack of bag space. Which proved to be a prudent decision because one of the totes lost structural integrity on the way home and I would not have made it with even a single additional book. But still. Why didn’t I bring a suitcase??  Why????

There was one book I took despite having read it already because I dearly love it and would like to own it. One was a book I’m currently reading in e book format from the library and it will significantly speed me up to have a paper copy. Another few books were on my TBR and I let out little gasps of delight as I spotted them. I must have scared a few people with my running commentary to myself as I greeted each book, but hey, I’m weird like that when it comes to books. In the end I took about 55 books with a good spread across age ranges and genres. I’m looking forward to featuring some of them here.

I will definitely go back next year if time allows but I’m bringing suitcase and maybe even a friend!

One of the reasons I am primarily an SFF writer is because I like to envision ways for the impossible to be possible. I find this easier to do in far future settings or in a world with magic. In her sophomore novel, The Phoenix Bride, Natasha Siegel has managed to perform this feat in a historical romance. It’s kind of mind blowing.

The first thing to note is that Siegel’s prose is absolutely stunning. While I felt The Phoenix Bride was solidly a historical romance, I could see an industrious bookseller categorizing it as “literary historical fiction,” due to Siegel’s writing style. They wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. I find that most of the justifications used in making these distinctions are nebulous in the extreme. From the opening chapter where Siegel’s description of joy sets the readers heart aflutter to her later exploration of grief, the text is designed to make the reader feel the viewpoint characters inner journey. I can’t make promises for anyone else, but it certainly worked for me.

That’s not what I mean by making the impossible possible though. I firmly believe genre writers have just as many incredible talents as literary ones. No, the impossible thing in this book is the central relationship. Cecilia is a young protestant widow who manages to fall for David, the Jewish doctor helping her through grief and depression after her husbands unexpected death. It was not exactly common for a Christian woman in 1600’s London to see a Jew as a full human, let alone a romantic partner, nor for society to let such a relationship find a happy ending. Siegel finds a way to make it believable. It is not your typical romance novel ending, that would be historically inaccurate, but it works.

The major stumbling block for me was that I occasionally found myself enraged with Cecilia. It’s lovely that she sees David as an equal, and they do not explore the relationship until she is no longer his patient so there’s no ethical breech, but the risks she has him taking felt extremely selfish to me. If they are caught the person who will suffer most is David. Furthermore, it will not just be his life in shambles. The Jewish community was on very shaky grounds, and David is only living in London because his family has been expelled from Spain and Portugal. The scandal of a high society christian woman being caught with her Jewish doctor could easily have resulted in catastrophe and mass murder of the Jews of London. Perhaps all love is selfish, but I could not forgive Cecilia for pushing David into taking public risks and ignoring the potential repercussions.

David, on the other hand, is delightful. His major issue is falling in love with unattainable people – don’t we all? – despite much easier prospects being readily available. He is either bisexual or pansexual, and this is given historically accurate treatment, plus his practice of medicine is progressive for the time. Through his eyes we see what it is like to be a child of a forced diaspora, what it means to trade in your familiar life for the privilege of openly practicing your faith, and the pain of not being socially permitted to love the way your heart desires. He also has my favorite line – specifically when he ponders christian marriages. Trust me, you’ll laugh out loud when you read it. His journey is thoughtful and deep, laced with a touch of humor, much like the man himself.

The Phoenix Bride spans several historical events, the biggest being the Great Fire of London which has specific impact on Cecilia and David’s relationship. They are written with excellent detail, including some interesting forays into the medicine of the time. This makes it all the more intriguing that The Phoenix Bride manages to have a happy ending for the unlikely couple. As mentioned, it’s unconventional, but if we look around at our modern-day world it seems obvious that conventional solutions have failed us anyway. Perhaps if we all got a little more creative we could make the impossible possible too.

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