As a blogger, I’m familiar with the difference between online personas and real life people. Those gorgeous photos your favorite grammer posts? Pan out and you’ll find the wreckage of everyday life. All this reading I do? My TBR is five times the size. Clever post? It’s been edited within an inch of its life. There’s a lot of pressure to constantly create content that is entertaining and flawless, but there’s also the ability to present only the side of yourself that you want seen. That’s a gift for some of us who just want a space to be our best selves and live our best lives online, even if we cannot do so in real life for various reasons.
Lucy Galindo, heroine of Jessica Lepe’s debut romance Flirty Little Secret, understands this. In real life, she’s a high school guidance counselor who also has some serious anxiety and depression, but online she’s @TheMissGuidedCounselor who is always ready with good advice and a listening ear. Which is why I totally related to her complete refusal to meet up with the online friend she’s been chatting (and flirting!) with for over a year. One, because you still never know who is a creepy cat fisher playing the long game. Two, and more importantly for Lucy, she wants to keep these parts of her lives separate. She needs a space where she can be perfect.
There’s just one catch. Since the story is dual POV the reader knows a delicious secret. The hot new history teacher Lucy is crushing on? He’s actually her online friend. Watching these two bumble around without realizing they already know each other is particularly hilarious. In fact, the voice of the entire book is hilarious. Lucy has a large extended family that knows no boundaries and Fletcher, the history teacher, has more drama in his life than a telenovella. Lepe has a unique style and she finds the humor in even everyday situations without relying on cheap stereotypes or bawdy sex jokes. It made the pages fly incredibly quickly. Which is good because like Lucy, I am not perfect, and this library book was overdue by the time I picked it up and started reading.
Identity is tricky for Lucy. Not only is she dealing with her mental health which she hides from her readers, she’s constantly wondering where she belongs in any community. Since her father is a Moroccan Jew the Ashkenaz community she finds herself in often makes her feel like the “wrong” kind of Jew, while some even doubt she’s Jewish at all because her mother is Mexican. Side note – once again this is handled with humor. I will not give it away but the thoughts in Lucy’s head when someone questions her about her background made me snort my beverage through my nose. I was so surprised by her candor and mischievous outlook.
The relationship that results at the end of the book helps Lucy see that what she was viewing as flaws are actually strengths that make her a more empathetic guidance counselor. I’m not quite ready to show you the heap of papers next to that pretty book stack photo but I will tell you this – I’m a thorough reader but a slow one. I get way more books than I can possibly read and review in a timely fashion. (I love you guest reviewers! Seriously). I constantly worry about letting down that author who may even have paid to ship me their book. I know my readers love the round ups most of all, but since I won’t include a book I haven’t read in those pieces, it means I can post less of them than I’d like. Like Lucy, I’m doing my best and always seeking new ways to be better. And I think you are ALL Jewish enough. XOXO.
There’s this awkward space between finishing one book and starting a new one. Even for a dedicated reader like me, the task of choosing what to invest my time in feels monumental. It’s not just that I’ll have to work through the beginning pages before feeling immersed. It’s a question of what book suits who I am in that moment. Even more important – who will I be when I finish? Just as characters shift and change over the course of a book, ideally the reader does too.
When I began reading Kalyn Josephson’s Ravenfall series I was a baby blogger. BookishlyJewish had only recently launched and Kalyn was kind enough to be one of the very first authors interviewed on the blog. I was so scared of getting it wrong in the review that I pushed it off. When Hollowthorn came out, I was an overloaded blogger. I’d found my footing in terms writing posts but was overwhelmed by trying to figure out which content to prioritize. Authors and publishers were sending me books, plus I had a TBR of my own making, and I wanted to tackle this equitably while best serving my readership. (Still working on that one folks. I don’t think it ever stops, nor should it). I totally missed the release deadline and then burrowed myself under a sea of regret. Which means when Witchwood was slated for release I saw an opportunity to redeem myself by reviewing all three at once. And I’ve only missed the release deadline by a tiny bit. Which is a miracle given how many high holidays share Witchwood’s release month.
As much as I’ve changed over the course of the books, so have the characters. In Ravenfall, Anna Ballinkay is unsure of her both her psychic powers and her place in the magical, sentient, inn that she loves. She worries that without the psychic abilities of her sisters, she doesn’t belong. When a stranger named Colin shows up and discovers that his parents were murdered because of the secret magical powers they poses that have now passed on to him, Anna obviously wants to help him solve their murders. But she also has to deal with watching Colin easily inherit a large amount of power while she still struggles in comparison with her siblings and their strong abilities. By the end, they’ve confronted the Irish kind of the dead together and each transformed. Anna’s powers aren’t so useless after all, but she realizes that psychic ability isn’t what makes her belong at the Ravenfall Inn. It’s her love for the place that does that. Meanwhile Colin begins to deals with the family legacy that is left to him, a process that will span the series.
In Hollowthorn we see Anna mature into her psychic power, but struggle with a whole new side of herself – her Jewish side. As she and Colin journey into the Otherworld to try and protect a magical staff from ashmedai king of Sheidim they are greeted by a menagerie of Jewish magical creatures. Anna wonders why her father has taught her so little about being a Jew. While she actively seeks out her family history, Colin is wholeheartedly rejecting his. He finds that protecting non magical beings from magical ones isn’t as simple as it initially sounded. Surely all magical creatures are not bad. How does one determine when to act? By the end Anna makes peace with her father and Colin embraces both sides of his power, but those questions are still unanswered.
Witchwood, where Anna and Colin meet Anna’s Aunt and help search for missing witches, allows the questions about when and how to use magic come full circle. Anna is now in possession of so much power that her prior Ravenfall self would probably not recognize her at all, but she still feels out of place. She is constantly wondering if she is Jewish enough, and regretting that she hasn’t spent more time with her fathers side of the family. Colin too has grown in power, but for the first time he meets a magical community that is hostile and prejudiced against him. He begins to doubt himself and his own mission. Having found their power, Colin and Anna must now find their confidence. Their growing maturity allows them to accept that sometimes there is no right or wrong answer, just the choice you make in that moment.
These are lessons I too have internalized. We are all constantly changing and growing, the process is simply less obvious when experienced day by day in Real Life instead of in fiction when three books in a series can be read in short succession. Anna and Colin have so much to teach both kids and adults about embracing all aspects of ourselves, living in grey areas, and finding family. They also provide a refreshing example of male and female identifying characters that are allowed to just be friends without any romantic tension between them. Plus, they have a cool sentient house, a billion magical creatures, and some very awesome adventures.
I have no idea what the next and final book in the series, Ravenguard, will bring for these characters. I am also unsure what kind of person I will be when I read it. I hope I’ll be a blogger that has more time and is better organized than my current self, but let’s be realistic. Like Anna and Colin I’ve still got a long way to go. It’s nice sharing the ride with these two.
Note: BookishlyJewish took Ravenfall out from the library, picked up Hollowthorn at Raid The Shelves and received an e-arc from the author for Witchwood
Loaves of Torah: Exploring the Jewish Year Through Challah
Rabbi Vanessa M. Harper
CCAR Press Nov 17, 2023
360 pages
Review by: E. Broderick
The holiday of Simhat Torah is almost upon us. For those unfamiliar with Jewish prayer services, every week we read aloud a portion of the Torah starting in sequence from Genesis and ending in Deuteronomy. Simhat Torah is the day on which we finish the cycle and immediately begin again, to show we are continually immersed in Torah, without beginning or end. It is a day of supreme joy as we dance with our sacred text and commit ourselves to its study.
That study can take several forms. There’s an old tradition that each week one should read the written word with Rashi commentary twice and then Targum once. My father had a special book for this practice, which he never failed to complete every week. Today, scrolling through social media, I’ve found several women who involve their children and Shabbat guests in this weekly Torah review by serving a dessert that is somehow linked to the Torah portion. It’s a fun guessing game in the comments as we all try to be the first to post the particular passuk- sentence- that inspired the confection. A similar concept in deployed in Rabbi Vanessa Harper’s Loaves of Torah.
Rabbi Harper’s medium of choice is challah. In the first portion of the book we are greeted by weekly photos of challot that have been braided, painted and molded into edible artworks reflective of that weeks Torah portion. Next to a very brief recap of the pissukim she chose to interpret, there is a series of creative exercises the reader can go through in a variety of mediums to creatively explore the Torah portion. While the challot often seem like a literal representation of the text, the explanations and exercises are often much more abstract. Indeed, it was also interesting for me to see how a reform Jew might move their way through the weekly readings as it was quite different from what I’m used to. It won’t replace my preferred form of learning, but it’s a valuable addition.
The second half of the book is devoted to challah techniques one can use in the process. The intro has an explanation of how the challah tradition got started in the first place and how different Jews have been using challah shapes seasonally almost as long as the bread itself has existed.
Loaves of Torah is the perfect read for the upcoming holiday because it inspires readers to look at the Torah in a new way, to engage everyone around them and create new interpretations for a new year of study. Hafoch ba V’hafoch ba dechulei ba – turn her over and over for all is within her.
Note: BookishlyJewish received a review copy of this book from the publisher.
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.
Aviva VS. the Dybbuk by Mari Lowe- I laughed, I cried, I marveled at how I own the same shirt the author is wearing in the back cover photo. This book is set in both an ultra orthodox Jewish girls school and a women’s Mikveh. Let’s just say the last time I tried to submit such a thing to a magazine I got told they loved the “exotic” setting. Like I was an animal in a zoo and my culture was there there for the entertainment of all the “normals”.
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.
The Last Words We Said by Leah Scheier– this is the book that let me see myself, including all my messy bits, on the page for the first time and I am forever grateful to Scheier for giving me that moment. The story follows three girls in a modern orthodox community as they mourn the death of one of their boyfriends. It’s poignant and suspenseful and it will tear your heart out. Yet the main plot was actually not what meant most to me, it was one of the side characters who held me in the palm of her rebellious teenage hand.
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.
The Marrying of Chani Kaufman by Eve Harris. I read this book a while ago when as a teen I was surprised, but also a little wary, to find it in the library. While books featuring orthodox characters were sparse, the ones that did make it though at the time were largely about “off the derech” individuals – those that left the fold. Usually including how horrible their prior experiences were. Those stories are important, as each person has their own truth to tell, but I didn’t like that the other side of the story – the beauty of orthodox life – was not also on the shelf.
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.
The Life and Crimes of Hoodie Rosen by Isacc Blum. This YA book, following a yeshiva boy in a community experiencing rising antisemitism and his crush on the non Jewish mayors daughter is the most polarizing of the bunch I’ll discuss in this post. Most non Jews who read it, loved it. Most Jews that are not from yeshivish communities who read it, loved it. But the Jews I spoke with from communities resembling the ones depicted in the book were mixed on their opinions.
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.
The Dubious Pranks of Shaindy Goodman by Mari Lowe – I love when favorites come back for an encore. Lowe’s sophomore effort felt lighter to me than her debut since the latter focused on grief. Here, the plot revolves around the interesting power dynamics that get set up in Orthodox Jewish girls schools. There’s most definitely a pecking order, but on the other hand, as models of religious virtue, the girls can’t be mean in the typical ways. So our bullying takes really weird yet still destructive forms, and Lowe kind of nails that here.
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.
Unorthodox Love by Heidi Shertok- orthodox romance can still be steamy! Even though nobody touches each other! It can also be hilarious because author Heidi Shertok had me rolling in the aisles. She also delved into some interesting issues like what it is like to be a person incapable of conceiving a child in a society that puts an extreme emphasis on family and children. Her heroine Penina is a modest fashion influencer, and shows a side of Jewish women that is not often allowed to come out in secular media.
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.
Finn and Ezra’s Bar Mitzvah Time Loop by Joshua S. Levy. Finn is having his bar mitzvah in the same hotel as orthodox Ezra and they are both stuck in a time loop, repeating the day over and over again. Until they team up to try and break out. To say their efforts are hilarious is an understatement. This one will have you laughing so hard you’ll cry. But it’s also really sweet as the boys learn certain lessons that bring them closer to their families and each other.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Note: BookishlyJewish received a e-copy of this book from the author after they filled out our suggest a book form.
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!
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.
Marcia Plant Jackson is a retired Family Nurse Practitioner. She enjoys life in the beautiful Pioneer Valley in western Massachusetts.
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.
J. Lynnette Dunning is a former professional singer and theology school dropout, living in the Midwest as a Southern transplant. Her first short story, Rabellah & the Carpenter, was featured in Community Voices IV, and is also available on her website for purchase.
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 atwritinglynn.com or @writinglynn on most socials.
