Author: Bookishly Jewish

It is a difficult thing to be a woman, although the exact details of the struggle vary based on person place and time. For me, it’s about the pressure to try and do it all – career woman, domestic Goddess, hobbies that could be a second job. For Mariyln Weisfeld, protagonist of Susan Kleinman’s debut novel All Afternoon, it is about realizing she has given up her dreams in service of someone else’s. To add insult to injury, that person is failing spectacularly and the rest of her peers are reclaiming their lives, leaving Marilyn in the dust.

Kleinman’s debut is set in a 1970’s orthodox Jewish community in NJ. Marilyn has followed traditional expectations by giving up her promising creative writing career after marrying an economics graduate student. She dove into housekeeping and child rearing as a way of keeping up her end of the marital bargain, while her spouse was supposed to be broadening her intellectual horizons with his big academic career, and providing monetarily for the family. Unfortunately, his career was actually far less promising than Marilyns, landing the Weisfeld’s in a small obscure college town where most of their contemporaries in the Jewish community have far more prestigious and/or lucrative careers. Marilyn might still have been happy, except the reader quickly ascertains that her spouse is a total jerk who uses her for domestic labor while mocking her in front of his snooty academic peers. He’s the kind of man who thinks he should control all decisions because he controls the cash flow, and takes out out his work related frustrations on his family. It’s the kind of toxic relationship that should have ended years ago but is still puttering on due to the children and societal expectations.

Speaking of societal expectations, the women in Marilyn’s town are broadening their horizons, trying to turn their domestic pursuits into careers. It’s a trend currently known as the side hustle. However, as seen through Marilyn’s eyes, these women are petty and small, without any knowledge about how to actual turn a profit at running a business. They also fall right into the trap of early feminists in thinking that anyone who wants something different is automatically a fool. They exclude Marilyn from their groups on the basis that “she wouldn’t be interested,” and one even chides Marilyn for not going back to school because she hasn’t taken the time to learn that unlike herself, Marilyn actually graduated from college – with honors. I suspect several of these women could be the protagonist’s of their own very interesting stories, but in All Afternoon they serve as reminder that there is no one correct way to be a woman, and no one perfect life journey. Indeed they have taken Marilyn’s chosen vocation – cooking, cleaning, etc. -and decided it has no value unless a dollar value can be assigned to it. Not, overall, a great step ahead for women.

Marilyn herself has a much more exciting and vital private life than her neighbors realize. After a disastrous dinner party she reconnects with a friend of her husbands who is a famous writer. Her reminds her of her early career and encourages her to pick up her pen again. Over their enfolding afternoons together, the reader quickly realizes that this man should have been the love of Marilyn’s life. Not her overbearing, chauvinist of a spouse. But Marilyn is too wise and too Orthodox for an affair. Instead, she must sort out the pieces of her family and find a way to integrate it all.

I can empathize. The social dynamics among women Marilyn notes are still alive and kicking. Except now one is expected to be all the things, and to do them flawlessly. #TradWife is trending – but make no mistake, these women are a business unto themselves, monetizing their perfect domestic performance through their social media presence. As a writer, I was surprised to learn that even in traditionally published spaces, writers are currently expected to take on many roles that have nothing to do with writing. The most successful learn to tune out all that noise, focus on what they enjoy, and skip (or outsource) the rest. All Afternoon came with one of the most professional promo kits I have ever received (I admittedly don’t receive that many kits containing more than just the book and some stickers), and I suspect the author designed it all herself. If that is true, she has a real gift. As someone who highly empathizes with Marilyn’s love of baking her own mishloach manot, but has very limited skills for design, I would have zero hesitations about hiring whoever put this package together. Hopefully, this is a sign that we are moving forward as a group and are embracing each others talents and life choices.

All Afternoon also depicts a rising feminism in Judaism, as evidenced by the spread of Bat mitzvahs. Many modern female scholars are asking the same questions a frustrated Marilyn asks of her stunned family when she interrupts their bible trivia game – Anyone know the name of the wives of all these biblical figures? No? Why not? Indeed there are far fewer named female characters in the Bible than men, and far fewer works of biblical scholarship from women who have traditionally been exclude from such pursuits. Women today aim to bridge that gap. Much as Marilyn seeks to reclaim her own existence as a unique individual and not just the unnamed “mother of, wife of, sister of”.

All Afternoon is the kind of book you have to sit and think with. It reads quickly, but it poses many questions for the reader to ask of themselves. I may not agree with all of Marilyn’s choices, but also can’t say that I wouldn’t have done similarly. I respected her unwillingness to upturn her children’s lives and I highly identified with her desire not to be defined by a man – even a good and kind one. I’d like to see more from Kleinman, even if she doesn’t have the time to make adorable promo packages (I kind of hope she does, though). I’d love to hear more of her thoughts about women both in family and in Judaism. Let’s just say, if I was starting a book club, she’d be one of the first people I’d invite.

BookishlyJewish received an arc of this book from the author

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Author Suki Wessling explains in her afterward that she wrote her children’s book Hanna, Homeschooler after her daughter complained that all chapter books follow children going to school. Indeed, this novel explores the life of its homeschooling heroine (who’s in the equivalent of first grade but has some friends in kindergarten). They cook (with math lessons about how to measure different sizes to make 3/4 of a cup of flour) and make charts about the life cycle. 

However, Hanna frets that the other children have a first day of school, a last day of school, a set schedule and, in fact, worksheets and homework. Her mother carefully listens to these requests and finds her projects that suit her interests. As such, the book acknowledges children’s concerns about homeschooling and also models reasonable responses. As Mom explains to Gram, “So you see, it starts with a question, then it becomes a field trip, which creates an interest, which leads to a project, which depends on art, science, spelling, and math to be completed.” Mom is learning to say “Why not” to Hanna’s suggestions for projects instead of no, and find ways to manage her daughter’s concerns. At last, they come up with their own way to make a meaningful graduation ceremony as Hanna moves on to her next stage.

As far as conflict, there’s tension from Gram, who isn’t sure she’s comfortable with Hanna’s unschooling. There are also still mean kids and bullying, even without being in school. In fact, Hanna reveals that she’s been hanging out with mean girls because, as she puts it, “I like to find out what school’s like.” She feels a lot of judgment from everybody who doesn’t homeschool. However, she does have fun in the history club where all the kids are becoming knights in shining armor. Later, she and her dad visit a nursing home and sing for the residents there. 

Casually mixed into the story are moments of Jewish life, as Hanna and her mother make challah most Fridays now that they live with Hanna’s grandmother. They all light candles and say the prayers together. When December comes, Hanna invites the whole history club to her house for doughnuts and singing, as they make menorahs out of clay. There’s gentle pro-diversity imagery, as they wish everyone “happy holidays” and Gram says, “This is a time of year when everyone celebrates light and love no matter what sort of church they go to.” 

The family doesn’t have much money for commercial toys or other things many children take for granted, but they still lead a happy life together. Using a cassette player in this 2016 book does feel a little dated. Besides this, there aren’t many references to technology. It’s a small-town story of a family who’s used to seasonal travel. The hand-drawn black and white pictures are fun and enticing, as are the handwritten-style chapter headers. It’s a charming book following a nontraditional lifestyle and celebrating the people in it.

Valerie Estelle Frankel is the author of over 100 books on pop culture, including Hunting for Meaning in The Mandalorian; The Villain’s Journey and Adapting Bridgerton. Her Chelm for the Holidays (2019) was a PJ Library book, and now she’s the editor of Jewish Science Fiction and Fantasy, publishing an academic series for Bloomsbury/Lexington Press. Come explore her research at vefrankel.com.

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It is easy to think of a story as over when the last page is turned. The war is worn, the crisis averted, that’s all she wrote. However, it is often just as difficult to deal with the aftermath of a great drama than the actual drama itself. This is something people tend to forget, especially when it comes to the Holocaust. All was not well for the surviving Jews once the allied forces liberated the camps. In fact, there were now scores of homeless, paperless individuals with dire health needs stuck in war torn countries because nobody else would take them in. The antisemitism that allowed Jews to be shuttled off to death camps while their neighbors largely kept silent and/or appropriated their homes and possessions did not magically disappear with Hitler. In fact, in a post-war world where resources were tight, it could be even worse than before.

This is the world that Sharon Kurtzman’s The Lost Baker of Vienna asks you to remember. Told in dual timelines, the novel first starts with food journalist Zoe trying to learn more about her family background after the passing of her grandfather. Searching for any record of her great Aunt, and seeking to explain mysterious post cards and photographs she found in her grandfather’s items, she bets her career by attending a culinary conference in Vienna at which an elusive food industry CEO has promised to meet with her and share more about her family. The magazine Zoe works for is paying her way on this trip she cannot afford because they want the story, but the CEO is only willing to talk if she’ll sign an NDA.

As the story unfolds, we are quickly thrown back to Vienna of 1946, in which Zoe’s great Aunt Chana is struggling to find passage for herself, her mother, and her brother to America. While waiting for immigration papers that may never come, the family must find protection from both thieves, pimps and plain old fashioned hunger wherever they can find it. Even if that means Chana accepting the advances of suitors who work on the black market. It’s a tale full of the kind of thing most people assume was over once the war ended – antisemitism, starvation, exploitation.

I usually shy away from WWII novels. Partially due to generational trauma and partially because I actually shy away from all war related fiction. I just don’t find wars particularly riveting fiction. It’s a personal taste, likely influenced by a pacifist nature and a preference for fashion over firearms. I know such books tend to be hugely popular, have their own sections in bookstores, might be supporting half of trad publishing if not more etc. They just aren’t my thing. That being said, I did not struggle to read The Lost Baker of Vienna. It moved at a brisk pace, and while the aftermath of war was clearly essential to the plot, there was so much else happening to pull me through. It’s worth a read, even if you, like me, aren’t a big WWII buff.

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For many Jews around the world, Passover prep is well under way. With all that cleaning and cooking going on, it can be easy to forget about a much lesser known Jewish custom that occurs this time of year – counting the Omer. Starting on the second night of Passover, Jews count the days until the holiday of Shavuot when we receive the Torah. If done properly, the Omer can be viewed as a kind of spiritual cleansing mirroring the physical process we just finished when purging our homes of leaven. Last year, BookishlyJewish ran a special Omer program (you can read more about it, and the Omer, HERE). Response was tremendous, with many reading hearing of the Omer for the very first time, and others finding new meaning in their established practice. Which is why I almost fell off my chair when I saw the premise for Evening Begins The Day, a recently released novel from Jessica Brilliant Keener.

In Evening Beings the Day, several linked characters find meaning and purpose through the Omer. Rachel, who kicks the story off, has just found out that her husband had an emotional affair. While weighing her options, she moves out into a small home near her work colleague Cynthia. When Cynthia’s husband tells her about the concept of the Omer, Rachel decides it might be just what she needs to get herself sorted, and even signs herself up for a week long women’s retreat built around the Omer. Cynthia, meanwhile, is having a crisis of her own. Her daughter Lauren is flunking out of school due to depression that presents with components of rage. In a last minute attempt to get her to graduate, to mend fences in the family, and to foster healing, Lauren’s English teacher – who also happens to attend their temple – suggests a homeschool curriculum involving counting the Omer.

The counting in the book follows the same Kabalistic schedule we use here at BookishlyJewish. Each week represents one of the seven sefirot, or attributes, while each individual day is used to consider how each sefirah interacts with the others. Kind of like one sefirah enfolded into another. Through the course of seven weeks the characters embrace concepts like lovingkindness, strength, harmony, endurance, humility, foundation, and regality. While I do not suggest this as a replacement for therapy, I do think it is a very good framework from improving as a person and together as a community. Counting begins at night since in Judaism the day actually beings with the night – as referenced in the title of the book.

There are multiple POV characters in Evening Begins The Day, but only Rachel’s chapters are told in the first person, making her the most visceral. You may or may not agree with her choices in the end, but I found her journey very compelling. The women’s retreat was the kind of thing I would never sign myself up for but sort of wish I would. Cynthia has her own journey, and I found it easy to sympathize with her even when I could spot her missteps with her daughter from a mile away. The one character I struggled to connect with was Lauren. It is possible I was simply not meant to connect with her, as I suspect she’s having trouble connecting with herself during the timeline of the story, but I really, really wished she showed some modicum of ability to be self reflective. She is literally critical of every single thing in the world – especially her mother – but seems to have lost all sense of self perception. Which I suppose resembles many teenagers. Unlike many teenagers though, she still uses “word” as an affirmation. I’ll have to leave it to our teenage audience to weigh in on if kids these days still do that.

We are told many times that Lauren is a smart and mature young woman struggling with how to relate to a world in crisis. We definitely see her being distressed by the world’s crises, and she is obviously struggling, but mostly what sets her off is her mother. I did not get the sense that she was in any way smart or mature, despite literally spending entire chapters in her head. Instead, she came off as a very stereotypical teenager looking to blame the entire world’s problems on her mother, over glorifying her father, and having an almost too close relationship with her English teacher. Unlike the other characters, she didn’t have much of an arc. I left the book worried about her future, and was desperately hoping she would receive some actual therapy to supplement her Omer work.

Rachel’s time at the retreat serves as an excellent overview of the Omer ritual. I even found myself wandering into a Judaica shop to buy my first seder plate much like Rachel does in the book. (Side note, this is a beautiful scene in which Rachel confronts some of her own stereotypes about Orthodox Jews. Top notch stuff.) I’ve always just used a random plate. This year, I wanted it to be special. Mine, completely owned and decided on by me for this purpose. Just like Rachel felt about her solo Seder. If you are thinking of being inspired to count the Omer along with us this year, I would highly suggest reading through Evening Begins The Day as a primer. We’ll be posting a book rec every night that we think brings out the message in the particular sefirah pairing of the evening. However, we know you’ll likely only pick a handful to actually read. Most people don’t have time to read a book a night. Choose what feels meaningful to you. Hopefully, you’ll feel more fulfilled at the end, just like the characters of Evening Begins The Day.

BookishlyJewish received a copy of this book from the author after we reached out and asked for one.

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A Line You Have Traced is a slow generational story, comparing women’s lives across time. In that way, it suggests The Hours or The Female Man. Bea is Jewish, working in her husband’s jewelry store in the Jewish East End of London after World War I. The angel who repeatedly visits her suggests a trace of hope in her dark life. Still, she knows her husband will never believe her about these visitations. Meanwhile, fascism is rising and presenting a constant threat. Towards the end of the story, Bea has embraced Judaism more deeply, eagerly throwing himself into practice. She even goes so far as to consult men about Jewish practice after services, embarrassing her ambivalent husband. As her husband’s judgy friend writes a book about them, resentment builds in their marriage. 

In Ess’s futuristic dystopia, the environment has been destroyed and those with resources live behind massive gates. Humanity is dying out. While her group, called the Network, is preparing for humanity to die out entirely, she agrees to be sent to the past. The science has been based on their people’s foundational texts – specifically the environmental texts and time travel speculation of O. This experimental time travel may be their only hope. But if it succeeds, how is Ess meant to intervene?  

In the present, Kay works multiple jobs and parties with her queer underground friends. As they celebrate counterculture, they avoid the news because it’s so depressing and stressful. Kay serves as a link between the eras as her philosophy bridges past and future. She finally finds herself asking, “If you were a tourist…a time-traveler tourist…what would you say when you got to me?” (268). Her lover O responds that a warning, or advice and a road map, would be nice. Further linking the times, she proposes going back to their great-grandparents’ eras to suggest that they run or get organized and resist. “Maybe you could go back far enough that they wouldn’t even need to run” (269). This is the hope of time travel – improving the past to minimize atrocity. When Kay worries about destroying the timeline, O responds, “What’s the point if you don’t get involved?” (269).

The story explores the ethics and goals of time travel, not the technology. Just because humanity can, doesn’t mean they should. All three times also celebrate nature, from the fertile marshes to the parakeets soaring free in the future. Throughout, there’s an environmentalist plea to not destroy everything. All three women read books written by and about one another, even as their stories show how the books came to be written. All this further links their characters’ beliefs and journeys.

As one character observes, “When we talk about time, we should really talk about history…” reminding the reader that “We are trying to avert catastrophe. To change the future. […] Ecosystem: fucked. Resource management: nonexistent. Human and nonhuman rights: thing of the past. The only difference between us is that I’ve known, nearly all my life, I’ve known—there’s a solution. We can fix what we have done. We can undo the mistakes our ancestors made” (232). The novel ends by wondering whether humans will finally find a way to undo all this damage, or whether earth will be better off without humanity. It’s a slow, meditative experimental text that celebrates women and writing even as the three reflect across their eras. 

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Who among us has not wondered where we go when we die? Lots of cultures, and books!, have mythology surrounding a river and a ferryman. Certainly a lighthouse is not out of place in that setting, but in J.R. Dawson’s The Lighthouse At The Edge of The World, we get an intriguing glimpse into an almost zany afterlife where dogs are escorting souls onto the boat to the afterlife. And some souls never make it to the lighthouse and boat at all.

All is not peaceful within the lighthouse. The dogs are overseen by two human staff members – the ferryman and his daughter Neera, who are not quite alive but also not quite dead. For the ferryman this does not seem to be a problem. He has long ago left his life behind, thinks this existence is better, and finds the lighthouse a much safer place for his daughter than the streets of Chicago. Unfortunately, Neera would prefer having a chance to actually live before taking over as final companion for the dead. Especially when a living woman named Charlie manages to find her way to the Lighthouse while searching for her dead sister. Suddenly, Neera realizes there is an entire world she’s been missing out on. Including deep dish pizza.

There are two very distinct viewpoints, and I was definitely more of a Neera fan than a Charlie fan. I think this happens when authors are pushed to find some way to distinguish their narrators so absolutely that no one can ever claim they are not distinct enough (a favorite complaint from people who don’t know why they didn’t like a book and therefore reach for low hanging complaint fruits). I suspect there will be some ride or die Charlie fans out there, but I really identified with Neera.

To touch a moment on representation, this is a book that is very Jewish without being about Judaism. Since Neera’s father is Jewish, part of her learning about caring for the dead involves writing names on a wall like the wall of remembrance in many Synagogues, and reciting Kaddish. Similarly, in her in between, painless world, Neera just assumes it is totally normal to be queer. It is Charlie who realizes that holding hands, even on the streets of Chicago, could pose some danger. This was true normalization of marginalized experiences. They are just part of the story, with each character having their own life background changing the lived experience of the same moment. Content note for suicide, homicide, and mass shootings.

Things kind of fell apart for me at the end in terms of the magic system, and I had a couple outstanding questions about the Neera/Charlie relationship, but overall I really enjoyed the balance of plot and romance. This is a slow burn with two very lovable leads. Plus, the dogs are pretty much perfect. If the afterlife is as depicted in The Lighthouse At The Edge Of The World, I think we’re all going to be alright.

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Where, you are wondering, is the photo for parshat Vayakhel-Pikudei? It’s a double parsha (during leap years Vayakhel and Pikudei are read separately). Shouldn’t there be one, if not two, book photos? Indeed, you would be correct. However, the book I have chosen, Hannah’s Sabbath Dress, by Itzhak Schweiger-Dmi’el and illustrated by Ora Eithan, appears to be out of print. Woops.

The book is a lovely folktale about a girl who is delighted to celebrate Shabbat in her brand new white dress, which she accidentally ruins by helping an old man carrying a heavy sack of coal so that he can get home in time for Sabbath. The moon sees Hannah’s tears, and performs a miracle in honor of her generosity. All the coal stains turn into bright shining moon beams making Hannah’s dress even more special. It’s a great book to read with kids on a long Saturday, and I hope it is only temporarily out of print.

In the last two Torah portions of the book of Shemot, both of which are read this week, the importance of Shabbat is reiterated along with the final execution of all the preceding instructions for how to build the temporary temple used in the desert. When it comes time for the implementation, the Israelites bring so many donations that Moses actually has to tell them to stop. It was one of my favorite stories as a kid. Much like Hannah, they were just too generous. Also like Hannah they were rewarded – her with moonbeams on her dress, the Israelites with Gods presence in their midst.

We are living in historical times. The news cycle is ever churning, technology ever advancing, and societal values constantly shifting. Yet, a few years ago, I doubt any of us saw this coming. In his memoir, Hello (and goodbye) To All That, Jonathan Liebson talks about feeling disconnected from the epochs of his father and his grandfather, wishing he too could have such life changing and important experiences, only to find himself reeling when those unprecedented circumstances come and find him. 

Most of all, Hello (and goodbye) To All Of That is a love story to life in New York City, particularly it’s Jewish and creative scenes in lower Manhattan. Not many other cities are so magical that a person will agree to put up with the stream of horrific roommates that Liebson describes, simply for the chance to live in a tiny, cramped apartment whose rent eats up more than the lion’s share of their take home pay. The humor of the New York real estate descriptions aside, Liebson is an observant chronicler of New York and its diverse population. However, natives such as myself will find some of his reflections very telling of his non-NY origins. Especially the chapters in which he contemplates leaving and claims most NYers have debated moving as well. While the people who move here in waves to further their educations or careers often do cycle in and out, there is no planned mass exodus of those of us who were born and raised here. You will have to pry my cold dead corpse from my home city, and even then, I’m probably not going very far. There’s a nice cemetery on long island that I am eyeing as a permanent resting place. Just saying. 

The life experiences Liebson chronicles run from the classic bildungsroman – college grad has no idea what to do with his life and becomes a creative writing grad student in his father’s hometown, to the science fictional – the COVID 19 pandemic still strikes me as unreal despite my having survived it. There is political upheaval, artistic struggle, and epic tragedy. There is sadness and joy and deep reflection on both this place and the people who inhabit it. Change is both mourned and acknowledged as a necessary part of what keeps a city alive. Do I wish pastrami at Katz’s still cost under $20? Yes. Do I acknowledge the reality of trying to survive as a Jewish deli in today’s climate? Also, yes. 

Speaking of Jewish haunts like Katz’s, I feel compelled to comment on the audio book narrator’s inability to correctly pronounce certain Jewish words as well as some NY locations. This was a shame, as the book is a quick listen and I otherwise enjoyed it. The narrator sounded very competent and professional, and I am sure this could have been avoided with a pronunciation guide and the right culturally appropriate listener as part of the audio editing team. Certain words did not sound right and really threw me out of the narrative. Other readers may not notice, but I wanted to scream every time the location Monsey NY was read/misread. If this sounds like you – read via ebook or physical copy instead of audio.

In the end, Liebson’s thoughts about his relationship with his father never quite gelled for me in the same way that his relationship with NYC did. I was much more engrossed by his descriptions of old Jewish NY and his discovery that not all of queens is a hellhole than I was by the father/son dynamic surrounding them. I found myself wishing Hello (and goodbye) To All That had a different publication date. Those unfamiliar with the snail’s pace at which traditional publishing works will not realize that this manuscript was likely completed before the events of Oct 7 changed so much for many Jewish people in the diaspora, including those who share many of the liberal politics that Liebson espouses in the book. While we hear about Liebson’s experience attending protests status post George Floyd’s tragic death and how deeply the January 2021 storming of the capitol cut him, we don’t get to know how he is doing right now or if recent events have influenced his decision to live in NY. For a book that is so very Jewish, and therefore likely to attract a great deal of Jewish readers for whom this issue is top of mind right now, it is an unfortunate accident of timing. Which I suppose is a signal of just exactly how momentous the times we are living in truly are. After 9/11, a global pandemic, plus widespread social unrest, who really had more chaos on their bingo cards? I sure didn’t. 

I wonder if Liebson is working on a sequel to cover these recent events. Many Jews have reported in with a wide range of personal life experience, and I’d be curious to have Liebson’s take in the mix. More than that, after spending so much time with him, I want to make sure he’s OK. In the meantime, I’ll hope NY has been treating him well and that the price of pastrami (currently $28.95 a sandwich) hasn’t caused him to flee yet.

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Ki Tisa has some very obvious themes, including the forgiveness for the sin of the golden calf, but I’m am choosing to go in another direction for this weeks book selection. On the heels of cookbook week, I feel it is appropriate to note that amidst the building of the temple sinks, the sin of the golden calf, and Moses literally seeing God, there are several lines about Shabbat observance in Ki Tisa. Nestled among these flashier counterparts, the sentences admonishing the Jewish people to keep the Sabbath, could be easily overlooked. That would be a mistake. They are foundational to so much of Judaism and they pair wonderfully with the cookbook Shabbat by Adeena Sussman.

Shabbat observance takes different forms in different branches of Judaism, but it is a central tenet in all forms of religious Judaism, and even a cultural touchstone for many Jews who otherwise do not participate in religious observance. It is frequently mentioned by Jews of Choice as catalyst towards their conversion and by historians as a reason for the endurance of Jewish people. 

In Shabbat, Sussman brings foods from different geographic regions of Judaism in easy to follow recipes. She also includes recipes running the full gamut from traditional Ashkenazi cholent, to “modern” dairy meals. The photos are stunning and the whole vibe is peaceful and warm – just like shabbat!

Shabbat is called the sign of the covenant between Jews and God, and my favorite way to celebrate it is with food. Pull up a plate and enjoy.

Have you ever read a detective story in which the classic noir detective locks and loads a super-soaker loaded with chicken soup (authentic, kosher, bubbe-made) and, protected by the weapon of his faith, heads into a hellscape catering to DC tourists? It’s available! The book is Hornytown Chutzpah by Andrew Hiller, and it’s just charming and fun.

It starts in classic fashion. A succubus, one of the sheydim, walks into hard-boiled detective Solomon Weiss’s office and asks him to clear her of murder charges. She introduces herself as Ms. Urrie (“I hate puns,” the detective reflects). She calls on him as Solomon the Wise Guy, a name that makes him wince, considering how much he’s left that identity behind to become more of a dick, as he keeps thinking:

“Solomon the Wise Guy was who I used to be. The guy who didn’t play dirty. Who didn’t drink. Who played everything straight. That was his rep, anyhow, even if sometimes Solomon Weiss looked the other way or got his hands greased while he tightroped the line between mensch and cop.” (8)

Off the detective goes to Hornytown, with his super-soaker of “a little kosher wine spiked with a kiddush” (7). (The chicken soup is for serious cases, since matzah balls gum up the works). 

The victim is Ronald (the Unicorn) Hart, the mayor of the goofy touristville hell he invented. In a corrupt system, with elements of the murder looking very sketchy indeed, Ms. Urrie calls on Solomon to clean up his act and rediscover who he used to be. As she concludes, “And, well, everyone knows when a Hornytown girl gets in trouble she can count on the Wise Guy.” When he hesitates, she pulls out “the big guns,” with some old fashioned Jewish guilt, asking, “Sol, don’t you believe in tikun olam anymore? Your duty to repair the world?” (25). She even throws in some Star Wars, just to top this off: “Please, please help me, Sol…You’re my only hope” (25). Pop culture references are always extra fun for the readers. The characters are fun too, with the right amount of self-awareness. 

Off they go, leaning heavily into the Yiddish slang. As Solomon narrates on one occasion, “To avoid the kvetching and as much tsuris as possible I improvised a few believable spiels and strategized on how best to shmooze them” (58). Arrested by the officials of Hornytown, one asks, “Jews don’t even believe in Hell. Why fight for someone your people don’t believe in?” (78). Of course, the succubus’s pleas have gotten to Solomon. Later, he mouths off with “I’m Jewish. We’re more about enduring pain than getting off on it” (91). As such, this is a decidedly goofy and decidedly Jewish spin on the hardboiled detective genre.  

There’s a twist ending, of course, as Solomon discovers the surprising culprit. He saves the day and sets things right, confirming that he still has a great deal of Solomon the Wise lingering within him. The book fittingly ends with a silly Yiddish glossary titled “A Wise-Guy’s Guide to some Jewish and Yiddish Words.” It’s fun and clever, as it subverts all the genre rules with heavy, heavy Jewishness. 

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