J.S. Gold describes in his introduction how Black Panther inspired him to write a specifically Jewish superhero. And this character definitely qualifies. Arthur Rose takes little interest in his dead father’s Hassidism. However, Rifka, a haunted young woman, reveals that she killed his father and seeks the Tzohar stone he owned, because it can heal and revive the dead. Rifka, it turns out, has summoned a demon, Igrat, daughter of Malat. She is taking over Rifka as a dybbuk. Some of the story follows this dual villainess as Igrat plots and Rifka suffers.
For Arthur, the story pattern is classic hero’s journey as Levi and his people try recruiting Arthur as his father’s heir, inheritor of the best powers. Arthur’s father, a Bondsman, joined himself to many angels including the Archangel Raphael. It’s quite a legacy. He’s ancestrally one of the Sanhedrin, who since the oldest days battled demons. However, their public life led to their being conquered and finally destroyed.
The power is also rising in Arthur during the Days of Awe, even as he surprises himself by embracing more Jewish practice. Through it all, Arthur jokes about Obi-Wan and Hagrid, not to mention Joseph Campbell. As he retorts sarcastically, “In all those anime, the heroes are all wearing a tallis to defend against the villains. What was it Hagrid said? ‘You’re an ultra-orthodox Jew, Harry” (46). The pop culture references are obviously modern and fun. Arthur has read all the classic stories and he’s aware how this one fits into them. But that’s the catch—he’s heavily skeptical because he doesn’t equate his father’s pushy traditions or his uncle’s holiday-only practice with heroism. At their institution, they study Torah, which Arthur finds a letdown:
“There’s something sexy about a demon-hunting priest. The righteous man of the collar hunting vampires and things that go bump in the night, armed only with his cross, his faith, and a precious vial of holy water. Yet you take that same religious man and call him a Rabbi, arm him with a shofar and Hebrew, and to Arthur, what was once a haunting tale turns comical in the telling. Arthur’s buying the magish and demons and everything else, so why is it so hard for him to digest the Jewishy parts? Here he’s found himself in a world as dark and mysterious as any Stoker novel, yet a hesitancy lingers.” (89)
In fact, they have magical tallit and drive off demons by blowing a shofar. They harness different types of kishef, magic, or the older term magish, inherent to each. Arthur’s guide tells him that God bestows on them a particular ability: “Speaker or Bondsman? Binder or Mender or Namer: it’s in your soul that we will find out who you are. And to see to it, we must go to the realms of the Sefiros, You and I. The Tree of Life” (66). However, when Arthur journeys, he finds he has the very rare talent of seeing all the sephirot emanations – he has all five talents. Those through history who have done so have generally been called Ha’Ari, the lion. Among the chosen people, he’s a more gifted chosen one.
Levi urges him to reclaim his Jewish practice, because it’s the key to the mysticism behind his abilities. Accordingly, the Sanhedrin give him a Living Shawl, an animated garment created to protect his bloodline. Arthur prefers to forge a sword of fiery light. In this case, however, his trainer tells him, “We are Jews, son. We don’t just go waving swords around like we’re the damn Knights Templar” (152). Arthur is disappointed that culturally they are scholars not warriors. However, the trainer says that he is supposed to heal the world, not kill or conquer. Torah and charms are meant to purify demons and restore their holiness. The subversion of the chosen one story thus emphasizes Jewish values and Jewish culture.
Magic is based in true names, from Arthur’s true name to the words that predate Hebrew. Levi tries training him in belief, dedication to creating the magic through the will of the mind. As he protests, there’s a part of Arthur “that refuses to believe in the ‘Jewishness’ of it all. When you speak Hebrew, there’s incredulity behind your teeth” (100). Arthur agrees that after his father let his mother die and kept all of this past a secret, he’s always been skeptical of it. Levi counsels him to fight past his resentment.
Though furious about his father’s secret life, Arthur eventually discovers his compassion, doing great deeds notable for their kindness as he saves others, even those condemned to darkness and punishment. Through this transformation, he learns to become a worthy hero. The book provides an interesting twist on how Jews fit into the chosen one pattern. Certainly, the use of lore and history is believable and clever. This could even encourage readers to find the heroic and spiritual aspects of their own practice. It’s not the only book with a secret society of Jewish superheroes, but it stands out among the few available.
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 dot com.
Every year I eagerly await the announcement of the Sydney Taylor Awards for outstanding children’s literature portraying the Jewish Experience. I have been honored to participate in the blog tour for the winners for the past four years. This year I was assigned a book we already reviewed and loved – Abby White’s D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T. Below is our conversation.
BookishlyJewish: Let’s first address the elephant in the room – how does it feel to win??
Abby White: Surreal in the best way. D.J. is my debut novel, and I’ve struggled with some disappointments about its early reception. So, this recognition is a huge validation and relief. Now, it’s easier to feel like my books could actually find the audience I seek one day. Plus, joining the pantheon of some of my all-time favorite authors is a never-ending pinch-me moment.
BookishlyJewish: Where did the idea for DJ come from and what was the journey from there to here like?
Abby White:D.J. came from a few of my life experiences, but more than anything, it was born from grief. In January 2020, a dear friend of mine died by suicide. I had lost loved ones before, but the particularities of suicide loss were unlike anything I had ever experienced. It took months of therapy and support from family and friends to begin to deal with it in a healthy way. I reached a turning point in July 2020, sitting in my parents’ backyard outside Cleveland, and had a sudden vision: of a girl giving a d’var torah at her Bat Mitzvah about the same difficult lessons I was learning.
That girl was D.J.Rosenblum. I thought about her, and her story, for the next year and a half. On the very last day of 2021, I started writing. I didn’t feel like I had a choice: The story demanded to be written. After that, frankly, I reached the point of publication much faster than I had ever expected.
BookishlyJewish: I particularly enjoy reading about Jews from places that people often don’t realize we live in. Are people surprised with DJ׳s setting?
Abby White: Some people are surprised that D.J. has a Jewish community in northeast Ohio, which baffles me! I grew up in the suburbs of Cleveland, which have every kind of Jew you can imagine. Yet when I went to college in New York City, several of my classmates from the coasts asked me: “Did you grow up with any other Jews? Have you ever had Jewish classmates before?” I found it upsetting that their views of American Jewish life were so narrow. Jews live in every state! The Midwest, in particular, has a bunch of big Jewish communities with rich, vibrant histories.
Ever since then, I’ve been passionate about showing people how widespread and diverse American Jews are. If even one reader walks away from D.J. thinking, “Wow, Jews can build fulfilling lives and safe communities in more places than I thought,” I’ll be very happy.
BookishlyJewish: One thing we mentioned in our review was how DJ tackles serious themes while still being appropriate for the younger YA reader. In fact, it feels geared specially for them. Was that a harder sell in the age of the ‘cross over’?
Abby White: Yes. My editor, Irene Vàzquez, immediately understood my vision for D.J.: It is a younger YA novel geared toward 12- to 16-year-olds. They’ve championed D.J. from day zero, and my publisher Levine Querido has been equally supportive. But some people default to thinking stories with eighth-grade protagonists are middle grade. (To be fair, they usually are!) That created some mismatched expectations for what D.J. is trying to convey, how, and to whom.
I’ve been really grateful for the Young Teen Lit movement and its efforts to create more of a market for upper middle grade and lower young adult stories. And I’ve been incredibly gratified by the love D.J. has received from teachers, booksellers, librarians, and readers. Lots of 13- and 14-year-olds deal with similar issues as D.J. Even if they don’t, they deserve great books written for them! To be honest, my greatest hope is that something you wrote in your review proves true:
“Some older teens might find they’ve moved beyond this and into the adult section. Some younger ones will probably shed tears of relief that finally there is a book designed specifically for them. Which is maybe the solution to the whole debate—stop forcing all kids’ books into the mold of what one guru thinks is the way to ‘get kids reading again.’ Instead, offer up a variety of lengths, maturity levels in content, and experiences, by having authors write what is true to them. Then, when a teen browses or approaches their friendly local librarian, there will be something different and wonderful to offer each of them.”
BookishlyJewish: The dvar Torah at the bat mitzvah is a highlight. How did you come up with it? Lots of research and struggle, or did you just “know” right away what DJ was going to say?
Abby White: Oh, I definitely discovered the d’var Torah as I wrote. I knew what its general topics would be—grief, atonement, the particular difficulties associated with suicide loss—but its specific lessons were things I was desperately trying to parse for my own self. The final text of the d’var Torah that you can read in the book came together relatively late in the writing process.
The most helpful part was finding D.J.’s Torah portion, which I did in early 2021 with the help of Rabbi Nora Feinstein. At that point, she worked at Sixth & I in Washington, DC, where I attend services. We met a few times, and I told her the issues I wanted D.J. to explore, as well as the time of year I wanted her bat mitzvah to happen. She came back to me with a few portions, and Acharei Mot immediately stood out. Analyzing it over and over again as I wrote the book helped me craft D.J.’s journey and d’var Torah, but it also helped me carve a path through my own grief.
BookishlyJewish: Speaking of, I didn’t chant at my bat mitzvah and love reading about girls from other branches of Judaism and their celebrations. What was yours like? (Not to assume that you had one, but if you did it would be super fun for our readers to hear about it if you want to share).
Abby White: I loved my bat mitzvah! At the time, sure, it was stressful. But I always understood that my bat mitzvah was a meaningful opportunity: My mother wasn’t allowed to have one when she was young because she was a girl, and when I was in the third grade, she went through the work to become a bat mitzvah as an adult. It meant the world to her, so when the time came, I took my own bat mitzvah seriously, too. Plus, we held my party in an arcade, so the kids could wear casual clothes. Highly recommend.
BookishlyJewish: Mental health and social media usage are strong topics here. Particularly not assuming what you see online is real. That you never really know what anyone else is going through. How has the reader response been from the young adults?
Abby White: So far, young adults have seemed to resonate with the book, including its depictions of mental health and social media usage. (Thank goodness.) D.J. deals with some dark topics, but young adults are unfortunately quite familiar with them: They also struggle with their mental health. They lose loved ones in awful, confusing ways. Heck, they can see war crimes on TikTok. I always hoped that D.J. would feel respectful and true to those experiences, and I’ve been gratified that young readers seem to think it succeeds.
BookishlyJewish: Can I just say I loved the way the older kids were not high school stereotypes and actually looked after DJ? It was so refreshing!
Abby White: Thank you!!! I adore the high school characters. Evan is a golden retriever, Lily and Trent will have an exhibit at MoMA, Angela will become the president of the United States, and Jonah is my baby boy. On a more serious note, I wanted to show how unreliable our perspectives of other people can be. (Especially as kids.) The high schoolers seem impossibly cool and older to D.J.—of course she projects feelings onto them! But they’re kids, too, with their own struggles, trying their best. I’m really glad she learns that by the end.
BookishlyJewish: Do you have a favorite character? Mine is DJ’s mom but I always love the moms.
Abby White: We love moms!!! It’s a cop-out to say all the characters are my favorite, even though it’s kind of true. So, I’ll choose a different cliché and admit I just love D.J. She’s not me, but we have a lot of core traits in common—she’s probably the closest character to myself I’ll ever write. But I admire her most for the traits I don’t always share: her bravery, her self-possession, her true belief that she alone can make a difference. She’s taught me a lot about who, and how, I want to be. I’m grateful every single day for her.
BookishlyJewish: This book is beautifully queer in a way that just sort of slides right into the plot without requiring an explanation. Was it important to you for that representation to feel organic?
Abby White: Thanks for saying that, and absolutely. More and more young people are discovering their own queerness and building community with LGBTQ+ people. In D.J., I wanted to portray this community and self-discovery as normal—the way they truly feel to me. I’m also conscious of writing as a straight-passing queer person in an era of rising prejudice and discrimination against queer folks, especially the trans community. The very least I can do is make sure my books are an explicitly safe space for queer kids who read them. I feel particularly passionate about the rights and safety of trans youth, who face staggering risks of suicide. Every single book I write will have a trans character because I want these young people to see how wonderful they and their lives can be.
BookishlyJewish: Was there something you wanted to me to ask about that I didn’t?
Abby White: Similar to my depiction of queerness, I made a conscious effort to incorporate Jews of color into D.J.’s story. The American Jewish community is much more diverse than many people realize, and it’s only becoming more so—which brings me massive joy. I hope the diversity of D.J.’s Jewish community makes this book accessible to young Jewish readers of all races and ethnicities for years to come.
BookishlyJewish: I love realistic curly hair representation. I see you and DJ share the curly hair of myself and numerous of our readers. You have any tips?
Abby White: Oh, this is the highest compliment. I do far less curly hair care than I should. But I love a microfiber towel for hair drying. It’s the only way I can reduce my frizz.
BookishlyJewish: You win on your debut (OMG, but also yikes the pressure). What’s next for you?
Abby White: Well, when you put it like that…! Just kidding. Honestly, I put so much pressure on myself, I’m almost entirely basking in the joy of this win. I’m currently working on my second book—a very different standalone project, still YA—and have ideas for the books I’ll write after that. So, I’ve just got to buckle down with my laptop and mugs of tea.
BookishlyJewish: I always end by asking if you have a favorite Jewish book to share with our readers (does not have to be the same genre as yours
Parshat Yitro is named for a Midianite – although many assume Yitro converted to Judaism, this is never spelled out in the text. It is also the Parsha with one of the two accounts of the Jews receiving the Torah. Yes, you read that correctly. While most people focus on Yitro, the story is told again when we get to the book of Deuteronomy. Which brings me to my point – the Torah is full of surprises and we really ought to read it closely more often. Especially if you, like me, are either not a frequent Synagogue goer or spend services chatting rather than paying attention to the Torah portion.
Lots of people think they know everything about the Torah because they went to Hebrew school. Or because they actually do pay attention to both services and the Rabbi’s speech. Or because they’ve spent years learning in a Yeshiva. Yet there is always something new to discover. In It Takes Two To Torah, an orthodox Rabbi and a reform journalist study together – each finding new nuance thanks to the other’s perspective. It’s a unique undertaking because oftentimes the Orthodox and Reform worlds think they have nothing to gain from the each other, much like Moshe could have easily assumed he had nothing to learn from a former Midianite Priest. Moshe approached with humility and Yitro managed to revolutionize the entire judicial system for the better. Abigail Pogrebin and Rabbi Dov Linzer approached their learning with mutual respect and the book details their many joint insights.
Sometimes we are quick to gloss over the “other” – whether that person is a convert or simply a member of a different branch of Judaism. Yet the Parsha containing the giving of the Torah is literally named for a person who did not start out life as a Jew. When you stretch just a little outside of your comfort zone, amazing things can happen.
When I was around ten, my father decided he was going to only speak to me and my English-speaking siblings in Yiddish. He believed that wherever we went in the world, we would always be able to find another Jew who spoke Yiddish. His effort failed after a week, largely because telling preteen girls what to do never ends well. We kept pretending not to understand when he asked us to do things, resulting in him having to do everything himself. His brief foray into education aside, my father was more of a supervisor than a do-it-yourself kind of guy. However, looking back at this episode after reading Samantha Ellis’s memoir about her own struggle to speak Judeo-Iraqi Arabic, Always Carry Salt, I think he could have succeeded if he had taken the more romantic approach and told us we were working to preserve a “dying” language.
While my father thought we would be able to find a Yiddish speaker everywhere, the truth is that Yiddish came under attack from the same “killer” language that took down Judeo-Iraqi Arabic – Hebrew. The antisemitic forces pushing Jews out of their homelands in both European and Arabic countries, combined with the pressure to exclusively speak Hebrew in Israel, where many of these refugees wound up, resulted in loss of several languages and the cultural elements that sustained them. In her struggle to understand her family’s past, and reconnect with her Iraqi roots, Ellis mourns that Yiddish was at least saved for its large literary tradition, which is not the case of her milk tongue. I would disagree a little with that assessment – I think Yiddish is being saved by the thousands of Hassidim who speak it exclusively in their communities and teach it to their children from birth, rather than by the handful of scholars who learn it to then translate that body of literature to languages like English. Still, her point is well taken. There are more speakers of Yiddish today that Judeo-Iraqi Arabic, and the loss of the language mirrors the loss of the way of life that created it.
This is especially important right now, in a time when the identity of many Jews from Arabic lands is being ignored by a world that finds them troubling. They don’t fit the narrative most people are trying to build about the middle east – on either side of the spectrum – and therefore their entire existence as a distinct culture is under attack.
Jews cannot live safely in Iraq anymore. Idioms about extreme heat and swimming in the Tigris don’t bear the same cultural resonance in England as they did in Baghdad. Ellis must find other ways to connect to her past and her culture, the most successful being food and music. While she does make attempts at learning the language herself, she acknowledges that the real work of “saving” a language is in teaching it to children who will truly live and dream in it (see my comment about the true saviors of Yiddish, for better or for worse). She comes up against the same struggles my father did – her young son is not interested. In a hilarious episode, her mother does manage to get the little guy to enjoy Iraqi food – it is just the most laborious dish to prepare. In addition, Ellis poignantly describes how her son’s ability to shed the language also reflects his ability to shed some of the generational trauma she carries around. In this way, the book becomes more about sifting through our cultural heritage to keep what is precious, without letting it drag down or harm our present. A skill that I, admittedly, am not very good at.
I like to think that if my father had phrased his attempt to teach me Yiddish as an attempt to save a connection to my past, to a way of life largely destroyed by the Holocaust, I would have been more amenable. I knew, even then, that there is no universal Jewish language. Did I appreciate the intrinsic link to language and culture? I don’t know. I do wish I had tried harder. Much like Ellis, I’ve learned to cook the foods of my ancestors (excluding schmaltz, heart disease runs in the family), and to sing the lullabies, and even listened to the painful stories. Maybe it’s time I tried to learn the language too. If Ellis could do it, then so can I!
Note: BookishlyJewish received an arc of this book from the publisher.
I’ve been waiting a few weeks to bring out Maggie Anton’s biblical historical fiction, The Midwives Escape, which is a perfect accompaniment to the entire book of Exodus. Parshat Beshalach has some of my favorite moments, which are also pivotal in the book.
The brilliance of The Midwives Escape is not in the writing or the story line (I really hope we all know how this story turns out!). Instead, it is in giving a more human, personal angle to a universal story. The two title midwives are part of the Erev Rav, or multitude of nations, that journeyed out of Egypt with the newly freed Hebrew people. Some say they converted, some blame them for all the bad stuff that goes down in the desert. Anton leans more towards the first group.
Watching them cross the sea of reeds, eat manna for the first time, and complain about living conditions, made all those familiar scenes become tangible. As was learning about basic survival skills of the time such as cheese making and weaving. What must it have been like to travel for 40 full years, uprooting yourselves every time you finally got comfortable? The mother daughter pair in the novel allowed me to read the entire rest of Exodus with a different perspective. Instead of thinking of the events in the dessert as stories or fables, I think of them as happening to real people, with real emotions and families. Whether you believe the bible is historically accurate or not, that’s a heavy way to experience the sneak attack from Amalek or the lack of water in the desert. The Midwives Escape makes a familiar story new.
When half of my country is covered in snow, and I desperately need a distraction from flight cancellations, all I really want to do is curl up with a mug of something warm and a good book. For winter storm Fern I had to forgo the mug – school closure = swarming young people = hot liquids too precarious – but the book I chose more than made up for it. Emily Zipps’ debut, Alice Rue Evades The Truth, is hilarious, relatable, and warmed me from the inside out.
Alice is no stranger to weather. Living in Portland means there is a whole lot of cold and rain adding to the drab feelings she already harbors from her boring job as the overnight receptionist for an office building. The good news is that while the weather is immutable, Alice’s life is not. The book opens with Alice performing CPR on a building tenant who just passed out in front of her. She’s got a massive crush on the guy, and it would suck for him to die before they’ve ever even had a conversation. Luckily, Alice manages to save his life. Unluckily, EMS personnel assumes she’s the dudes girlfriend, and his family shows up to whisk her off to the hospital with them to sit a the bedside of her comatose “boyfriend.”
Does this sound ridiculous? It is. And watching it go down is laugh out loud funny. Alice tries many, many times to set the record straight. But apparently, nothing about Alice is straight, as we learn when the comatose guy’s butch sister, Van, shows up. Alice can’t seem to extricate herself from the incredibly sweet family, and now she’s wondering if she’s had a crush on the wrong sibling this entire time. Turns out the man she’s been pining after for years is a total jerk, but his sister is both hotter than summer in Miami and cooler than my current weather situation. Plus, the feelings Alice is catching appear to be reciprocated by Van.
This is soap opera level drama, but Zipps never takes herself too seriously. Alice Rue Evades The Truth does not try to pass this bizarre situation off as anything other than extremely dysfunctional and abnormal. In doing so, it becomes delightful. I laughed so many times I lost count, and it’s been a while since a read had me smiling this much. Spice/heat level is medium, and the hottest bit is actually in the epilogue.
Alice also provides something I have been seeking and failing to find in other places – a character that is poor but whose issues are not related to money. It is refreshing to have a character who has to think about how covering the coffees for the entire family in the hospital might affect the rest of her budget for the month. Yet her mission in the book is not to get a better paying job etc. It’s to get over her attachment issues so she can form meaningful relationships. She also makes no bones about the fact that she has no desire to have children of her own. She does not hate kids, she just doesn’t want to raise them herself. This is rare representation, and it is much needed.
When even shoveling out your front door seems impossible, it’s good to read about a hopeless situation actually working out no matter how implausible it seems. Alice and Van are the most caring, gentle couple. They deserved their happy ending. I’ll take reading their story over lying on a beach somewhere any day. (Bonus though – you could read this on the beach and achieve both things simultaneously).
Parshat Bo has a lot of flashy happenings – seven of the ten plagues – but it also contains a commonly forgotten fact about Moses. He is known as the great teacher and leader of the Jewish people, but he repeatedly expresses anxiety about approaching Pharaoh, specifically citing his speech impediment as a barrier. It is not totally clear what form of speech impediment Moses had- there is one midrash that says he burnt his tongue on hot coals as a child – but he refers to himself as having blocked lips. Yet, time and again, with Aaron at his side he finds a way and still approaches both Pharaoh and the enslaved Hebrew people who are growing increasingly hostile and agitated due to increased work quotas.
In Anya and The Nightingale, the sequel to the fantastic Anya and the Dragon by Sofiya Pasternack, young Anya sets out to find her father who still has not returned from the tsars army. Along the way she must face a heady group of individuals including the tsar, a Rabbi, and an evil sorcerer, despite the fact that she is just a child. She has her friends at her side, and together they find the courage to keep doing the right thing.
We all have things that hold us back, whether they are an official diagnosis like Moses speech impediment, or a simple fact of life like Anya’s age. Even without those things, it can be hard to stand up to those in power. That is why it is important to acknowledge the Aaron’s in the room who provide that crucial support to people performing tasks that seem impossible. Somehow, together, we can make it possible.
I first heard about Susan Polgar when her little sister Judit was held up as a “real life” version of the main character in the popular novel-turned-Netflix-mini-series, The Queen’s Gambit. A quick search revealed that Judit was almost nothing like the orphaned, drug addicted chess prodigy in the novel. Sure, she was a female chess champion, but she was no orphan, nor was her childhood a horrific mess, and her chess playing was not a stroke of inborn genius. She had two sisters who were also chess champions, including her older sister Susan, whose recent memoir Rebel Queen details how the sisters’ gifts were the result of very careful and deliberate cultivation.
Much of the first few chapters is spent on describing how the Polgar’s father had a specific set of educational theories that stressed the ability of any child to succeed if they are given the time and support needed to focus on something they love. The only lucky accident is that the first thing thing Susan expressed interest in was chess. Had she not found a chessboard and asked to play, she very well may have gone down the pathway of becoming a mathematician as her father originally planned. Her parents were flexible enough to shift to Susan’s tastes, and she loved chess so much it is no wonder her two younger sister chose to follow suit – and particularly in Judit’s case, exceeded some of Susan’s accomplishments. Susan was the first woman to be named a grand master, but Judit’s career overall surpassed hers, a matter in which Susan seems to take great pride. Looking back, it’s shocking to read how people accused the Polgar’s of child abuse when Susan first appeared at tournaments as a child (which she often won). In a refreshing twist, Susan has nothing but praise for her parents to whom she credits her amazing accomplishments and overall joyous life.
She does, however, have a lot to say about everyone else.
Growing up in communist Hungary, Susan was often the source of intense controversy in the chess world. Especially regarding her insistence on playing against men rather than in female only events. Obviously, we only hear one side of the story, but the evidence is fairly convincing. For whatever reason, the communist regime definitely attempting to block her career numerous times and made it difficult for her to travel to tournaments. When her travel visas finally do come through, Susan’s descriptions of seeing other countries, including her first visit to the US, are a reminder of all the good things about my home country that I often forget. As we follow Susan’s transition from playing for Hungary to retiring, only to comeback in spectacular fashion in order to play for the USA before teaching at a collegiate level, I wondered how those early events affected Susan’s world view. She certainly wasn’t afraid of a fight and refused to take less than what she felt she and her sport deserved.
I’d never thought of the Polgar family as particularly religious. Susan herself acknowledges that they did not observe much, but to think of them as anything other than Jewish would be an epic mistake. Susan’s often mentions Jewish values and her grandparents Holocaust experiences, as having an impact on the family’s decisions. They did not flee Hungary, even when they had the chance, and they never backed down to threats and intimidation. Moreover, Susan loved chess particularly because when she sat down at the board she believed neither her gender nor her religion should matter whatsoever. It should be a match of equals, so long as both had the chance to study chess (indeed she often won against opponents who had far more governmental and financial backing).
I highly recommend reading Rebel Queen in audio. Narrator Suzanne Toren is an easy listen, and there are many tense moments during crucial matches. When I had the story playing out loud, visitors would often linger to listen along for a chapter or two.
Particularly moving for me, was the last third of the book where Susan transitions from active competitor to teacher and mentor. Her accomplishments in this arena almost overshadow her accomplishments as a player herself. Perhaps that is why she says she was never jealous of her sisters – she had a hand in training them, and her team records show she was an unparalleled coach. She most certainly raised the profile of chess as a sport in the USA. Which reminds the reader that the book began with the Polgar’s educational theories. The epilogue, in which Susan thanks her parents for the childhood and education they gave her, brings the entire narrative full circle.
Shemot is the book of the Bible that contains the familiar story retold every year at the Passover Seder. The descendants of Yaakov are enslaved in Egypt only to be liberated in spectacular fashion by God. There is a hero’s journey for Moses, amazing miracles, and an antagonist for the ages. Pharaoh claims his super villain title easily in this weeks Parsha by attempting to secretly kill all the baby boys born to the Hebrews. When he is thwarted by two midwives who refuse to listen to his demands, he decides to simplify matters by dispensing with the need to keep this mission quiet and openly throws all the infant boys into the Nile. Which is how baby Moses ends up floating down the river in a basket.
If you have ever sent a child to Hebrew school, you know that Moses in his basket is a favorite of Hebrew school teachers. Children can make endless projects depicting the basket floating among the reeds, and perform in numerous plays reenacting the Egyptian Princess Batya’s arms stretches out to save the baby. I’d like to focus on the fact that Moses’ sister Miriam, who many believe was one of the midwives defying Pharaoh, watched over him in the reeds. It can’t have been easy or comfortable for her to sit there in the heat watching her baby brother at the whims of the Nile. Nor would she have been without fear when she stepped up and spoke with the Egyptian Princess about a nurse for the baby. It’s never safe to know the secrets of royalty and Miriam was already on Pharaoh’s bad side. She did it anyway, and she is notably one of only seven female prophets in the bible – referred to later in the Torah by her own name rather than that of the males she was associated with, which is still one of the most popular names in the Jewish world today. While we can only guess at her motivation, it is likely the same as the one that helped her defy Pharaoh as a midwife – it was the right thing to do.
In The Passover Lamb, by Linda Elovitz Marshall (Author), and Tatjana Mai-Wyss (Illustrator), a little girl named Miriam has been waiting all year to go to the Passover Seder at her grandparents house. Children are given special roles during the Seder, which only comes once a year, and Miriam will also get to see all of her relatives. She’s helped out with the arduous chores leading up to the holiday, so she is eager to partake in the joy. Just as the family is preparing to leave their farm for the drive, one of their sheep goes into unexpected labor late in the lambing season and delivers a litter of three lambs. Alas, the mother sheep only has enough milk for two, and therefore refuses to nurse the last one. The task of rescuing the lamb through bottle feeding falls to Miriam and her family who will now be stuck on the farm with the baby lamb.
Miriam is disappointed. She and her siblings attempt to resist, only to realize that caring for the helpless animal is their responsibility. Miriam saves the day by coming up with an ingenious way to safely transport the lamb – in a basket just like baby Moses – and they head off to the Seder with their new charge in hand. Much like biblical Miriam found a way to save and feed her baby brother, storybook Miriam rescues the lamb. The lesson here, for me, is that we cannot turn our backs on the vulnerable no matter how inconvenient or scary that may be for us. The Miriam’s set us an important example. We must do the right thing, now matter how difficult or scary.
by Ariana Mizrahi and illustrated by Siona Benjamin
March 19, 2024, Kalaniot Books
32 pages
I’m a creature of habit. I resist change with all my might. When I write I have a designated spot and full on ritual to get things going. So moving countries is pretty incomprehensible to me. Most children are likely more flexible than I am, although a shift from routine can be pretty upsetting for them too. Which is why The Blue Butterfly Of Cochin, a vibrant picture book from Ariana Mizrahi and Siona Benjamin, is likely to catch their imagination.
Leah, the stories protagonist, finds out that her family must move from their beloved Cochin India to Israel. While they are exciting about the future, they are also leaving behind everything they know – including their beloved historic Synagogue. Leah is comforted by a magical blue butterfly that appears to accompany her, and reminds her that her memories will always help her create a home, wherever she is, even when adjusting feels hard.
The illustrations in The Blue Butterfly of Cochin contain a stunning riot of colors. They are breathtaking, especially the depiction of the synagogue, and also take into account Leah’s cultural heritage. I found the book worth a look just for the art alone. However, the accompanying text also deserves a read. The children who listened to me read the book aloud were interested in learning about the Jews of Cochin, and wondered how many other places in the world they might find Jews. They found some similarities with Leah, but also had a lot of questions about her life. It was an engaging conversation.
The Blue Butterfly of Cochin invites children to explore how Jews have lived in a variety of countries they might have thought of before- sometimes for hundreds of years! It is also a feast for the eyes, which definitely helps the adult reader stay engaged. Sometimes change isn’t such a bad thing, and it was helpful to have that reminder.
