Bookishly Jewish

Vayishlach starts off with the continuation of the epic Yaakov/Esav sibling battle. In a moment that oddly reminded me of the last Twilight novel, when the two opposing factions faced each other down they formed a tentative peace instead of fighting. Each twin headed off in a different direction, which brings us to the focus of today’s post – the Dinah incident and Anita Diamant’s brilliant retelling The Red Tent.

If you, like me, have been struggling with some of the biblical depictions of women these past few weeks, let me assure you that this week will not be the week to make it all better. In fact, it kind of gets worse. We are told that Dinah heads out to visit with the girls of the new land. This sounds pretty understandable to me – she just moved across countries, everything was strange and different, and maybe she wanted to make a few friends. However, a whole lot of epic badness followed. Dinah fell prey to Shechem who decided to take what he wanted – her – and then in a strange twist of fate fell so deeply in love he decided to marry her. Alas, forcing a woman to marry her rapist has been a fixture of justice systems since ancient days so perhaps Shechem thought this was totally normal and quasi romantic behavior. However, Dinah’s brothers Shimon and Levi were not impressed. They tricked the entire city into thinking they would allow Shechem to marry Dinah so long as all the males circumcised themselves. Once everyone was recovering from their circumcisions performed without modern anesthesia, the brother stuck. They killed or enslaved the entire city in retaliation for Shechem violating their sister.

The story can be interpreted in many ways. There could be a whole treatise written debating if what Shimon and Levi did was a pro-feminist or anti-feminist move, and whether the entire city was guilty or not. That is not the discussion I want to have. Instead, I’d like to note how the story is told. We hear from Yaakov (not thrilled about his sons razing an entire city and opening the family up to revenge from neighboring cities), Shimon and Levi (what, we should just let this guy get away with it?), and even Shechem (I just had to have her, and look I even want to marry her. I’ll pay whatever, just hand her over to me). However we never once hear from Dinah herself. The episode opens by telling us she went to visit some of “the daughters of the land” and ends with her brothers removing her from Shechem’s house, but she never speaks, is never given a motivation. That’s where The Red Tent comes in.

While women did not have much voice or agency in biblical times, Diamant’s retelling from the viewpoint of Dinah reminds us that they were still people with needs and wants of their own. We simply often do not get to hear them. Indeed, the Torah is unique in that it gives some women voices when it suits the narrative- Rebecca stood up and proclaimed she wanted to go to Issac’s house. Rachel and Leah were part of the plan to leave their father Lavan’s house, but notably the maidservants Bilhah and Zilpah were not heard from at that time. The Red Tent allows all the women to speak. It shows us that there was a whole world – a whole society – inside those women’s tents that we are not privy to.

The bible can still be tough reading for a woman, even with the understanding of historical context. Books like The Red Tent help give an emotional framework from a female point of view. We will never know Dinah’s side of this story, but it’s important to acknowledge that there was one. That she was a person in her own right rather a possession to be guarded, traded, and rescued. It makes me want to peek around the corners of all the other women’s tents and see what’s going on in there. I just might be pleasantly surprised.

Mari Lowe’s middle grade books have spread Orthodox Jewish representation to so many readers – from kids who finally get to see themselves in a traditionally published book, to non-Jews who had no idea there were even different types of Jews in the world. We were so excited to be given the opportunity to interview her in celebration of her latest release, Beinoni.

BookishlyJewish: Your books – Aviva vs. the Dybbuk, The Dubious Pranks of Shaindy Goodman, and Beinoni – all feature orthodox Jewish characters. This has been tremendously meaningful for readers (including me!). Can you talk a little about what it is like to traditionally publish stories featuring orthodox Judaism?

Mari Lowe: I’m so, so happy to hear that! Honestly, it felt so out of reach for so long just because I’d never seen very much of it out there? I remember scrambling for every bit of Orthodox Jewish representation and feeling so let down by a lot of it. Today, I think we’re fortunate to exist in a publishing world that really embraces diversity instead of worrying about making readers comfortable with what they’re used to. It definitely isn’t always easy—I find that my books often have to be introduced in schools first, where readers have to be coaxed into picking them up because the world they’ll read about is unfamiliar—but it’s so wonderful and gratifying to hear from non-Orthodox readers who love them. And equally wonderful is hearing from Orthodox readers who are so excited to read books that feel like them and can be found in mainstream libraries and bookstores.

BookishlyJewish: All three books also feature sports: machanayim, roller skating, and basketball. Are you a sports fan? Any chance we can get a good game of belts going in your next book? That was always my favorite sport in camp.

Mari Lowe: Ha, I love that! We used to spend every Shabbos afternoon playing belts in the basement (occasionally smashing into a bookcase or two near the end). I do love playing sports, though I find myself more inclined toward traditional ones, personally. I think there’s so much within sports that allows us to get to know characters—in what they do and how they react and what they strive for most. I have big dreams of writing a grand machanayim epic one day…we’ll see!

BookishlyJewish: I notice your bio says you were a teacher. How has this informed your work?

Mari Lowe: Still a teacher! I’m actually answering these questions from the teachers’ room. I like to joke(?) that I’ve never quite made it out of middle school. Spending so much time with middle schoolers definitely gives me a feel for what they’re struggling with and what they strive for—and it keeps it on my mind when I’m writing!

BookishlyJewish: Beinoni is your first book to feature a male protagonist, as well as being the first true fantasy of the three. Why the switch?

Mari Lowe: It was really a treat for my son, who likes to complain that I write too many girl characters. (Never too many!!) Fantasy was my favorite genre when I was a kid, and there was next-to-no Jewish representation there, let alone Orthodox Jewish representation! So it’s always been my dream to get in some Jewish fantasy, and there’s so much unmined lore in Jewish culture—it isn’t all golems and dybbuks! I also didn’t want to get pinned down as a ‘contemporary writer’ without having the freedom to explore multiple genres…so regardless of where I go with the next book, I like knowing that I can go back to fantasy now without confusing readers.

BookishlyJewish: Is middle grade your sweet spot or do you think you might branch out to other age categories?

Mari Lowe: I’ve actually been working on an adult novel! It’s mostly contemporary, but with a fantasy twist. YA intimidates me a little, but I think that there’s definitely a hunger for books there, so if I find the right story, who knows?

BookishlyJewish: I think Mariam was my favorite character from all three books. Do you have a favorite?

Mari Lowe: Everyone has to be my favorite a bit while I’m writing, because I’m rooting for them all so readers will root for them all. I’m quite fond of Mariam, too, and Leah, and Shaindy and Gayil both. There’s always going to be a piece of my heart reserved for Aviva and her mother. And I surprised myself with how much I loved Aryeh in Beinoni.

BookishlyJewish: I think I made the same sukkah project in elementary school as Ezra did. Do you have a favorite Jewish holiday?

Mari Lowe: My son made the same one back in 2021—and then he tested positive for Covid two days before the big Sukkah fair, missed the whole thing, and still isn’t quite over it. (I gave Binyamin his project so it would still get its time in the sun!) I honestly love Pesach the most—it’s a lot of prep, but I find the process really therapeutic, and the seder nights are my favorite nights of the year. Plus, I’m always up for some quality matzo brei!)

BookishlyJewish: What’s next for you?

Mari Lowe: Aside from the adult novel, I’ve been working on another middle grade book called Dreamscape, about a group of girls who get really involved in an online game and find themselves the subjects of online antisemitic harassment.

BookishlyJewish: I always end by asking if you have a favorite Jewish book to recommend to our readers.

Mari Lowe: Always a great question, and it’s so hard to pick one! A recent favorite is Naomi Milliner’s The Trouble With Secrets, which made me cry like a baby through the whole final part of the book and savor every word.

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Find It:

Aviva Vs. The Dybbuk: Amazon | Bookshop | BookishlyJewish Review

The Dubious Pranks of Shaindy Goodman: Amazon | Bookshop | BookishlyJewish Review

Beinoni: Amazon | Bookshop | BookishlyJewish Review

The vibe of BookishlyJewish has always been one of support – we think ALL the Jewish books deserve awards for the simple fact that their existence is never a given. Many had long, hard roads to publication due to quotas, perceived “niche” content, and other such depressing gate keeping. Any marginalized story faces barriers others don’t, which is why we have chosen to focus on reviewing and boosting them in a noncompetitive manner. However, it’s hard to ignore those lists of bests that circulate this time of year. So last year we tried to find a way to host a Reader’s Choice Award the BookishlyJewish way – inclusive and not disparaging of others.

We like to think of our Reader’s Choice Award as serving two dual functions. It lets us celebrate the Jewish books currently capturing the world’s attention, while also opening us up to requests from our readers about what they would like to see featured on our page. That means we feature huge blockbusters and tiny indies, and sometimes even one vote is enough to push a book to the top of our TBR for coverage. In that vein, this year we have just six short questions asking you to write in a favorite adult, children’s and nonfiction book you read last year and one from each category you would like to see us review next year. Neither category is limited by year of publication, so if Tevye the Milkman was the best thing you read last year go ahead and vote for it! The latter set of questions obviously excludes books we have already covered but the first does not. And as always, we ask that you not vote for any book from the bible, although bible commentaries are more than welcome.

How to vote? Click this link and sign in using your gmail! We are not collecting the emails, this allows us to limit responses to one person while the program automatically deletes/does not store the emails. And please, it’s an honors system, it’s limited to one response per person, but we understand there are ways to game that system. We ask you not to.

Vayetzei is a parsha full of names. The majority of the shevatim are born – eleven of the twelve sons of Jacob destined to found the twelve tribes of the Jewish people, as well as their sister Dinah. As each child is born, it is given a name reflective of all the hopes and dreams and gratitude of the family. These moments of family joy reminded me of the picture book Joyful Song by Lesléa Newman and illustrator Susan Gal. 

Naming holds a special place in Judaism. When prophecy disappeared the Sages stated that what was left was the small fraction of prophecy needed to bestow a name on a child. Although interestingly, in Vayetzei Rachel and Leah name all the children (including those of their maidservants), while later customs gave this right over to the father who names the child upon being called to the Torah for a girl, or at the bris ceremony for a boy. Which is why I particularly enjoy that in Joyful Song there are two mothers sharing this moment at a newer Jewish tradition – a simchat bat – the baby naming ceremony for girls. 

The names given in the Bible are expressions of thanks for the good fortune of a child, but also prayers for the future. They so poignantly reflect the mothers reality – Leah’s continued dreams of receiving some of her husbands attention and affection and Rachel’s pleas to be a mother. Rachel’s first child, Joseph, is given a name that means “may God add on another child to me.” In Joyful Song there is a big brother involved in the naming too, and the family does choose a prayer for the name – a wish that their new daughter and sister will live a life of Joyful Song. May we all be so lucky

Toldot is a fan favorite of Jewish day school children everywhere who love acting out the famous scene in which Yaakov pretends to be Eisav. No matter how limited their Hebrew skills, they all manage to memorize “hakol kol Yaakov vihayadayim yidei Eisva.” But if we look on this parsha with the eyes of adults, things start looking a whole less cute. There’s a lot to learn about both sibgling relationships and parenting here, and I think it pairs nicely with Elyssa Friedland’s novel Jackpot Summer.

It’s pretty clear Yaakov and Eisav are two very different people, even though they are twins. It’s also pretty clear that each parent had a favorite. Not a great combination, and the resulting sibling rivalry is still causing issues today. When we compete for our parents love, we end up losing each other. (Or, in this particular case, trying to kill each other, but I digress). In Jackpot Summer the Jacobson siblings are feeling lost after the passing of their mother, when three out of four of them win the lotto. Immediately, we are placed in an awkward resource limited situation. The brother who was formerly rich, and somewhat lording it over the other three, is now the poor one. Jealously and resentment fester on all sides, and everyone is even more lost than before the lotto ticket was purchased. Nobody is actively trying to kill anyone else, but it’s still pretty bleak,

Teaching each child according to their needs is a mainstay of Jewish education. One wonders what might have happened to Eisav if different parental methods were used on him vs. Yaakov. If they had not been marked in utero by a prophecy that labeled one as good and the other evil? Would he still have turned to idolatry and hunting? Could he have found a way to channel his natural abilities and gifts into something more productive? We’ll never know. I personally also wonder why only child could receive a blessing, and why one had to be placed over another as a Lord. I’m sure there are commentaries out there that address this issue, but I like to sit in the discomfort a little bit and let it teach me something. In the ideal situation each child feels like they are the favorite. That they are loved by their parents for their unique contributions. Only then, on that strong foundation, can their relationships survive resource allocation events like someone receiving the better blessing, or winning the lottery. The Jacobson’s, thanks to their childhood full of love and laughter, find a way to share their newfound resources and pull each up. Without anyone being a Lord over anyone else. If only Yaakov and Eisva had managed something similar, we’d be living in a very different world.

A few times a year there will be a book that is literally everywhere. I cannot escape its presence, even if I stay off social media. In the case of Esther Chehebar’s debut novel, Sisters of Fortune, I couldn’t even go to the beach this summer without spotting it! (To be fair, she had her launch in the beach club. I should’ve expected it). In this particular case, Sisters Of Fortune, is also a book I really wanted to see succeed, because it is the first traditionally published book set in the contemporary Syrian Jewish community of Brooklyn (for some historical fiction see our review of Corie Adjmi’s The Marriage Box).  So I was delighted to see that pink cover out and about and on my socials. But it also meant that I had to wait forever for my library hold to come in and even then I could only access it via e-book. 

Did Sisters of Fortune live up to all the hype and expectations? Yes and no. The book does an excellent job of representing the Syrian Jewish community.  Its strongest paragraphs appear when Chehebar ponders the push and pull of the community – how it can provide everything and be a tremendous source of support and comfort, while simultaneously stifling personal expression and setting unrealistic financial and beauty expectations. She captures the tension between immigrant grandparents, who are frankly happy to simply have escaped persecution, and their grandchildren who reflect their new homeland by wanting more out of life. 

It was in the plot where I wanted just a little bit more to satisfy my admittedly sky high expectations. The novel follows three sisters – Nina, Fortune, and Lucy – who are all on the uber competitive community marriage market. (Side bar: am I the only person wondering why Fortune is named after the paternal grandmother when the book itself states that this honor usually goes to the firstborn girl and therefore should have been given to Nina?) When the book opens Nina is a rebellious “older single” who wants to escape the community that has written her off us no longer worthy since she is still single well into her twenties, while Fortune is engaged and participating in a lot of pre-wedding hoopla. Except Fortune doesn’t appear to be having all that much fun despite being the bride. That honor goes to her little sister Lucy, who is still in high school but is universally acknowledged to be the beauty of the family and is dating a very eligible (although significantly older) man, making her the envy of all her teenage friends and the community at large. 

There is the potential for a lot of tension and character growth for the sisters. They each have a unique voice and personality. Unfortunately, none of their stories hit perfectly for me. Fortune has a surprising arc, but the moments of her deepest personal reflection and growth appear to have been left on the cutting room floor in an unexpected time lapse in the last third of the book. Nina’s story was almost perfect, I simply would have liked to have seen her get more page time to explore her reconciliation with the community outside of her dating prospects. Meanwhile, Lucy’s is the story that I’m guessing upsets most readers, because it involves an age gap romance. I’m not actually opposed to age gap romances myself. However, this particular story involves a high schooler in an intimate relationship with a thirty year old, and the community is depicted as practically pushing her into his arms since he’s rich. It’s consensual, but still an ethically complex situation that could have been the set up for a critical look at a situation that is actually not that uncommon in many communities around the world. Instead, the broader societal implications are largely unexplored. Chehebar shows the relationship beginning to fray, most tellingly in Lucy’s discomfort any time she has to leave the community, but in the end further discussion is curtailed in order to name drop a large list of luxury goods that are keeping Lucy happy. I don’t mind a happy ending – I prefer them! – but I’d love a little more depth to the journey that takes us there.

Aside from the age gap relationship, I would also point out for my readers who have sensitivity to disordered eating and body image, that this book does contain graphic descriptions of both. If you can name an eating disorder, or other body distortion, someone in this book has it and everyone around her generally thinks it’s a good thing because it improves her marriage prospects. I actually thought this was very realistic, and one of the few topics that Chehebar really did not shy away from, but I know it’s a hard no for some readers as it causes them to relapse on their own condition etc. If that’s you – go ahead and skip this book. 

Sisters of Fortune is ambitious and it carries the wight of an entire community on its back. It mostly manages to meet those goals, but I got the sense that it is hard to be publicly critical of a community that one still lives in. Read this book for the representation, for the Syrian culture and food, and the depiction of the dynamics of sisterhood – how women can both support and compete with each other. And yes, it does make an excellent beach read.

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Fine It: Amazon | Bookshop

Chayei Sarah opens with sadness, but ends with joy. After the burial arrangements for Sarah are concluded, Abraham realizes it’s time to find Yitzchak a wife. Wanting to marry within the family, (that was a thing back then, just go with it), he deputizes his servant Eliezer to go seek a bride among his relatives in Haran. This is worthy of note. Eliezer is the first named matchmaker in history! And his job is so important and tricky he has to pray to God for a miracle to make sure he succeeds. Which reminds me of the book I literally just read – Heidi Shertok’s Match Me If You Can. 

Heidi Shertok narrators tend to be delightful goofballs, which might make you wonder how I’m pairing this book to the parsha, but hear me out. The heroine, Ashira, is a matchmaker whose business is now on the rocks thanks to a disgruntled former client. In order to save her reputation, she’s trying to match the most desirable, yet un-matchable, single she knows – her brothers best friend. Her task seems insurmountable, as did Eliezer’s. Frankly, every successful is a miracle from God, no matter who is involved. Two people are finding each other amongst so many others and committing to spend their lives together. A little prayer is more than understandable given the circumstances. 

Since Match Me if You Can is a romance novel, it will not be a spoiler to let you know that Ashira begins to have feelings of her own for her tricky client. They are pictured on the cover together. However, you may be surprised to know that Eliezer too had other designs for his client. When he asks Abraham to absolve him of the responsibility in case he fails, Rashi comments that he was secretly hoping to suggest his own daughter as a match rather than importing a bride from Haran. Also not a spoiler to say that this plan never stood a chance since Rivkah was revealed via the miracle of the water rising, her kindness in offering to water the animals, and her courage in telling her family she would indeed go with Eliezer when they try and convince her to stay a little longer. 

More beautiful though? The realization that love can help us work through grief. We end the Parsha on Yitzchak finally being comforted over the death of his mother. Through his marriage, he finds some peace. Ashira is struggling with the passing of her mother, and one of the best signs that this is the man for her is his consistent ability to motivate her to address her own health. Love is a healing process. And it’s a joy to end a book or a parsha on it. 

Mari Lowe books have always been the epitome of Orthodox Jewish representation for me. The first time I held one of her books in my hand (Aviva vs. the Dybbuk) was the first time I saw myself in a traditionally published book. It was a meaningful moment, followed by even more meaningful moments as that book and Lowe’s subsequent book both went on to win many honors, including Sydney Taylor awards. In her third middle grade offering, Beinoni, Lowe moves away from the world of contemporary orthodox Jewish girls and into the realm of orthodox Jewish boys who fight monsters. Literally. Beinoni has a male main character named Ezra and his bar mitzvah is going to come with one huge hitch. Forget messing up the Torah chanting or fumbling the speech. Ezra must fight a demon or watch the whole world go up in smoke. Talk about parties to end all parties.

The story takes its inspiration from a mysterious Talmud story (admittedly the Talmud is full of mysterious stories. We love to see it!). After the destruction of the temple, so the story goes, the Rabbis prayed to God to remove mans inclination toward idol worship. God granted their wish and the evil inclination took the shape of a lion cub that was promptly trapped in a lead container. Thus explaining my lack of drive to bow down to inanimate objects and whatnot. The trade off? Man was no longer capable of prophecy. The Talmud story goes on to explain why the process couldn’t be repeated towards other evil inclinations, but we’ll leave it there to discuss the book at hand.

In the fictional world of Beinoni, Lowe takes the Talmud story even further. Instead of simply trapping the beast once, she sets up a premise in which the evil inclination returns every 70 years to face a special chosen one – a bar mitzvah boy or girl – who must slay it to maintain balance in the world. Should this young person who frankly never asked for this anyway fail in their job, the evil inclination will grow stronger and spread its awfulness across the world until the next chosen one becomes thirteen and gets another chance at defeating it. In Lowe’s take on the story, this is not just the evil inclination for idolatry, but rather the source of all evil. Without it there world is in a Beinoni state. Beinoni translates to in between, medium, so-so, meh, tepid, you get the picture. Sure, nothing terrible can happen? But the trade off? the world didn’t just lose prophecy. It lost the ability for anything exceptional – good or bad. Fail to kill the beast, and there will be war and famine and unspeakable atrocities, but cage it and you’ll get nothing but mediocrity from the entire universe.

How anyone has the right to say that’s a good deal, and make that decision for everyone, is a central question of the book. Especially sine the decision appears to be resting with a random thirteen year old who just so happens to have a funky birthmark.

Ezra is proud to be the chosen one, and feeling really pumped for his mission, until the Beinoni state of the world starts to slip. There are wars, fires, and tragedies abound. But even more disconcerting? As Chosen One, Ezra was always on top of his class and his fighting game. With the breaks taken off everyone else, he’s suddenly struggling to keep up with anything. And nobody believes him. If they suspect the state of the world is slipping, they most certainly don’t want to admit it. Which is how he ends up totally failing school and hanging out with students his father does not approve of. All while some secret society appears to be trying to kidnap him to keep the world out of the Beinoni state. It’s a lot for one almost thirteen year old to handle. Then again? So was defeating a mythic beast in the first place.

Readers who love Lowe’s surprise twists will not be disappointed (although I am proud to say I figured this one out about 1/4 into the book). In addition, while we have a male protagonist, the coolest character is arguably Mariam whom we will forgive for the unconventional spelling of her name because she is a total badass even without being the chosen one. Seriously, when the boys finally let her into the investigation she pretty much blows the whole thing wide open for them. Making all of us wonder if that birthmark maybe ended up on the wrong kid. Plus, there is a warm and loving depiction of Orthodox life, both at home and in Yeshiva. Including how to deal with an ADHD diagnosis. Lowe is an educator and it shows in her thoughtful depiction of what goes on at the yeshiva once the boys can finally reach their potential – or fail spectacularly – since Beinoni is broken.

There are deep questions here, both about friendship and good and evil. Nothing is black and white, and as the Rabbi’s learn in the original story – sometimes the evil inclination is a necessary thing. Other times not so much. How to find that balance is a great question for bar or bat mitzvah children to be asking themselves, even if they don’t have to slay a fiery demon.

Note: Bookishlyjewish received a copy of this book from the publisher after we asked for one.

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Find It: Amazon | Bookshop

Another packed week! Vayera brings us three angels (they have always fascinated me, and one day I mean to write about them!), Sarah conceiving a child in her old age, the destruction of Sodom including some unfortunate repercussions for Lot’s wife and Lot himself, another abduction of Sarah, not to mention the sacrifice of Isaac. Where to even begin? I’d like to tackle the banishment of Ishmael. In Leah Hagar Cohen’s literary novel To & Fro the reader meets two different stories, each that can be related back to this episode.

Let me just say that while the Torah is the coolest book ever, To & Fro comes in as a close second. The book has two covers, and you can start reading from the front or back cover and that will determine which story you read fist. They have overlaping elements but are independent. In one story we have Ani, chasing a man on a horse and trying to reconcile her past which has overtones of the Ishmael and Hagar story. Ani is straight out of a Kafka parable and those allusions are felt heavily, yet Ani creates a story all her own – including some interesting commentary on Jewish learning. Meanwhile, the second story takes place in regular old Manhattan and follows the coming of age of Annamae. Which is a different type of journey, but no less daunting.

There is no hard and fast moral lesson in To & Fro. Instead the text asks us to remember that there are always two sides to every story, and that we need to listen to each other. Sometimes nobody is right and nobody is wrong and everybody is right and everybody is wrong all at the same time. Learning how to hold that complex thought in ones head is part of growing up. Both stories are about loneliness, searching, and kindness even in the face of that which we do not understand. It makes a perfect companion for the Parsha this week.

There is something so nostalgic about the books we read as children. Every writer has a huge list of books that takes them back to special places and times in their lives. It makes sense that memoir writer Ilana Kurshan, who has essentially built her life and career around books, wants to talk about reading out loud as a means to explore being a mother to five small children. However, she’s not content to simply describe the struggle of squeezing in some reading time while parenting. In Children of The Book, her second memoir, she links her family’s reading to the five books of the Chumash and takes us through both literary and parenting lessons learned through the process of sharing beloved childhood books with the next generation.

As someone who found great meaning in Kurshan’s first book – If All The Seas Were Ink -I was excited for Children of the Book. Once I dove in, I could tell immediately it featured the same erudition – I had to crack open a dictionary at least five times during the reading – but it lacked some of the personal touch of Kurshan’s prior work. That is understandable, because this time around Kurshan is not just writing about herself. She’s writing about her kids. She needs to lean a little sparse on the details in order to protect their privacy. It is an understandable concession, but it takes some of the oomph out of the prose.

Where the book is most successful – in my opinion – was the chapter on Vayikra in which the corona pandemic was compared to the Jews wandering the desert. I fully related to Kurshan running to the library right before lock down, while everyone else was probably running to the grocery store. And yes, books did save the sanity of my isolation pod (although in our case it was audiobooks). I also really loved her honesty – some of the books she read as a youth are not quite the utopias her rosy memories make them out to be. Indeed, her husband challenged her to read critical reviews about Laura Ingalls Wilder and the ‘Little House’ books so that she would know exactly what she was handing her children. I applaud both him and Kurshan for taking that critical look, rather than just glossing it over, and sharing that moment with us.

With five kids, it’s impossible not to note that every person will have their own taste. Or in the case of her twins, might need a series that belongs uniquely to them. For my own part, when Kurshan mentions The Giving Tree, I had a little laugh to myself. I absolutely hate that book and this aversion does not stem from my adult understanding of the complex dynamics of selfishness, parenting, or ecological forces that currently give me pause when I consider the story. I remember a teacher reading The Giving Tree out loud in school, and have a very visceral reaction. Mostly, I felt like I wanted to vomit and cry and hide under my desk. I was so distressed I could not focus for the rest of the day. From then on, whenever I was in a room with that book, I hid it beneath others so it could not distract me from afar. Yet here it was, listed as one of someone else’s favorites. Because we’re all different people, and we bring different things to the books we read, which by necessity means we will take different things from them too. Which is something I try to remind myself when I write these reviews. I’m just one woman, with one small opinion.

Children of the Book is a wonderful book for any bookish parent wondering where in the world the time for reading and writing went. It is also for people without children who want to recall those glorious reading days of their youth. Mostly, it’s for those among us who love reading and want to think about how to transmit this love to the next generation – even if they choose different books than we expect.

Note: BookishlyJewish received a copy of this book from the publisher after we asked for one.

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Find It: Amazon | Bookshop