Review by New York Times Review
I BELIEVE in scaring children a little. My daughter has never totally forgiven me for reading to her when she was not yet 3 Maurice Sendak's "Outside Over There," with its faceless goblins and their theft of a little girl's baby sister. I like to think, though, that being haunted by that macabre book led to my daughter's fanatical devotion to fairy tales, with which she now alarms her dolls. So I was disposed to adore "The Golem's Latkes," by Eric A. Kimmel, a Hanukkah story entwined with the legend of the golem, the Jewish Frankenstein. And I like the book fine. But it would be too tame for my daughter. In a prefatory note, Kimmel explains that his story draws on "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" as well as the golem story; Goethe wrote the poem about the enchanted broom that won't stop fetching water, but I detect the influence of the Disney movie in Rimmel's version. Rabbi Judah of Prague takes a lump of clay and makes a giant. He writes a magic word on the giant's forehead (the Hebrew word "emet," or "truth"). The giant comes to life, and turns out to be a handy sort of fellow to have around the Jewish quarter. There's only one problem. He doesn't know when to quit digging or plastering or sweeping or washing. He has to be told: "Golem, enough." When Rabbi Judah hires a new housemaid to clean house and make latkes for the coming holiday while he goes out for the day - then gives her permission to use the golem as backup crew - well, let's just say that it actually is possible to make too many latkes. In older versions of the golem story, when the monster got out of control, which he did by murdering and rampaging rather than frying up too much food, Rabbi Judah changed the word "emet" to "met," which is Hebrew for "death," and the golem collapsed in a heap of dust. The denouement in "The Golem's Latkes" is rather more lifeaffirming. Aaron Jasinski's expressive illustrations bring a sly raffishness to the characters, counteracting the Magic Kingdom cheerfulness of this unusually uncrooked Prague. Even the Czech emperor Rudolf - not otherwise considered a friend of the Jews - joins in the fun. "Chanukah Lights," by Michael J. Rosen and illustrated by Robert Sabuda, is a pop-up book with elaborate paper cutouts and an appealing premise: Throughout history, Jews over the world have lighted candles on each of the eight nights of Hanukkah, celebrating the holiday of freedom. This gives Sabuda, a talented paper engineer, the chance to fabricate land- or cityscapes of historical interest and architectural charm, one for each night. There's the Temple with its Hellenistic facade, where the oil lamp miraculously burned for eight days; a large tent in the desert where the Jews once wandered, complete with inquisitive camels; an enormous synagogue surrounded by palm trees and windmills, presumably meant to be one of the old synagogues built in the Dutch Indies; and so on. On the sixth night we get to the Jewish Lower East Side, a tour-de-force of pop-up artistry, featuring vendors' carts and a dray horse and wash hanging out to dry between realistic tenements. All of this is done with plain white cardboard, but the absence of color in no way diminishes the magic, and children old enough not to wreck these delicate constructions will surely love them. Their parents will have to work a bit at explaining Rosen's text, however. Those who don't already know quite a lot about Jewish history will be mystified by the captions, which allude elliptically to different moments in the long Jewish quest for refuge from persecution. Why are Jews lighting Hanukkah candles in the holds of square-topsail schooners? What do towering, elegant onion-domed churches have to do with the Jewish search for safety? The mushy, overwrought writing doesn't clarify much, referring vaguely to refugees longing for peace or families huddling in a shtetl. I would not expect the audience for this book to know that Jews crossed the Atlantic looking for religious freedom with the first settlers of the New World, which explains the old-fashioned ships, or that the Russian Orthodox church sometimes helped foment pogroms in Jewish villages. Though children may be too enchanted by the cutouts to care. David A. Adler's "Story of Hanukkah" introduces the basic rudiments of the Hanukkah legend to, say, kindergartners, with illustrations that remind me of my Hebrew school Hanukkah pageants. Bearded Jewish men with blue cloth thingies on their heads, Jewish women with the same, Greek soldiers with horsehair crests on their helmets: I've worn those costumes in my life, or know someone who has. These figures sometimes walk and sometimes float through these pages with a Chagalllike indifference to the law of gravity. Look more closely, though, and you'll see that Jill Weber, the illustrator, has enlivened the kitsch with some nice detail. Her soldiers wear convincing-looking greaves on their legs. There's a pig hiding behind a column; perhaps he's hiding so as not to become the pig sacrifice Antiochus IV made in the Temple (though that incident is not mentioned in the text). My daughter, a Jewish day-school student, was shocked by the vivid image of a Greek soldier slicing a Torah scroll in half with his sword, an unthinkably blasphemous act to most Jews. If you want your children to be seized by the story of Hanukkah, rather than dutifully learning it, I have to recommend another book: Maida Silverman's "Festival of Lights: The Story of Hanukkah," first published in 1987, with lovely illustrations by Carol Ewing. Silverman and Ewing understand that children want to know what life felt like back then and how things really went down: what foods would have been for sale at the Jerusalem shuk, what the town of Modiin might have looked like on a summer afternoon, the agonizing suspense accompanying the Maccabees' unlikely military successes. "Festival of Lights" is the fairly detailed story of a populist revolt, written at maybe one grade level above "The Story of Hanukkah." I read it to my children when they were in preschool, and then again every year. They didn't understand every word, but they grasped that the Maccabees were real people living through terrible times, that the outcome could have been quite different, and that whether or not the miracle of the oil burning for eight days happened or didn't (they debate this topic), the miracle of Jews surviving to tell their stories did. Rededicating the Temple, from "The Story of Hanukkah." Judith Shulevitz is the author of "The Sabbath World: Glimpses of a Different Order of Time."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [December 4, 2012]
Review by Booklist Review
Not as scary as traditional golem monster stories, this lively picture book blends the Jewish legend with the story of the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Rabbi Judah models a great clay giant that can do whatever anyone asks. There is only one problem: the golem does not know when to stop. With the first night of Hanukkah arriving, the busy rabbi instructs his housemaid to use the golem to make lots of latkes but never leave him unattended. Of course she does, and in return the golem does not stop: Peel. Chop. Mix. Fry. Peel. . . The mayhem is great messy fun for storytelling, with bright acrylic double-page spreads that show the huge giant with his latkes filling the kitchen, tumbling into the street, and then forming a golden brown mountain above the city until the rabbi rushes home to say Golem, enough! And there is enough for the whole of Prague to join the delicious feast. More appetizing than frightening, no?--Rochman, Hazel Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
The legendary golem-a lump of clay brought to life by Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel of Prague-again comes to life in this adaptation by Kimmel (Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins), who infuses it with a good touch of The Sorcerer's Apprentice. One day when Rabbi Judah needs to meet with the emperor, he leaves his servant girl Basha to prepare the house for Hanukkah, with the assistance of the golem. The result is a town full of latkes, which can fuel a big Hanukkah party. Kimmel has the pacing of a comic, and the illustrations by Jasinski (The Heart's Language) are richly detailed. A selection of the PJ Library. Ages 5-8. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 1-3-Spinning the Jewish legend of the golem into a tale inspired by "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," this book disappoints on several levels. When Rabbi Judah of Prague must meet with the Emperor right before the first night of Hanukkah, he tells his housemaid that she can have the golem's help making latkes for the evening's festivities but warns her not to leave it home alone. Predictably, the Basha goes to visit a friend, leaving the golem to make latkes until they spill out the door and fill the streets of the city. However, one must wonder how batches and batches of latkes are made from a single basket of potatoes. This conundrum is exacerbated by the general flatness of the narrative, in spite of a text perked up by the refrain "Peel. Chop. Mix. Fry. Peel. Chop. Mix. Fry." Richly hued acrylic-on-wood illustrations nicely depict golden latkes piled high, but are marred by the portrayal of the golem as a large gray Gumby-like figure with the letters EMET (Hebrew for "truth") etched on its forehead. By focusing solely on the golem as automaton, young readers unfamiliar with this character's rich and complex history in Jewish mysticism and literature are being shortchanged.-Teri Markson, Los Angeles Public Library (c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
The renowned Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague and his mythical golem appear in this Hanukkah fairy tale inspired byThe Sorcerer's Apprenticeand reminiscent of Tomie dePaola'sStrega Nona.Rabbi Judah has much to do but little time. When he must visit the emperor, he allows his new housemaid, Basha, the assistance of the golem to clean the house and make latkes for the first night of the Rabbi's Hanukkah party. Basha must direct the golem to stop his task by saying, "Golem, enough." Basha, however, is so impressed by the golem's effortless, incessant work she decides to visit a friend while the golem continues to "PEEL. CHOP. MIX. FRY." Hours later, a mountain of golden, crispy latkes overtakes the city walls, proving that the golem indeed does "have clay for brains ... [and] doesn't know when to quit." As all Prague residents happily partake in the Hanukkah delicacy, Basha wonders if a mountain of golem-baked hamantaschen can be possible for Purim.... Rich, earthy-toned acrylic paints on wood panels bring this predictable yet amusing Old World yarn to life with detailed brush strokes to invoke the mottling of the hand-molded clay giant or the silky fur of the Rabbi's wideshtreimelhat. The golem, which could be frightening, here is painted with a beatific smile and, despite his size, looks about as threatening as Gumby.Kimmel's storytelling is effective in its use of suspense, humor, trope and repetition, making a fine read-aloud holiday treat. (author's note)(Picture book. 5-8)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
