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304 pages, Hardcover
Published August 26, 2025
"The Talmud teaches that any child who is old enough to hold his father's hand and ascend to Jerusalem is obligated to make a pilgrimage to the Temple on certain festivals. Now that my son is old enough to hold my hand, grasp the banister, and climb the stairs himsel, he is ready for the library...
Visits to the library with Yitzvi are highly ritualized; I can generally predict exactly what books he will choose for me to read to him, and in which order. But the ritual is important to both of us. I think of the sacrifices the Israelites are commanded to offer in the book of Leviticus - each sacrifice must be prepared and offered exactly as God specifies, with little room for variation or improvisation. Unlike in the park, where I have a hard time paying full attention to my child, there is a devotional aspect to my library visits with Yitzvi that requires my heightened presence. If only I can understand what is taking place between us in the library, perhaps I'll understand the meaning behind the sacrificial rites that govern the book of Leviticus - the confession of sin, the ascent to the sacrificial altar, the intimate encounter in the sacred shrine."
"At the library we try to follow the rules, but it's not always easy for a toddler. One of Yitzvi's favorite activities is pulling the books off a high shelf, which he can reach only when standing on tiptoe, and watching as each book falls to the floor with a thud. I furrow my brow and look at him sternly. Immediately his shoulders stiffen; he knows I disapprove. We do not dare reshelve the books he has dropped - only the librarians are allowed to shelve, and they will reprimand us if they catch us presuming to know which book goes where. Instead, we carry the books to the cart by the circulation desk, where they will await reshelving by the next librarian on duty.
When we are ready to check out our books, I approach the circulation desk near the entryway with trepidation, conscious that Yitzvi and I are likely to be admonished. Often I hold him on my hip when it's our turn, because I don't want him to run off and pull more books off the shelves. On the wall adjacent to the door is another temptation - a row of seven light switches, like the Menorah, the seven-branched candelabra in the Tabernacle. Yitzvi reaches out his arm and flicks the lights on and off, on and off, turning his head back and forth from the switches on the wall to the fluorescent strips on the ceiling to take the measure of the power he wields. "The switches - don't touch them," the librarian says, holding the due date stamp hovering over the circulation card until I either put down my child or reprimand him, or both. Only the librarians may kindle the lamps.
Like the Levitical priests in the Temple, librarians are public servants, working to maintain order. They help their patrons find the right books to engage, inspire, and inform, similar to the priests, whose duties include assisting visitors to the Temple to purify, confess, and achieve atonement. If librarians sometimes seem stern and fastidious, perhaps it is because they, like the Levites in times past, are aware of the gravity and sanctity of their work."
