Joshua Ladon
Many Jewish encounters with Torah begin not in classrooms or synagogues, but by listening to one’s parents talk at the dinner table or bedtime, through children’s literature. David Hartman once wrote that “the traditional Jew does not begin with immediacy, but by listening to a story from his or her parents… A Jew’s self-assertion has to be within the family.”[1] A relationship to the Divine, commitment to the tradition, and sense of Jewish identity, on this account, is not discovered in a private spiritual moment, but performed through participation in an inherited drama – retold, interpreted, and embodied in the intimate space of the home.
In that sense, children’s Jewish books are not ancillary to Jewish life, nor preparatory tools for “real” learning later on. They are among the primary sites where Jewish memory, theology, and practice are first encountered. As recent scholarship by Miriam Udell, Deena Aranoff, and Rachel Gross has shown, the domestic sphere and reading practices play constitutive roles in how Jewish identities are formed and sustained.
Udell suggests that children’s literature can be read as a record of what a community understands to matter most, an expression of the values, commitments, and ways of life it hopes to pass on to the next generation, observing, “every nation’s juvenile literature bears the stamp of its founding moment.”[2] In her work on modern Yiddish children’s literature, that stamp included emerging ideas about child psychology, class, gender, and class belonging. Mechon Hadar’s newly published The Devash Jr. Book of Shemot, written by Chana Kupetz and Ephrayim Unterman with illustrations by Rivka Tsinman, similarly reflects the ethos of the institution, which presents the Book of Exodus not simply in moral terms, but also with an eye to lives shaped by study, obligation, and shared practice.
The Devash Jr. Book of Shemot is designed for children five and up, and meant to be read slowly, often with an adult, alongside the weekly Torah cycle rather than consumed all at once. It is best read not simply as a children’s adaptation of the biblical text, but as a statement about how Jewish tradition is handed down – through shared reading, careful storytelling, and a refusal to underestimate young readers.
The book is organized by weekly parashah. Each section opens with the name of the portion, printed in both Hebrew and transliterated English. The story then unfolds across two-page spreads – the facing pages seen when the book is opened – each one advancing the narrative and anchored by a single source note printed at the bottom of the page. Most often, that note is a reference to a specific biblical verse. Occasionally, instead of citing a verse, the book includes a short rabbinic reference of one or two lines, as in the opening on Shifra and Puah, where a rabbinic tradition identifying them with Yocheved and Miriam is noted.
The book also includes a number of small, intentional pedagogical features. Certain Hebrew terms are rendered in transliteration, without repeatedly pausing to explain or translate, helping to acculturate readers to key language over time. Names are referred to in transliteration as well: Israelites are referred to throughout as Bnei Yisrael, Moses as Moshe, and Aaron as Aharon. The plagues are presented in a structured and clear way: each plague is numbered and visually set apart from the prose, with the number printed inside a colored circle that breaks up the text and marks progression through the story. Each is also given a brief descriptive label tied to its defining characteristic – the second plague (frogs) described as “the jumpiest,” the third (lice) as “the itchiest and scratchiest” – giving young readers concrete ways to distinguish between them.
The illustrations make frequent use of both ancient and contemporary imagery. Sometimes, these elements appear together within a single scene; in the opening of parashat Shemot, as the text describes Bnei Yisrael growing and multiplying, for example, children of many ethnicities are shown playing together in a desert setting. Some tend sheep, stand near a well, or chase chickens – details that fit a biblical landscape – while one child, in the same scene, plays hopscotch.
At other times, the book separates ancient and modern imagery across scenes. One illustration may depict a biblical setting, while the next uses a contemporary image to convey its point. In parashat Mishpatim, for instance, the laws governing responsibility for another person’s property – which differ among the renter, the borrower, the paid guard, and the unpaid guard – are illustrated through a modern bowling alley, using familiar situations to distinguish between the different legal roles.
The visual language of the book is especially striking in its treatment of key moments in the Exodus story. Scenes such as the Israelites’ being freed after the tenth plague, the pillar of fire guiding them through the desert, and the thunder and lightning of revelation at Sinai are rendered with color and movement that give these moments weight on the page. Alongside these scenes, the book also shows considerable visual creativity, such as through a three-page sequence in Tetzaveh, that unfolds as though at a tailor, to depict the creation of the High Priest’s garments. These are not simply illustrative choices, but visual ways of thinking through the text. In these moments, images function as another layer of interpretation rather than as decoration.
The book’s prose consistently takes young readers seriously, presenting the biblical story in ways that cultivate emotional awareness without overstatement or explanation. Rather than telling children how characters feel, the text often allows feeling to emerge through pacing and repetition. When the Israelites reach the sea and sense danger approaching, for instance, the narrative slows and tightens: “When they were near the sea, Benei Yisrael heard a rumbling sound. It was getting louder and louder. Could it be? Oh no! The Egyptian chariots were chasing after them, coming closer and closer. What could they do? They were trapped!” The tension of the moment is allowed to build fully, so that the splitting of the sea that follows is experienced not as a sudden spectacle, but as a response to fear and uncertainty already felt by the reader.
Each chapter ends with a short summary page. These pages typically include a brief recap of the episode, a question or idea to think about, and a short list of suggested behaviors or practices – some related to ethical behavior and others connected to halakhic ritual. This is called the “Try It Out” section. Some of these activities are designed to help children connect to the lived experience of the biblical characters. In parashat Shemot, for example, readers are invited to embody Miriam’s role watching over Moses in the basket by asking their parents if they can, “keep watch over something the way Miriam watched her baby brother.” Other activities are more directly tied to halakhic practice. In parashat Va’era, which introduces the first seven plagues, readers are encouraged to try out washing and blessing one’s hands before eating bread, drawing a connection between Moses raising his hands to stop the hail and the practice of lifting one’s hands during the blessing. After learning about the High Priest’s clothing in parashat Tetzaveh, young readers are encouraged to dress up for Shabbat.
The range of activities helps clarify the book’s underlying approach. One might have expected the Va’era activity, in particular, to hew closer to the chapter’s central themes. The plagues raise large questions about power, suffering, and divine intervention, and a different pedagogical choice could have leaned into reenactment or theological reflection. Instead, the book uses the opportunity to encourage a halakhic practice, subtly redirecting attention from spectacle to attention, building connection to Jewish tradition through shared practices taken up over time.
The authors do not attempt to include every episode or law in each parashah. Instead, the book selects particular narrative moments and halakhic ideas. The result is not a comprehensive retelling, but a curated one, guided by pedagogical priorities rather than completeness. The book also aims to take both its young readers and its material seriously. The biblical book of Shemot introduces difficult themes almost immediately, including violence directed at children. In the first parashah, the Torah recounts Pharaoh’s decree that Hebrew baby boys be killed. The episode is not avoided or reframed beyond recognition. The authors present the decree plainly, writing that Pharoah instructs the midwives to see whether a newborn is a boy or a girl and, ”if the baby is a boy, to kill him and make it look like an accident.” The language is direct and unadorned, reflecting the severity of the biblical moment without commentary.
It is easy to imagine this passage prompting questions from children reading with their parents. In that sense, the book opens space for shared study, allowing difficult material to be encountered as-is and discussed within the context of the home. This is what I am most excited for – to read this book, and future volumes, with my youngest. Its value will not be realized in a single sitting, but over time, as we follow along with the weekly Torah cycle, allowing it to become part of our shared rhythms. I am curious how reading it might strengthen our Shabbat dinner conversations, which images and stories she returns to, and which practices she is drawn to as these inherited narratives further guide our family’s life.
[1] David Hartman, A Heart of Many Rooms: Celebrating the Many Voices Within Judaism. United States: Jewish Lights, 2001. 138.
[2] Miriam Udel, Modern Jewish Worldmaking Through Yiddish Children’s Literature. United States: Princeton University Press, 2025. xiv.
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