It is Spooky Season out in the greater world! Last year, I wrote a midrash about the Witch of Endor, inspired by Samuel 28. This year, I thought it might be fun to learn about one of the spookier Ashkenazi legends.
Ashkenazi folklore, the stories carried and reshaped by Jewish communities across Central and Eastern Europe, is populated by dybbuks, restless souls who attach themselves to the living; shedim, demons with varying degrees of interest in human affairs; and mysterious beings who complicate the already considerable work of being a person. These traditions drew from Jewish texts and mysticism while also developing in conversation with neighboring cultures.
These stories could entertain, frighten, warn, and comfort. Like so much of folklore, this grew as a way of giving shape to experiences that can otherwise feel shapeless: grief that will not release us, danger we cannot control, longing for someone strong enough to keep the people we love safe. Which brings us to one of the most interesting characters in Ashkenazi folklore, the golem.
In the best-known telling, Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague, also known as the Maharal, fashions an invincible being from clay and brings it to life through sacred language. Its purpose is to protect the Jewish community from persecution and violent antisemitism. Here is a defender who cannot be intimidated, who possesses the strength its vulnerable creators need. But in some versions, that strength becomes dangerous, and the rabbi must undo what he has made (1).
This myth arose from a desire to feel protected in the midst of antisemitism, to explore the responsibilities that come with strength when we have it, and what we owe beings that we bring into the world. In this way, there is something tender and incredibly timely beneath the golem’s formidable exterior.
Today’s novelists and Jewish storytellers continue that conversation. Their golems become immigrants, companions, protectors, daughters, and beings who begin to question the purposes others have assigned them. The old clay holds new questions surprisingly well. So, if the gathering darkness has you reaching for a blanket and a good book, consider spending an evening in this corner of the Jewish imagination. Below are several acclaimed places to begin, along with a contemporary satire for those who prefer their folklore with a sharp sense of humor.
For adults
The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. A female golem and a Syrian jinni find themselves in immigrant New York, learning how to live among humans and alongside one another. Rich in questions of belonging, freedom, and obligation, this is a wonderful first choice. If it draws you in, continue with The Hidden Palace.
The World That We Knew by Alice Hoffman. A female golem protects a Jewish girl escaping Nazi Germany in a novel about women’s courage, love, and the choices that preserve our humanity. Winner of the Dayton Literary Peace Prize for fiction, this choice is beautiful and emotionally demanding, with Holocaust violence and loss.
The Puttermesser Papers by Cynthia Ozick. A learned New York woman creates a female golem, with extraordinary consequences for herself and her city. A National Book Award finalist, this is a witty, intellectually adventurous choice for those interested in longing, ambition, and the complications of getting what we think we want.
The Golem of Brooklyn by Adam Mansbach. A contemporary golem enters an America of antisemitism, popular culture, and deeply imperfect humans. Those who like irreverent Jewish satire will enjoy the humor and pointed questions about protection and vengeance.
For teens
Wrath Becomes Her by Aden Polydoros. A female golem created to avenge a murdered Jewish girl begins questioning her memories, her purpose, and her own humanity. A Sydney Taylor Honor Book with a starred School Library Journal review, this selection is best for older teens comfortable with intense Holocaust violence and body horror.
The Golem’s Eye by Jonathan Stroud. A dangerous golem threatens an alternative London in this witty fantasy about magic, power, and exploitation. The recipient of a starred Kirkus review, it is the second Bartimaeus novel; if you are interested in the larger series, begin with The Amulet of Samarkand.
Sweep: The Story of a Girl and Her Monster by Jonathan Auxier. For younger teens (and adults who appreciate a moving children’s novel) a Victorian chimney sweep finds an unexpected companion in a golem made of soot and ash. This is a moving story of friendship, grief, and care.
Footnotes
(1) The Maharal was a real rabbi and influential thinker who died in 1609. The stories connecting him to a golem appeared in print centuries later. Yudl Rosenberg’s 1909 collection helped establish the version many of us recognize today. As one might expect, the Prague golem belongs to the history of Jewish storytelling, rather than to the documented accomplishments of the Maharal.
