Jew­ish folk­lore has been an inex­haustible source of inspi­ra­tion for authors of children’s books. Among the many works based on tra­di­tion­al sources, Days of Awe stands out for its lit­er­ary and artis­tic dis­tinc­tion. Eric A. Kimmel’s text is based on a range of reli­gious and lit­er­ary sources, but his indeli­ble style gives the book its own iden­ti­ty. Sim­i­lar­ly, Sarah Green’s illus­tra­tions reflect clas­sic influ­ences, but are unique­ly her own inter­pre­ta­tion of a Jew­ish past.

Kim­mel offers an over­ar­ch­ing view of the Days of Awe with­out a didac­tic tone. His intro­duc­tion explains the sig­nif­i­cance of these solemn hol­i­days in terms that are mean­ing­ful to chil­dren. Each of the chap­ters is inde­pen­dent, but all are con­nect­ed through the themes of t’shuvah, tefi­lah, and tzedakah (repen­tance, prayer, and charity). 

“The Samovar” begins when Riv­ka, a poor house­wife, is vis­it­ed by a sol­dier ask­ing her to keep a pre­cious samovar for as long as sev­en years. Reluc­tant­ly, she agrees. This sto­ry becomes a les­son in self­less char­i­ty and its ulti­mate rewards. Riv­ka, and her hus­band, Haskel, are hum­ble peo­ple, sub­ject to doubts about their own actions. In his ​“Notes to the Sto­ries,” Kim­mel attrib­ut­es ​“The Samovar” to both medieval midrash and to Yid­dish author I. L. Peretz’s ​“Sev­en Good Years.” It also shares ele­ments with Peretz’s ​“The Magi­cian,” since the cou­ple con­sults their rab­bi to deter­mine if the sol­dier, and a mys­te­ri­ous vis­i­tor to her husband’s glove shop, rep­re­sent­ed evil forces or good ones. In both cas­es, he is iden­ti­fied with the Prophet Eli­jah. Kimmel’s char­ac­ters are as devel­oped as those of Peretz, with many nov­el­is­tic touch­es. The gen­er­ous cus­tomer in the shop ​“had on white gloves, a frock coat, a tall beaver hat, and car­ried a gold-head­ed cane. He walked over to the shop, stuck a mon­o­cle in his eye, and began look­ing at some­thing in the win­dow.” When the sol­dier returns for his samovar, he dra­mat­i­cal­ly unveils Rivka’s hard work: ​“He untied the string and fold­ed back the oil­cloth. The gleam­ing brass lit up the room like a chan­de­lier filled with candles.”

“The Shep­herd” con­trasts the heart­felt prayers of an une­d­u­cat­ed work­er to the cor­rect, but arro­gant, recita­tions of a rab­bi. ​“Rab­bi Eleazar and the Beg­gar” presents a great schol­ar from the famed Acad­e­my of Yavneh who learns to rec­og­nize his weak­ness when he shrinks from a poor beg­gar ask­ing for a blessing.

None of the char­ac­ters is an exam­ple of pure evil or utter good­ness; they share the human imper­fec­tions and strengths of every­one. Green’s rich­ly col­ored images echo the mix of tra­di­tion and inno­va­tion in the text. Riv­ka first appears braid­ing chal­lah in a por­trait framed by lush images of flow­ers and foods, along with the glove and samovar cen­tral to her sto­ry. Her cas­cad­ing black curls cov­er her shoul­ders. When she meets the sol­dier, her back is to the read­er as she faces him in half-shad­ow, but her hands-on-hips stance con­notes strength and inde­pen­dence. When the poor shep­herd, lift­ed by the puri­ty of his prayer, flies above the city of Cór­do­ba, Green’s homage to Cha­gall ele­vates the imagery.

This high­ly rec­om­mend­ed book will earn numer­ous read­ings, both dur­ing and after the Days of Awe.