Bubbe’s Top 10 Books for Jewish Kids

By Renee Septimus for Kveller

There has been a lot on Kveller about books for Jewish children but I have not seen any mention of my own favorites. So, after decades of reading to my children and grandchildren, here are my own top 10 picks for you to share with the children you love (between the ages of 3-8, all available on Amazon):

1. Yussel’s Prayer retold by Barbara Cohen: The story of a young cowherd and his simple Yom Kippur prayer. When my children were small, we read this every year on Yom Kippur night.

2. The Magician by Uri Shulevitz: Elijah the Prophet works his magic for an impoverished couple on Passover.

3. The Tale of Meshka the Kvetch by Carol Chapman: Need a laugh with a life lesson? This might be just the book for adults, too.

4. Joseph Who Loved the Sabbath retold by Marilyn Hirsh: A classic folktale based on Talmudic sources.

5. Brothers: A Hebrew Legend retold by Florence B. Freedman: The retelling of a legend with a loving message.molly's pilgrim

6. Molly’s Pilgrim by Barbara Cohen: I am giving my granddaughter the American Girl doll “Rebecca Rubin” for her 4th birthday. First I’ll read this story to her about a young Jewish immigrant to America.

7. Mrs. Katz and Tush by Patricia Polacco: I only recently found this book and love it! A moving, sweet story about an elderly Jewish woman and her African-American neighbors.

Although without an obvious “Jewish” theme, I also heartily recommend the following:

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Israeli Blog Will Make Healthy Food Fun For Your Kids

BY AYA EPHRATI, for NOCAMELS

Struggling to get your kids to eat their veggies? How about making their meal something fun? Meals With Kids is the pet project of Maor Bar, a Bezalel graduate of the Visual Communication department. Bar manages his own interactive studio that makes games and mobile apps for major brands in Israel and abroad. The blog began as a side project because of his oldest son, Yatir, who is a very picky eater.

“I felt like meals became a task for my wife, Shelly, and I. But instead of arguing with him, I decided to make it fun. I asked him what he would like to eat, and presented it in an exciting fashion like a pirate ship or a roaring dinosaur. With each time I was able to offer him new types of food – vegetables, cheeses, etc. – that he wouldn’t touch before,” Bar tells NoCamels.

At first Bar uploaded pictures to his Facebook page, and when hearing from friends that it worked with their children as well he decided to begin the blog to help parents he didn’t personally know. A Meals With Kids Facebook page has also garnered a community of parents who even post their own work.

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Every Day is Independence Day in Our House

By Carla Naumburg

They might as well be teenagers.

My daughters are 4 1/2 and 3, and other than their short stature, penchant for screaming rather than brooding, and a total inability to write snarky notes to each other, they’re basically teenagers. They’re in that unpredictable phase where one minute they want to be treated like grown ups (i.e. 8-year-olds), the next minute they want to snuggle on your lap and suck their thumbs, and God help you if you pick the wrong one.

The struggle for independence is alive and well in our house. I have no idea who’s winning, but I’m pretty sure it’s not me.

Exhibit A: 3-year-old has exactly two skirts she wants to wear. Whenever they aren’t clean (likely because she peed on them), she huffs and moans about how she “won’t be pretty” unless she has the right clothes.

Exhibit B: 4-year-old has started FaceTiming with her friends when she can’t have an actual play date. (“I keep my dollies in my bedroom! Where do you keep yours? … Oh, I don’t have a playroom. My mommy says our whole house is my playroom. Is that true?”)

Exhibit C: On more than one occasion, I have come into the kitchen only to a find a little tushy sticking out of my fridge, as one of them is looking for snacks or making sure that I wasn’t lying about whether or not we have any yogurt left. They are now deeply suspicious of most things I say.

Exhibit D: An angry 4-year-old yelling at her Dad this morning: “FINE! I’m not going to play with you any more!” I’m pretty sure he just got kicked out of the cool kids’ club.

Exhibit E: Both girls refused to go to the zoo on Friday. (What child refuses the zoo?!) They were “too tired” and “needed some space.” They spent the morning listening to books on tape, but only because we wouldn’t let them zone out in front of the TV.


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I Threw My Baby Down the Stairs

 By Jessica Glassberg for Kveller 

Okay, before you call child protective services, let me explain… 

Three months ago, my husband and I were playing with our 4 ½ month old when it became quite apparent that it was time to sing “Poop Monster” (to the tune of The B-52s, “Rock Lobster”). We’ve pretty much created a song for everything involving our daughter: “We’re Not Gonna Cry Now,” (“We’re Not Gonna Take It”), “Rolling on the Carpet” (“Rolling on the River”) and “Food Glorious Food…” that one needed no editing.

After a brief stare off to determine who would change the little stinker, it was I who danced my little one upstairs to change her. I sang; she smiled. After the “Bare Necessities” were complete, I picked her back up, gave her a big kiss on the cheek and as she smiled at me, we headed for the stairs. And it was right then that I threw her.

Please put the phone down and understand that it is my “Jewish mother guilt” that has lead to a slight exaggeration where I felt like I intentionally threw my baby down a flight of stairs.

The truth is, I was cradling my daughter in my arms, when I slipped. My little darling was startled and cried for about five seconds and then smiled for the next hour. I, meanwhile, have been scarred for life. And I’m not just talking about the giant gash and bruise I have on my forearm from where I slammed into the banister in an attempt to protect my baby’s still-developing brain from permanent trauma. I am referring to this all-encompassing feeling that I am a bad mother.

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Why You Should Never Leave Your Kids in the Car

I have dozens of childhood memories that include me and my siblings waiting in the car for our parents. Most notably, I remember us waiting at the bank and my little brother, probably preschool age, backing the car into an adjacent lot. The story is told in jest now, and my mother was most definitely a helicopter parent of her time. That’s just how it was.

But it’s 2013 and we use car seats and bike helmets and you can’t leave your kids in the car anymore. There is no “running in” anywhere and even going to the bank to deposit a check is a full blown ordeal.

I ran errands one day last week and pulled my two kids in and out of the car no less than 15 times before noon. It was 80 degrees outside and I was taking our cat to the groomer. Here I am holding a 20-pound infant who is diving out of my arms with a cat carrier in one hand and attempting to wrangle a bolting preschooler with the other. Add the diaper bag and I’m a walking circus. Once I finally got everyone loaded into the car I realized that I forgot the checkbook and the grooming salon ONLY TAKES CHECKS.

I contemplated leaving my kids in the car while I ran back up to our apartment. The car was parked in the driveway in a shady area. I would only be a second. The windows were down.

Then I pictured myself falling up the stairs and twisting my ankle. Or being stopped by a neighbor who wanted to chat. Answering a phone call. My mind flashed to any number of things that could keep me from getting back to my car full of the most precious people in the world to me.

So I schlepped them all back inside.

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