Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?: The Golem as Family Member in Jewish Children's Literature

Perhaps because they have been so often marginalized in history, the Jews in their literature have traditionally shown a willingness to bring into the family of the community a strange array of characters, some hilarious, such as the fools and schlemiels most of us have heard folklorish jokes about, others peculiarly potent and fascinating. Foremost among the latter is the golem, the creature brought to life from clay.

Three golem stories for children have been published recently. Beverly Brodsky McDermott's 1976 picture book, The Golem: A Jewish Legend, Elie Weisel's 1982 version, The Golem: The Story of a Legend, and Isaac Bashevis Singer's 1983 version, The Golem. All three draw upon the series of legends set in the late 1500s in Prague and center on the historical figure of Rabbi Judah Lowe who, through spiritual guidance and prowess, brings the golem to life. The golem itself is a medieval figure with many valences; the word by itself means "unformed material," and is used affectionately as a synonym for "dummy."

To be part of the family is to be acknowledged as human; to be considered less than human is dangerous, often fatal, as history has repeatedly taught the Jews. With the opposites of marginalization and family in mind, it will be helpful here to contrast briefly the creation, purposes, life, and destruction of the golem to Frankenstein's monster.

First, it is notable that the golem is created by a family man, a spiritual, and therefore, in terms of Jewish values, communal leader instructed to perform the creation by God either in a dream or through an emissary. The creation is not profane, not Promethean; it is possible only because Rabbi Loew is enlightened enough to accomplish it, and to do so specifically and only to redress an imminent danger to the community. The golem in all versions is made from clay, but the actual method of bringing him to life varies; in Singer's story, the rabbi writes the holiest name of God on the giant's forehead. While the creation itself is always done in secret, the existence of the golem is not secret. Quite the opposite; he gets clothes, a name—Joseph Golem (in Weisel's version, the rabbi affectionately calls him Yossele). He is included in the rabbi's family, becomes known all over Prague, and in Singer's version becomes so nearly human that he even wants a Bar Mitzvah. And a bride. The golem fulfills his purpose; he saves the Jews, brings the evil-doers to justice, and then because of misuse—the endings vary interestingly—he is returned to the world of the inanimate clay. Weisel's version hints he may still be up in the rabbi's attic waiting to be reanimated should the family of Jews need him again.

In contrast, Frankenstein creates out of curiosity, striving, and individualism. His is scientific prowess rather than spiritual strength. Frankenstein's golem is an experiment, has no communal purpose, is hidden, unnamed and rejected by his creator. The monster's motivation for the destruction he causes is revenge at his creator's coldness; Frankenstein's bland bride Elizabeth dies as a direct result of her betrothed's refusal to create a mate for his lonely monster. The monster is denied love, knowledge, community, and hope—in short, denied family and thus humanity. The golem, on the other hand, is on a divine mission and when he becomes a definite danger to the community, he is destroyed with love, sorrow, and gratitude, and according to religious formulas.

Singer's version, illustrated benignly by Uri Shulevitz, conflates several of the episodic Prague legends into one story with two climaxes: the first when the golem fulfills his mission in a dramatic courtroom scene; the second when he is destroyed after having, through no fault of his own, overstayed his welcome.

The first part of the story establishes the rabbi's credentials to accomplish the mighty task. No one is more surprised than the humble rabbi himself when he is visited at midnight...