Emerging Scholars
& New Voices
Revisiting Golem: An Exploration into Three Illustrated Narratives for Children
Danya David
Danya David is completing her Master of Arts in Children's Literature at the University of British Columbia. She has a B.A. from McGill University in English Literature and Cultural Studies, a teaching degree from the University of Toronto, and a specialization in Deaf Education from York University. She was a panelist at the first annual Graduate Studies Interdisciplinary Conference at UBC, and reviews books for CM Online Magazine. Danya is pursuing her master's research on the prevalence of Jewish content in comics and graphic novels. She currently teaches at the Centre for Intercultural Communication at UBC. She would like to thank Judi Saltman, Michelle Ann Abate, Tony David, Ruth David, and Rabbi Shmulik Yeshayahu for their expertise and encouragement with the writing and publication of this paper.
The legend of the Golem is a medieval tale with its roots in ancient Hebrew script and Jewish lore. This paper examines how three illustrated books reveal similar and different interpretations of the same story. Danya David analyses both text and image to explore essential themes, and demonstrates how the three versions fundamentally expound the validity and relevance of the legend of Golem for today.
In modern-day colloquial Hebrew, the word golem is used as an insult, referring to a person who is unrefined or ignorant. Originating in the Bible with word the "gal'mi," the term actually translates to mean "my unshaped form" (Ps. 139.16), and the Talmud later uses the term to distinguish between "uncultivated" and "learned" persons, deeming "uncultivated" persons as golem (Ethics of The Fathers 5.9). Golem is mentioned a third time in a different section of the Talmud within the context of Adam's creation, during which Adam is referred to as "a golem whose dust was kneaded into a shapeless mass" (Sanhedrin 4.38a).
Since the Middle Ages, many Jewish sages claimed that the righteous mystics, by means of the Kabbalistic Book of Creation (Sefer Yetzirah), possessed the power to create a golem—a humanoid formed from clay. By adhering to divine technique and ritual outlined in the Book of Creation, they believed that the most righteous of men had the capacity of creating this giant figure, whose sole purpose would be protecting Jews from persecution. However, these sages also believed that this figure would never be truly human, because a human would never be able to create a soul (Rabinowicz 154). Reflecting this vexed concept of "somewhat human," portrayals of the golem figure have ranged from robots capable only of carrying out commands, to curious, sensitive and intelligent beings who question life and its purpose. Golem stories are thus rich and layered, complex and varied in both message and tone.
Due to their narrative potency, these fascinating stories made their way into popular culture, taking the form of books, poems, plays, films, and operas. In Poland in 1909, for example, Rabbi Yudl Rosenberg published a detailed collection of legends about the golem of Prague (Goldsmith 16). Around the same time, Leivick Halper, a Yiddish poet, wrote The Golem: A Dramatic Poem in Eight Scenes, which the Habima Theatre Company performed as a play in Palestine in 1928 (Goldsmith 73). In these accounts, both the golem and its creator (a rabbi) are treated as men inflicted with the tragedy of fear, sorrow, and loneliness (Goldsmith 89). One of the most famous versions of the golem legend is Isaac Bashevis Singer's short story, The Golem, published in 1982. In his story, the golem fulfils his duties but then runs amok, committing acts of violence and terror. This golem, interestingly, becomes progressively human as the story unfolds, and it is only love that succeeds in quelling his rampage. In 1962, golem appeared in the form of an opera, commissioned by the New York City Opera (Moses 255). Variations of golem legends continue to appear throughout history, both in Jewish and non-Jewish contexts, from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein in 1818 to the 1970's DC Comics horror series Swamp Thing, about a humanoid mass who protects humanity from the dangers of supernatural forces. There are several "original" variations of golem legends, but most renditions have their roots in one golem legend in particular: the Golem of Prague.
In 1580, the Rabbi of Prague—Rabbi Loew (also known as The Maharal)—created a golem which would become the prototype of most golem figures in modern literature (Goldsmith 15). Rabbi Loew was a 16th century scholar and mystic who created a golem upon realizing that his own strength alone was not sufficient to cope with the task of protecting his people. With help from two of his students, the rabbi created the golem out of mud found near a river, and brought it into being by invoking the forces of the secret names of God (Bokser 55). The legend continues that the golem created was a powerful giant, but ultimately a robot, in that it was essentially soulless. This soullessness manifested in the golem's fundamental lack of communication—the absence of the desire, need, and ability to question, reason, and interpret both itself and its surroundings, and this notion was embodied within the golem's inability to speak.
This paper focuses on three illustrated narratives particularly intriguing in their interpretation of the Golem of Prague legend: Mark Podwal's Golem: A Giant Made of Mud (1995), Barbara Rogasky's The Golem: A Version (1996) illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman, and David Wisniewski's Golem (1996). The stories they tell share fundamental narrative and thematic elements, including the rabbi's creation of a golem from clay, golem's feats of superhuman strength in order to protect the Jews of Prague, golem's excessive destruction, and the rabbi's eventual termination of golem. Each version, however, handles these elements in a unique way, presenting varying perspectives on the same story. The following themes are explored comparatively: the potency of the Hebrew language and the written word, the power of speech, and the vexed concept of imitating God.
Because God's various names can be formed with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet, and because it is said to contain the very essence with which God created the world, the Hebrew language is said to be intrinsically holy. Wisniewski claims, in his afterword to Golem that "according to the Sefer Yetzirah, the giving of life was achieved by reciting combinations of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Because these twenty-two letters derive from the Tetragrammaton, the ineffable four-letter name of God, they possess holy power" (32). Gershom Scholem, renowned scholar on Jewish mysticism, explains in his book On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, that "The letters of the alphabet — and how much more so those of the divine name or of the entire Torah, which was God's instrument of Creation — have secret, magical power. The initiate knows how to make use of them" (166). Hebrew language and Hebrew letters themselves play a crucial role in all three golem versions examined.
In Rogasky's story, Trina Schart Hyman's illustrations depict Rabbi Loew praying desperately for a means to protect the Jews of Prague (Rogasky 5). Her watercolor and ink illustrations show the Rabbi in deep spiritual contemplation amidst a seemingly endless heap of ragged books and scrolls. Above his head Hebrew letters float, forming almost a halo. The rabbi scours his thoughts and books, asking: "What can I do?" and finally he "directs a dream question to heaven" whereupon the answer comes in the form of "several Hebrew letters that made no sense in themselves" (5). Upon waking, the rabbi experiences revelation, through the individual Hebrew letters which apparently fused to create their own meaning: "The letters, now words, revealed to him how to help the Jews of Prague" (6).
In Wisniewski's version, similarly, a mysterious "hand of light" writes "one glowing word upon the smoke and ashes" (6). This word is golem, illustrated as three huge Hebrew letters created by God's semi-transparent hand. Wisniewski's version describes zirufim (Kabbalistic spells) which involve words that "soared aloft and unleashed the power of Life itself" (8). Wisniewski's paper cut illustrations capture the intense drama of the scene, allowing the reader to take part in an awesome moment of revelation.
Finally, in Podwal's golem version, the potency of the Hebrew language is not portrayed through a similar moment of revelation. The rabbi's decision-making is not directly informed by these letters nor by any Hebrew words, however reference is made to a "silver measuring spoon engraved with Hebrew letter" (Podwal 12). Instead, Podwal's vibrant watercolor and colored pencil illustrations reveal Hebrew letters on the clocks in the town, on tombstones, and scattered in the air during the rabbi's prayer. Nonetheless, they are not directly attributed with revealing any answers to the rabbi.
Podwal, Rogasky, and Wisniewski's stories each highlight the fundamental symbolic significance of the engraving of the Hebrew word emet, or truth, into the golem's forehead. This act "animates" the golem, branding him, in a sense, as a barer of truth and justice. Rogasky's narrator explains that upon engraving the word emet, "blood seemed to flow through the clay, which became like skin" (Rogasky 10). Confirming this image, Hyman's illustrations reveal a very real-looking human lying on the shore of a river.
Similarily, Wisniewski presents the animation of the golem as simultaneous with Rabbi Loew's engraving of emet upon the golem's forehead: "Instantly, the giant's chest expanded...A deep breath shuddered from his lips"—the culmination being a "giant man" (Wisniewski 12). The scene is at once awesome and terrifying, and Wisniewski's illustrations capture their vitality and dynamism, revealing sinewy lines of muscle and faces contorting with amazement.
Meanwhile, Podwal's rabbi, who is never named, takes the silver measuring spoon engraved with Hebrew letters and "molds a large figure from the mud of the shore" (Podwal 16). Although this act hardly feels sacred or visionary, further detail of the golem's animation is left to the voice of the narrator, who carries the episode into the realm of the sacred, explaining: "How he brought the figure to life remains a mystery. Some say he simply placed a piece of parchment bearing God's name into its mouth. Others claim it was the Hebrew letters he inscribed on the golem's brow that gave it life" (16). Neither explanation focuses upon any one particular word. Instead, all of the Hebrew letters play an essential role in Golem's formation.
Given that the Hebrew alphabet plays a central role in the golem's formation, it is likewise equally operative in its termination. It is through the manipulation of Hebrew letters, as well, that the golem ceases to exist. With the erasing of the first letter, aleph (a), from the word emet (tma) the Hebrew word changes in sound and appearance from emet (tma) - and drastically in meaning - from truth to death. in all three stories golem commits uncontrollable and excessive destruction and, because of this and the fact that the task of protecting the Jews is (apparently) complete, the rabbi decides that golem's time must come to an end. In Rogasky's story, Rabbi Loew terminates the golem with a ritual similar to that which he uses to animate him. He recites Hebrew Kabbalistic "formulas", ultimately erasing the first letter (a) from emet (tma) thus rendering the golem lifeless: "EMET, which is Truth, became MET, which is Death. The Golem was dead." (86)
Similarly, Wisniewski's rabbi uses his staff in a powerful gesture to erase the letter aleph (a) and terminate the golem, whereby "Golem staggered and fell to his knees" while collapsing and dissolving into clay (Wisniewski, 29). As in Rogasky's story, Wisniewski's rabbi deposits the golem's remains in the synagogue attic and lays him to rest under tattered siddurim (prayer books). Wisniewski, with his brilliant paper cut illustations, poignantly depicts the enormous mound of clay - golem's 'corpse' - under a heap of paper. The termination is both spectacular and intimate, terrifying yet compassionate.
In contrast, Podwal's treatment of the golem's termination is very different. The rabbi realizes that the golem's violence is excessive and solely destructive, as he "tore out trees by their roots and tossed them at the moon," and pulled people apart "as if they were dolls"— but there is no mention of the need to terminate him. Rather, the rabbi engages in seemingly ordinary worship, and then simply "prayed that the golem would not bring about the end of the world" (Podwal 20). His prayer alone is enough to terminate the raging golem. Although there is no actual manipulation of letters, the Hebrew language is key through prayer.
Likewise, spoken Hebrew plays a central role in golem stories. Author Moshe Idel, in his book Golem: Jewish Magical and Mystical Traditions on the Artificial Anthropoid, refers to the idea of "answerers"—figures in Egyptian magical practices capable only of performing tasks and literally "answering." He links this concept to a precursor to the idea of a non-communicative golem: "it was the silence of the anthropoid which served as a touchstone of his being a non-human entity" (Idel 9). The golem originally lacked a mind and soul of its own, and this manifested most explicitly in its inability to speak.
Echoing this viewpoint, Podwal's golem is solely an automaton. At the time of its formation, it is instantaneously identified with its inability to communicate verbally: "The golem did not speak...Both day and night it guarded the ghetto, wandering the maze of streets or watching over them from rooftops." (Podwal 17) It obeys verbal commands, but never speaks, and it is this inability that immediately renders it inhuman.
While Podwal's golem is explicitly non-human, Rogasky's is more difficult to define. Rogasky's narrator emphasizes the ambiguity of this golem, describing it as "a creature that looked like a man but was not a man. The creature would not exactly be alive like a person, but neither would he be dead." This golem is ultimately identified as "a creature [that] would hear, but not speak" (Rogasky 6). Rogasky presents her speechless golem fulfilling duties, referring to him as "a mute of simple mind"—incapable, essentially, of more than completing tasks of physical labor. The relationship between the rabbi and golem, therefore, is more like that of master and slave (11). On one occasion, for example, after the golem sets fire to the streets during a violent rampage, the rabbi calls to him: "Golem! I command thee! Come to me now. I am thy master!" (32). Through his unmistakably depreciatory tone, Rogasky's rabbi affirms that his golem is severely limited. Though this rabbi treats his golem with patience and compassion, at times even suggesting a mentor-student relationship (for example when he takes the golem aside to teach: "Even animals are not to be tortured"), he does not seem to anticipate real human-like interaction (62). The rabbi states: "You have strength and power. It is what I asked of you. No more than these could I expect."(63) Clearly, Rogasky's rabbi does not expect communication.
Wisniewski's story, however, presents the reader with a significant divergence from the traditional legend. In his story, the golem does indeed speak. This ability to speak immediately establishes a complex dynamic between him and the rabbi. When the rabbi commands the golem to wake up, for example, he responds with words and actually questions the rabbi's actions with his "great voice": "Father,...was this wise to do?" (referring to his creation), to which the rabbi responds: "We shall know soon enough" (Wisniewski 12). This golem's ability to speak marks a radically different interpretation of the original legend, as the rabbi and the golem essentially converse and develop a relationship, beginning with the golem's first moments of "life." In essence, the golem's ability to speak necessitates a somewhat human-like relationship with the rabbi.
Furthermore, recognizing golem's ability to speak, Wisniewski's rabbi informs the golem that the sole purpose for its existence is to protect the Jews. He instructs him in detail—during the day he is to work as a servant in the synagogue and answer to the name "Joseph", while at night he is to thwart accusations of the Blood Libel. At every stage of this explanation, the rabbi demands confirmation of understanding. This golem responds "yes" to each prompt, but only until the rabbi reaches his final statement, at which point the rabbi emphasizes that when the Jews are no longer in danger, "you [the golem] will return to the earth from whence you came." Golem falls silent upon hearing this, and only upon second prompt: "Do you understand, Joseph?" does Golem answer "Yes" (15). This golem is clearly troubled by the concept of his own termination. Despite, or perhaps because of his ability to speak, Wisniewski's golem is very human. His apparent distress at contemplating the notion of death implies an intrinsic valuing of life, and in this way, the golem himself is rendered alive. Thus, the element of verbal communication between the golem and the rabbi defines their relationship and the overall emotional tone of the story, ultimately rendering this golem much more human than clay.
The third theme explored within these narrative versions is the vexed Jewish concept of striving to imitate God. Prominent philosopher and educator, Martin Buber, states that the idea of imitating God is the central paradox in Judaism, since it is impossible to imitate something that is inconceivable (71). The concept is problematic also in that it is unfathomable to consider attempting to possess powers equal in force or quality to those of God. The legend of Golem confronts this complex concept, wrestling it without reserve. Ultimately, because imitating God is impossible, and, likewise, because attempting to imitate God is potentially sacrilegious, golems will always be inherently flawed, since they are products of intrinsically flawed and futile efforts.
In both Podwal's and Rogasky's stories, golem is presented as incomplete, and in this way, more non-human than human. Podwal's golem does not speak, nor does it eat or drink. This golem does not even have a name—he is referred to as "it" or as "the golem." The illustrations reveal that the creature is quite formless and blob-like, with no facial features other than eyes suggested by two circles. The golem in Podwal's story is rendered without sentiment—solely robotic—capable only of carrying out orders, all of which entail the exertion of physical labor or force. This golem shows no signs of being able, or even needing, to respond, communicate or question the tenets of its existence. Podwal's golem therein also shows no concern for its fateful ending. There is no mention of the figure's death—it is apparently hardly human.
Rogasky's golem is more sympathetic. Hers, also incapable of speech, is somewhat robot-like, but nonetheless conceivable as human. Her golem is a servant who faithfully obeys orders, not only guarding ghetto walls, but also carrying out complex tasks, like foiling Blood Libel accusations, unmasking Jew-haters to authorities, and even locating spirits in the spirit world. In one instance, for example, this golem is pushed into a well by Jew-haters. Hyman's illustrations depict the bottom of the well with the golem and we gaze up with him in terror at the sinister men above (60). Upon being rescued by the rabbi's men, the golem expresses anger and humiliation at being treated unjustly. Golem later desperately tries to identify the perpetrators to the rabbi: "With gestures and motions, Joseph made himself understood" (61). This golem's ability to feel, and his need to communicate, render him deeply human.
Wisniewski's version proves again to be vastly different treatment of the Golem's attempt to imitate God. Upon creation, Wisniewski's Golem is described as "complete and perfect" (12), principally contradicting the original Golem of Prague legend. Wisniewski's golem is far from a mere robot or servant. His golem appears to be truly human—not only is he capable of communication, and not only does he express a need to communicate—but he also communicates using spoken language. He speaks with his creator immediately upon "birth," addressing the rabbi as "Father" (12), and Rabbi Loew never rejects this title. On the contrary, he forms an intimate and almost sanctified relationship with his creation. Although the relationship is innately characterized by subordination and utility, golem consistently exhibits emotional capacity. At one point, for example, the rabbi catches the golem gazing wistfully at the sunrise, whereupon the golem remarks: "The sky changes from black to blue. It is very beautiful." The text continues: "Rabbi Loew sighed. How simple golem was!" However, with the word "simple," the rabbi expresses an awareness of Golem's goodness, as opposed to commenting on golem's limitations. Wisniewski's text continues: "The smallest thing—the scent of a rose, the flight of a pigeon "...filled him with wonder" (16). Wisniewski's golem is unfit for his role as dispensable sniper.
At yet another point, Wisniewski's Rabbi finds the golem in the town cemetery, gazing at the tombstones of enemies crushed by his force. The golem initiates conversation with the rabbi, expressing despair at his pending fate. When the rabbi informs him that, indeed, his "purpose is at end," the golem responds: "Father, will I remember this?" When Rabbi Loew answers in the negative, the golem states that he must then disobey the rabbi. Golem pleads with him in a climactic scene, poignantly mirrored through Wisniewski's illustrations: "Please!...Life is so...precious...to me!" (29) Clearly, Wisniewski's Golem is portrayed as sensitive, expressive, discerning. His golem communicates, feels pain, and ultimately values life— fighting for it, as any human would.
The illustrations featured in the three powerful golem narratives heighten the overall richness of these stories. Caldecott Medal winner Trina Schart Hyman uses an array of media, though mainly watercolor, along with acrylics and black/sepia ink in order to recreate the Jewish ghetto of sixteenth-century Prague. Her astonishing use of perspective rendered through minute brushstrokes and ink detailing carries the reader into hallowed and eerie spaces laden with the smothering darkness of the Old World.
Mark Podwal, author and illustrator of numerous books on Jewish themes, conveys a sense of wonder and even reverie for a culture and religion rich with history and lore. His portrayal of the story and the setting is meant not necessarily to recreate time and place, but rather to render the story timeless and infinite. He approaches the story as if a fable, creating magical, highly symbolic, and almost surreal images with bold patches of watercolor and colored pencil. His use of vibrant, almost playful color schemes does not trivialize the story's severity or poignancy—rather, his slightly fantastical illustrations naturally evoke spiritual and intellectual response in the reader.
David Wisniewski, who received the Caldecott Medal for this momentous artistic achievement, uses intricate paper cutting techniques inspired by shadow puppetry to create an emotional world that whirls and explodes with noise, chaos and anger. Through Wisniewski's elaborate paper stages, the reader experiences the golem, Rabbi Loew, and the villagers' awe, terror and anguish at the force and the frailty of life.
The legend of the golem is profound, and its themes expansive. Likewise, its endings are equally complex and varied. Wisniewski's and Rogasky's stories close with the solemn transferring of the golem's remains to the attic of the synagogue. Both stories recount the covering of the carnal heap with yellowing pages of old prayer books. Both also allude to the rabbi's sadness at the golem's fate and his suffering at having to experience it. Wisniewski recounts that although the golem "had not truly been a man, they recited Kaddish, the prayer for the dead" (31). Rogasky's version alludes to a belief that the rabbi suddenly "grew old" upon the golem's death (88). Because no relationship developed between the rabbi and his creation, Podwal's version does not recount any sort of emotional impact of the golem's death.
Despite vastly different interpretations, all three golem stories express openness regarding the ultimate fate and significance of the golem's remains for the present generation. All three stories close with urgent questions: Where is the golem today? Under what circumstances might the golem or might new golems be roused? Are golems the nemeses or protectors? Beasts or heroes? What is the fate of truth, and who or what is to decide this? In the opening pages of her book, Rogasky calls to Scholem's poignant words: "Truth is alive, dwelling somewhere, never weary. And all of mankind is needed to liberate it" (vii). Wisniewski suggests that "perhaps, when the desperate need for justice is united with holy purpose, golem will come to life once more" (31). Similarily, Rogasky's final words beg the question: "Who knows what the truth is? Who knows?" (88).
Resonating with a comparable restlessness, Podwal's story claims that "to this day, nobody knows what became of the golem" (23). It offers possibilities, including the crumbling of golem into "countless pieces," which perhaps may have been used "to rebuild the city it had destroyed" (23). Podwal does seem to propose some kind of answer though—that perhaps the golem will never return; that "perhaps all that remains are the stories" (24). With this, Podwal refers to the power of storytelling to enlighten and transform minds; to create and transmit hope, truth, and ultimately justice. Accompanying these powerful final words is a small illustration of a delicate yet bold and colorful feather, dipped into an ink bottle full of Hebrew letters.
The legend of the golem of Prague is essentially poignant in its examination of power and faith. By harnessing the courage to challenge authorities, and by investigating even our very tenets of belief, humankind takes one step closer to justice. The legend does not lend itself to conclusive analysis, and it is precisely this that renders it timeless. It invites numerous interpretations and challenges readers to arrive at unique insights as to the symbolic significance of a golem. Wisniewski himself notes that the legend is "a sloppier tale... simply not that clear cut. However, that ambivalence tends to make the story more open to discussion and more like real life and history" (Hendershot and Peck).
To this day, the golem's remains are said to be hidden in Rabbi Loew's synagogue (the Altneushul) in the old Jewish quarter of Prague. The synagogue is the oldest in Europe still in use. The timelessness of themes and symbols in the golem of Prague legend provides for rich narrative, century after century. As Rogasky herself writes in her Author's Notes, injustice in the form of medieval anti-Semitism still exists today. "Only the truth can kill it," Rogasky declares, "The truth, told again and again" (91). Ultimately, the act of scrutinizing and retelling this legend answers to the modern-day Hebrew colloquialism—"to be not a 'golem'— to be not a 'shapeless mass...'" —to transcend both lethargy and brutishness. This is precisely where the role of storytelling lies; the retelling of the legend in itself fulfills an act of truth-bearing.
Works Cited
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Encyclopedia Judaica. Blood Libel, Vol.4. 1120. Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1971.
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Hendershot, Judy, and Jackie Peck. "Golem Comes to Life: A Conversation with David Wisniewski, Winner of the 1997 Caldecott Award." Reading Teacher, 51:6 456-463.
Idel, Moshe. Golem: Jewish Magical and Mystical Traditions on the Artificial Anthropoid. New York: State University of New York Press, 1990.
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(Additional information available at the Milken Archive.)Podwal, Mark. Golem: A Giant Made of Mud. New York: Greenwillow Books, 1995.
Rabinowicz, Tzvi. Encyclopedia of Hasidism. New York: Jason Aronson Inc., 1996.
Rogasky, Barbara, and Trina Schart Hyman. The Golem: A Version. New York: Holiday House, 1996.
Singer, Isaac Bashevis. The Golem. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1982.
Scholem, Gershom. On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism. Trans. Ralph Manheim. New York: Schoken Books, 1965.
Talmud. Ethics of The Fathers. Ch.5, verse 9. The Orot Sephardic Shabbat Siddur. New Jersey: Orot, Inc., 1995.
Talmud. Tractate Sanhedrin. Vol. I, Ch.4, verse 38a. ArtScroll Series, Schottenstein Edition. New York: Mesorah Publications Ltd., 1993.
Wisniewski, David. Golem. New York: Clarion Books, 1996.
Danya David
Volume 11, Issue 1, The Looking Glass, 2 January, 2007
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"Revisiting Golem: An Exploration into Three Illustrated Narratives for Children"
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