Review: 'The Song of the Blue Bird'

Writing a fiction trilogy based on stories from the Torah in a relatable and compelling manner is no small feat, but Esther Goldenberg’s final book, The Song of the Blue Bird, does just that. Goldenberg’s first book, The Scrolls of Deborah, set the stage with lyrical prose that led readers through the stories of Rebekah and her nursemaid Deborah. Seventeen Spoons followed this with a recreation of Joseph’s life and ascension to power in Egypt. And The Song of the Blue Bird concludes this tale by picking up just before the Israelites go to Egypt and discover Joseph as advisor to the Pharaoh. 

Narrated through the voice of Serrah (referred to in the book as “Blue” for her voice like a bluebird), The Song of the Blue Bird follows this protagonist through generations of Jewish history, drawing on the Rabbinic tradition that suggests she did not age. Blue’s lack of aging allows her to guide the reader through decades of history. She witnesses the starvation of the Israelites, their subsequent journey to Egypt, and their eventual escape. Her separation from time also creates a separation between herself and many within her community over the eras. While many can and do accept her lack of aging, many also fear her for what they perceive as eternal youth or scorn her for this difference. Fearing differences or embracing them emerges as a repeated dichotomy over the course of the book. One of Blue’s greatest sadnesses is being separated from her home community of Israelites. And yet, within the Pharaoh's harem, she finds unexpected sisterhood, with one dear friend reflecting that “I’ve learned we’re all more alike than different. We all have the same parts, even if they are organized in different ways. We all have differences, yes. Not aging is one of yours.”

Throughout the book, the theme of accepting our differences takes on a uniquely feminist perspective that we should cherish the many facets within each of us. Early on in the book, Goldenberg establishes this theme when Leah consoles Blue after someone called her mother Deenah a whore: “Whore, dear Blue, is a word that men use to describe a woman who makes choices for herself instead of her husband or her father or her brothers owning her body.” 

This explanation, equally as applicable to modern day as to the Torah’s historical time period, reframes derogatory language around women in an attempt to reclaim it while acknowledging that much of the term’s original pain may remain. In more recent linguistic movements, many feminists have sought to reclaim the term "bitch." While, as with the term “whore” in The Song of the Blue Bird, words can still be used in a derogatory manner, reclaiming them offers some an opportunity to reduce internalized sexism. Goldenberg’s decision to provide visibility to the sexism Blue faces and include such difficult words also allows Blue—and readers—the opportunity to grapple with sexism personally, rather than ignoring the gender norms of the time. 

Recognizing the injustice of gender norms also allows Blue to recognize other forms of injustice, persecution, and dehumanization, and pushes her to take action. Living in the harem, Blue is relatively invisible as a Jew. However, as other Jewish women join the harem to save themselves or their children, Blue becomes more aware of what is happening outside the harem walls. As the Tanakh details, Egyptian abuse of Jews increased over the years, and included relentless demands for physical labor, physical beatings and abuse, and even the murder of male children born within the community. Living through this cruelty—and in a place of relative safety—is something that Blue describes with both gratitude and guilt, reflecting that she and her Jewish companions in the harem “found ourselves overcome by both our good fortune and our helplessness.” 

Even as they saved the children placed in baskets who floated in the Nile—including Moses—such small acts of resistance felt minuscule compared to the enormity of the situation that they faced. But as Blue prayed to God, she realized that “We cannot do everything, but we can do something,” a lesson about injustice that eerily parallels the feelings of many today. 

Indeed, I could not help but be reminded of the overwhelm of the modern era, with climate change threatening our well-being and that of generations ahead. As civil rights deteriorate for many across the globe, it is hard to feel as though one is doing enough to push back against injustice. Simultaneously, it feels as though there is not enough power for any individual to truly create the change that we need. In this freeze state, focusing on one thing instead of trying to fix everything becomes a critical lesson to learn.

The remarkable gift of this book series, carefully crafted by Goldenberg, centers on its applicability and relevance to present struggles. In accessible language and with a compelling flow of writing, The Song of the Blue Bird deftly maintains the core Jewish value of pushing against injustice, while also putting forward new ideas—such as subverting derogatory gender roles—in ways that align with the values of the original text. Retelling the Torah in a way that both honors and builds upon this sacred work without overly commercializing or politicizing the work is an admirable endeavour, and one that I heartily commend Goldenberg for. As with her previous works and, by extension, the Torah itself, The Song of the Blue Bird is a book where you will get out what you put in. The thoughtful execution makes it a worthwhile investment for understanding one’s own role relative to systems of injustice in this modern era.