100 books like Moses Goes to School

There are lots of excellent contemporary picture books about children from other countries adjusting to life in the United States. What sets this book apart for me is that, rather than just sprinkling in some words in the family’s native tongue, it specifically talks about languages and bilingualism. The writing is a little on-the-nose in spots (children say things like “I didn’t realize how important a different language is” and “Aren’t languages a beautiful thing? They can truly unite us!”), but it’s a likable story with charming illustrations. My favorite part is at the end, when the Arabic quilt inspires another class to make one in Japanese.

If I had to recommend just one picture book about languages, I’d choose this one, because it does so much. First, of course, it shares a long-secret episode in American history—the triumph of the Navajo “code talkers” in World War II. (Not the first time bilingual heroes came to our country’s rescue: see my own picture book Gingerbread for Liberty! How a German Baker Helped Win the American Revolution.)  But this book also addresses language justice in a way that kids will find easy to understand. Through Chester, we feel the pain and confusion of being told one’s own language is “bad” and worthless, and the pride of having it finally treated with respect. We also see how language isn’t just a set of words, but carries culture, tradition, religion, a whole way of life.   

Although I studied modern Hebrew as a child, and understood that it was different from the Hebrew in the Bible, I never realized that the everyday language spoken by millions of Israelis didn’t just develop by itself. The Language of Angels tells the story of Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, who worked tirelessly to revive the Hebrew language, from the point of view of his son Ben-Zion. The father’s insistence that his son speak only Hebrew, a language then used solely in prayer, condemned him to a friendless childhood in multilingual late-nineteenth-century Jerusalem and lends a dark edge to the tale. But bright, cheerful illustrations help lighten the tone, and the book is full of lively details about Ben-Yehuda’s efforts, such as finding a word for “ice cream.”

I’m so glad there is a children’s picture book biography of Aaron Lansky. His own memoir for adults, Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books, is so entertaining and engrossing that I’ve read it twice. While this picture book doesn’t have space for all of Lansky’s funny, touching stories, it does get across the amazing fact that thanks to one young man who refused to believe that a “dying” language should be buried, Yiddish was given new life—and a permanent address at the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Massachusetts. (I recently visited, and it’s spectacular! There is a great children’s section, too, full of books, games, and fun activities.)

An accessible introduction to the remarkable story of Helen Keller. Left blind and deaf as toddler, her future looked dim. But a talented and sensitive teacher, Ann Sullivan, enabled Helen to communicate with the world in alternative ways. Colorful illustrations and child-friendly explanations present Helen’s remarkable journal to a young audience.

As someone who has always connected with animals, wild and domesticated, Song for a Whale was a story I could not put down.

Lynne Kelly’s middle grade novel about a deaf girl determined to help a whale who cannot communicate with its family is full of heart and compassion, and it kept me on my toes until the very end. I love stories with brave, unique, and realistic protagonists, and Iris was all of these things.

I appreciated the deaf representation, and the theme of family that is woven so beautifully into the plot. I could picture the whale, Blue 55, so perfectly, and the short chapters in the whale’s POV were the cherry on top of an already lovely story of courage and connection. 

Another classic title by one of Aotearoa New Zealand’s most-loved storytellers. This moving story follows the special friendship forged between Jonasi, a lonely deaf-mute pacific islander, and a huge white turtle. It’s a book about isolation and prejudice, and how love can heal all. One review describes it as ‘somewhere between fact and fiction, superstition and the supernatural.’ It’s another that’s been made into a fabulous film.

This engrossing book, inspired by the true history of a thriving deaf community on Martha's Vineyard in the early 1800s, triumphantly probes our perceptions of ability and disability. I’m always drawn to stories that explore what it means to be and/or feel different. Too many youngsters (and adults) equate being different with being less than, whether the different person is themselves or someone else. I don’t know if our species will ever fully break free of that false belief, but novels like this one go a long way toward achieving that goal.

Here we have another of Oliver Sacks' brilliant books, the subject this time being the deaf. My brother’s wife is profoundly deaf as is her brother (heredity disease). He had a cochlear implant but she refused one and knowing my brother I can’t blame her. To me the most fascinating part of the book is the development of sign language and how different forms appeared in different countries. The creation of deaf schools, like the one started by Alexander Graham Bell, whose parents were both profoundly deaf, caused controversy because he didn’t believe in sign language and tried to force his pupils to use only speech in communication. As they had no feedback for sound, this was unbelievably stupid in my opinion as you can only change what you sense and can make sense of. Those who sign can ‘speak’ rapidly and clearly by ‘visual’ means, whereas those who try… show more.

Paul Longmore assigned Everyone Here Spoke Sign Language for the “Disability in America” course I took. As a folklorist this book hooked me. It is totally unique, combining science (genetics), history, maritime culture, and community. It consolidates sign language “oral histories” documenting a Deaf community’s cultural heritage in Martha’s Vineyard passed through generations. Everyone Here Spoke Sign Language offers an essential message from this tight-knit community where deafness was more a trait than a disability. Understanding how Helen Keller had a Deafblind destiny shaped by her times (as earlier were Deafblind woman should be women Julia Brace and Laura Bridgman), I sometimes wonder if Keller would have been less stressed if she had not been pressured by proponents of auralism like Alexander Graham Bell to learn to speak aloud.