I don't want to start off with my quibbles about The Golem, which the Lincoln Center Festival is presenting at the Gerald Lynch Theatre through Sunday, because I don't want anything to discourage you from seeing this ingenious and ultimately quite moving show.
I made what I described to my wife as a "golem"—a Jewish mud monster of Talmudic derivation, the closest thing we have to Krampus though to her it resembled a humanoid frog in a pink leotard, which was generous, probably.
In my new memoir Growing Up Golem, I say that instead of giving birth to me, my mother used ancient Jewish magic from the Kabbalah to create me as her own personal golem, a little walking, talking clay servant.
I suppose my quibble is that this Golem is so charming -- I mean the show as much as the creature -- that the ontological tale gets pretty lost.
The new mobs are ocelot, Iron Golem and baby villager – my sons are going to love this.
My favorite Ozick story is about a golem — dirt brought to life — and her daughter writes about life going to dirt.
Of all fantastical life-forms, golems are my favourite.
I always thought of the Amin in my book as "Idi Amin" in inverted commas, a kind of golem who came to life when I hit the keyboard right.
