I have always been a voracious reader. As a child I was a flashlight-under-the-covers reader. A buckled-up-road-trip reader. A rainy-day-cozy-nook reader. A just-one-more-chapter! reader. I gobbled up historical fiction, poetry, joke books, mysteries, Sunday comics, and a well-worn issue of Dog Fancy magazine my Papa bought me at the airport. I revisited the girls from The Baby-Sitters Club, Ramona and Beezus, and the Ingalls sisters with each subsequent book in their series. While I saw much of myself, and who I wanted to be, in my books, there was one notable absence: my Jewish identity. Sure, I read and reread...