When I was a teenager, I lived across the street from the library. I did homework there, typed most of my college applications on their noisy electric typewriter (10 cents for each 15 minutes, I think), and perused the shelves for hours on end. I’d already developed a taste for books by that age, but there’s no doubt in my mind that my family’s proximity to the library solidified my attachment to books, reading, and libraries, in general.
Now that I’m older, I live in a family fully of bibliophiles. We read to learn Torah. We read for entertainment; we read to learn how to do new things; we read for school assignments. We read because otherwise we’d go into withdrawal and start twitching in a dark room. Continue reading