I Made a Little Free Library

Ok, so it wasn’t just me

This past summer, I found myself caught up in the small, joyful chaos of painting a Little Free Library and bringing it to life.

What is a Little Free Library (hereafter referred to as LFL), you ask? According to their website:

A Little Free Library is a “take a book, share a book” free book exchange. They come in many shapes and sizes, but the most common version is a small wooden box of books. Anyone may take a book or bring a book to share. Little Free Library book exchanges have a unique, personal touch. There is an understanding that real people are sharing their favorite books with their community; little libraries have been called “mini-town squares.”

This particular LFL wasn’t my project—I didn’t design it, build it, or even spearhead the effort—but I was there. What was my contribution? Enthusiasm, a few tentative brushstrokes, and a love of books so deep that it made up for my lack of talent with a paintbrush.

My friend Chani, a voracious reader and book collector, had been gifted the LFL by her sister and saw this as her chance to finally share the duplicates she had collected over years of loving and rereading her favorite stories. Her shelves groaned under the weight of multiple copies of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which she thrust (lovingly) at anyone who confessed to never having read it. Her excitement was infectious, and it pulled together our little group: a mix of close friends, sisters, and one baby who, oblivious to it all, served as our unofficial mascot.

The setting, Chani’s house perched above a glimmering lake, was as perfect as a page torn from a novel. The sunset dazzled—a gold and pink sky melting downward, and everything—the house, the trees, even us—seemed to exhale as the day slipped away. We gathered at her dining room table: five friends, acrylic paint in assorted hues, brushes of varying sizes, and one plain white box, stark in its simplicity.

We were more ambitious than artistic (OK, that’s mainly just me), but we didn’t let that stop us. My sister Chaviva, the true artist of the group, took the lead, painting delicate flowers and a magical book, while the rest of us contributed as best we could. As we painted and joked about our lack of skill, we talked about books—the ones we loved, the ones we hated, and the ones we meant to read but never did. And as the sun dipped low, sinking into the water, we slowly transformed the plain white box into something whimsical, inviting, and—dare I say—magical.

When the LFL was finally complete (it took a few nights of painting to finish it), we celebrated in style. Chani hosted a barbecue and it was the kind of summer evening that feels pulled from a memory even as it’s happening. On the deck overlooking the lake, kids ate messily, husbands debated grilling techniques, and after the food was done, we, the painters, led everyone out to the box, proud and maybe a bit surprised at how good it had turned out. As the sun set, we posed for pictures, admiring its every angle as we stood beside it. In the fading light, it seemed to glow, filled with light of bookish possibility.

After that came the books. True to her vision, Chani stocked it with a mix of bestsellers, classics, and obscure, beloved titles she couldn’t wait for someone else to discover. Within a few days, our LFL chat pinged with an excited message: “Guys someone took a book!”

Since then, many others have come to take—and leave—books. Chani has met neighbors she had never met before, and bonded with them over—what else?—books! Her LFL, or as I prefer to think of it, our LFL, is a place where books aren’t just read—they’re shared.

Books are strange in the way they pull people together. They’re read alone, in private spaces, but they create a shared world. Moments spent reading, experienced separately, are lived together, each reader settling into a space that once belonged to someone else, feeling it as if it were their own. The connection is not direct, but it’s real: a network of vicarious lives, spun out of words on a page.

Maybe that’s why it’s so special when a book is passed on—whether it’s a neighbor handing over a story at a Little Free Library or sharing your latest read over a cup of coffee. It’s not simply the act of reading; it’s the act of passing something on, of saying, "This made me feel something, and I want you to feel it too." An idea, a memoir, or a story once shared is no longer just one person’s truth, but a collective one, belonging to everyone who has lived it through reading, thinking, and feeling. Books are the great equalizer, and Little Free Libraries enable them to be even more so. No matter who we are, where we come from, or what we’ve lived through, a book can bridge the distance, bringing strangers closer than anything else could.

Have a great week and keep reading,

Arty

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What did you read over Shabbos?

A selection of shared Shabbos reads