The children of Rainbow Kindergarten have a Friday routine. Walking with their teachers, Merav and Tal, they enjoy the open space of a field a short distance from their school. Their play is mostly unstructured, but when flowers bloom in the Israeli winter, they gather dandelions and blow the plants’ white seeds into the air. When a sign appears announcing that new housing will be built atop their playground, the change is difficult to accept. Dandelion Snow suggests that ambivalence in the face of such change is appropriate, but also encourages children to adapt without abandoning their joyful interaction with the natural world.
Rinat Primo’s melodic prose, as translated by June Amikam, captures the children’s sense of wonder. They weave the dandelions into crowns and imagine the flowers’ delicate tops as “grandparents with wispy white hair.” Ultimately, the scattered whiteness reminds them of snow, in imaginary contrast to the green fields where they play. The author also describes the reality of the hot summer, when the children need to wear hats for protection from the sun and drink water. When the sign alerting them of construction arrives, they are puzzled, but their beloved teachers are prepared. Instead of reciting platitudes, Merav and Tal offer realistic guidance, helping the children adjust. When one child asks if the dandelions live in the new buildings, “Merav laughs, but she doesn’t answer.”
By the time construction begins, the children have begun to process the idea. They are intrigued by the diggers, even envisioning the vehicles’ bright yellow color as similar to “huge dandelions.” Merav plants the idea that providing people with new homes at least partially compensates for the dandelions’ disappearance. In dialogue with their teachers, the children begin to develop their own ideas about how to distribute the remaining seeds, bringing “snow” to a busy neighborhood.
Maya Ish-Shalom’s colorful illustrations complement the text. Children with different skin tones and bright clothing parade down a street through a largely gray neighborhood. There is a clear contrast between the darkness of the rainy season and the bright interiors of their classroom.
When the new construction is completed, the result is not a disruption of nature. While the homes are also gray, oversized yellow flowers wrap around them like a jungle, and families enjoy the combination of technology and natural beauty. The children’s world will not be the same, but they have found harmony and balance through the resilience modeled by their teachers. The dandelion snow has not gone anywhere.
Emily Schneider writes about literature, feminism, and culture for Tablet, The Forward, The Horn Book, and other publications, and writes about children’s books on her blog. She has a Ph.D. in Romance Languages and Literatures.
