In the Beginning: I became addicted to Haim Potok's writing. Once I finish one of his books, I can't help it - I buy a new one. Amazing story-teller!

Young David Lurie’s life is dominated by accidents in which he is both an unwitting participant and helpless victim. When bringing him home from the hospital, him mother tripped on the front steps to their apartment and fell, with the infant David in her arms; the left side of his face and his nose hit the pavement. A doctor’s examination showed nothing wrong, but unseen was damage to the nasal septum; as a result of this accident, David spent his childhood constantly ill, and grew up fragile. Trying to protect his baby brother’s carriage from the unwelcome attentions of a neighbor’s dog, David shooed the dog away--who promptly ran into the street, was hit by a car, and killed. The dog’s owner blamed David. On his tricycle, he accidentally ran over the hand of an anti-Semitic neighborhood bully,who harassed and frightened David for years. The Great Depression nearly destroyed his father, a man of action who had fought in the Polish Army in World War I, and dedicated his life to bringing Jews out of Europe into the U.S.

But the greatest accident of all was the Holocaust. No one--not David, not his grim father, not his uncle nor any of his friends--can even begin to imagine the mentality that would bring about such a catastrophe. As a result, anything German became taboo.

For David, who, although in fragile health, is a genius, this presents major difficulties. He has become interested in studying the Bible, not just the Torah, which is bad enough in his Orthodox Jewish community; it means reading questionable sources--Jews who, in Orthodox thought, are more like goy. Worst of all, it means reading German scholars; even if they are Jewish, David is surrounded by hostility from members of his yeshiva. David, aided by the greatest Talmudic scholar alive, is forced to choose between the heritage he loves and his passion for learning and understanding.

Chaim Potok, in his finest books, always writes about the conflict between the secular world and that of Orthodox Jewry. He writes about it with the most obvious love for his Orthodox heritage, but with enormous empathy for those in conflict. Whatever the resolution, it isn’t easy for his protagonist and always comes at great cost.

Potock not only is a master storyteller, but he is also a superb writer. Outside of a few words that anyone of my generation heard while growing up on the East Coast of the U.S., I have never heard Yiddish spoken. Potok narates his main story line and conversations with short, simple declarative sentences that have a sort of sing-song (the best way I can describe it) rhythm; I have no doubt that it imitates spoken Yiddish.

But David is someone who loves nature, finds comfort in the zoo and the parks. When Potok describes these scenes and David’s reactions, his prose becomes lyrical; his sentences are complex and filled with the wonder and delight that David feels when he feeds the zoo’s billy goat or is walking along a path in the park to a picnic area. David also dreams, and many are nightmares; then the prose is composed of long run-on sentences, clauses strung together by the conjunction “and” and darkly stunning in their descriptive power.

Potok moves easily with the skill of a master writer among these three styles, weaving a story that is both moving and thought-provoking. His stories are never simple, but they do reveal a world that is mostly hidden from the gentile view, one that is never filled by stereotypical characters but by real people who come from a revered and precious tradition and who must make their way in a secular world. In sum, a powerful book, beautifully written. Highly recommended. ( )

I love Potok's writing. I felt that I missed something in this book, and the story did not propel me forward in the way his other books I've read did. Towards the end, the plot becomes very involved in Jewish scholarship of the Torah and Talmud, to the point that as a non-Jewish reader I felt that I was surely missing a little of what was going on. David Lurie is a sickly boy who reads all the time and is constantly troubled by exactly WHY goyim seem to hate Jews so much. His studies as he grows older take him in directions his orthodox family and yeshiva friends do not approve of. While not really the subject of the story at any point, it takes place against a backdrop of the Great Depression and World War II. ( )

There is truth to this book of a sort one doesn't often find in literature: truth to oneself as a creator, mated with truth to one's traditions, even when the two find themselves in apparent opposition to one another.

The novel offers the story of a young Jewish man's coming-of-age, from a boyish six through to his 23rd year, in which he finally leaves his parents' Bronx apartment to pursue an education elsewhere.

As he grows he grows in wisdom, educated by life about death, duty, hatred, tradition. "We each have a job to do," his father is fond of saying, yet it takes our hero David Lurie a very long time to determine just what his own job may be. His cousin's path is a sure one, just as has been his mother's, his father's, his uncle's, each way dictated by custom, by family, by law. His own path is a trickier one, and only through nearly constant and literally feverish introspection is he able to find it and to find the courage to pursue it.

This book is a magnificent one, rich in detail, alive with the simple observational brilliance that make Potok such an exceptional author. ( )

Follows the very trying adolescence of an Orthodox Jewish boy in frail health, in the Bronx around the time of the Depression. The first half or so of the book was very slow reading for me; I didn't like it much. In the second half it picked up, and I really enjoyed the last third or so. So stick with it; if your experience is like mine, the first part of the book will be hard to get through, but it gets better. I almost quit reading this book about a quarter of the way through, but now I'm glad I didn't. ( )