Chaim Potok (1929–2002)

Danny Saunders and Reuven (Bobby) Malter are both sons of highly respected rabbis in early 20th century Brooklyn. But their lives and their relationships with their fathers are vastly different. Reb Saunders is the sixth generation of his family to lead his religious community of Hasidic Jews, and Danny has been in training to inherit the position all of his life. Part of that training has been to be raised in silence; his father does not speak to him except in the context of their study of show more Talmud. Reuven's father teaches in a yeshiva, and also spends hours studying Talmud with his son, but he holds no regard for what he considers the fanaticism of the Hasidic sects. He and Danny have a close relationship, and they talk about everything. Despite their differences, when their sons' paths cross during an intra-mural softball game, and Danny is the cause of a potentially serious injury to Reuven, both fathers encourage their sons to become friends. As Danny's interests turn scientific, and he contemplates "breaking the dynasty" by not following his father's path, Reuven comes to act as a buffer between Danny and Reb Saunders, learning hard lessons about loyalty and accomodation to reality. The two young men come of age against the background of World War II, the revelations of the horrors of the concentration camps, and the establishment of the State of Israel with its accompanying violence and conflict between Zionists and the Hasidic community which viewed a secular Jewish state as a sacrilege. The book is fascinating from a historical, philosophical and human perspective. Highly recommended.

QUOTES:

"Did we know...that on December 17, 1942, Mr. Eden got the House of Commons and gave the complete details of the Nazi plan, already in full operation, to massacre the entire Jewish population of Europe? ...the whole machine of democratic expression had been set in motion to impress upon the British Government the need for action---and not a thing was done. Everyone was sympathetic, but no one was sympathetic enough. The British let some few Jews in, and then closed their doors. America hadn't cared enough, either. No one had cared enough. The world closed its doors, and six million Jews were slaughtered."

"I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant...A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life...A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here."

" 'That man is such an ignoramus, Father.' I was angry. 'Look into his soul,' I said.' Stand inside his soul and see the world through his eyes. You will know the pain he feels because of his ignorance, and you will not laugh.' " show less

Potok was one of the giants of my adolescence, and I returned to his work countless times throughout my youth, always with a profound sense of coming home. It is an odd thing that an author whose oeuvre is infused with such a specifically Orthodox-Jewish worldview should speak so strongly to the theologically rebellious young daughter of a Christian minister... Or, perhaps it isn't strange at all. Potok is the master, after all, of depicting the conflict between secular and religious show more impulses, a conflict as familiar to me as breathing. He excels, moreover, at demonstrating the intangible strength of faith, its centrality to every aspect of the believer's life, and its terrible harsh beauty...

Of his many books, The Chosen has always been my favorite. Potok's masterpiece, it is a simple fable about complicated topics. Two young Jewish boys - Reuven and Daniel - meet during a baseball game fraught with significance. Their inauspicious first encounter leads to a deep, life-long friendship, despite differences of religious belief (one is Orthodox, the other Hasidic), and paternal interference.

The complicated, and at times tragic, relations between fathers and sons; the ways in which friendship gives us strength, but also makes us vulnerable; and the sometimes oppositional forces of tradition and modernity; are all explored in this seemingly "simple" book... show less

Man...where do I begin with this book. As I was reading it I kept thinking "wow, Asher is really kind of obsessed with drawing and painting to the detriment of his relationships and real world consequences" and then that turned into "is Asher autistic?". Either way, I didn't like Asher as a character as he felt very cold, childish, and hard to understand. I was hoping for something more from his at the end when his dad says that when he goes places people ask him if he's the father of Asher show more Lev but Asher has had a similar experience when people ask him if he's the son of Aryeh Lev but doesn't seize it as an opportunity to connect with his dad on a similar experience they're both having but for different types of creation. I was also dying during the final art show when I realized how upset I would be if someone included me (without my permission) in an art show or book during a very dark time of my life. So yeah, I would give Asher -5,000 stars if I could but since that's not possible I'm giving it .5 of a star. show less

A novel of great power and dark truth. From a very young age, Asher Lev exhibits a gift for drawing, and it consumes him, even in the face of his parents' disdain and discouragement. Drawing is foolishness, a waste of time, his father feels. When Asher wakes up to find he has drawn a disturbing portrait on the wall beside his bed without remembering it, when he drifts off in class and then realizes he has again been drawing unconsciously (this time in a sacred text), the matter becomes show more terribly serious for his father, a prominent member of Brooklyn's Hasidic community, a representative of the Ladover Rebbe in the halls of the US government and around the world. This must not continue. Asher protests that he must draw, that he cannot help himself, which only confirms his father's belief that this "gift" is from the Other Side, not from the Master of the Universe. Only animals cannot control themselves. Asher loves his parents, he observes the rituals and offers the prayers, he tries to apply himself to his secular and religious studies. Yet as he gets older the gift gets stronger; his talent is undeniable; his study of great art leads him away from the cloistered existence of his insular community, and exposes him to centuries of Christian and "pagan" images. What reconciliation of the two worlds is possible? Can an artist be true to his vision without causing grief? Faulkner said, "The writer's only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. ... If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the Ode on a Grecian Urn is worth any number of old ladies." That's all well and good from the distance of a couple hundred years, but delving into the life of a young man grappling with this awful dilemma makes one wonder a bit. In the context of this story, I came away feeling that Asher Lev might have fulfilled his artistic responsibility, and yet have found a way to be slightly less brutal to his parents. Yes, he had to crucify his mother on canvas. OK. But he did not have to let his parents come upon that image unwarned in a public manner. He considered it cowardly not to express his mother's anguish in precisely that way, but did not realize it was also cowardly to avoid the uncomfortable conversation that would have spared both parents the shock and horror of seeing the result, which they could only view as blasphemy and a betrayal? Very often, when faced with a difficult question, Asher remains quiet, as if unable to speak when he knows his answer will be hurtful or unacceptable. In the end, his silence leads to what may be an irreparable rift. show less