Chaim Potok says in his foreword to the book that he wanted to write “an encompassing metaphor. How to make a unity of such disparate entitles—the war in Europe, a childhood eye injury, the mesmerizing quality and dark menace of certain books, Freud, religion, psychology, mathematical logic, sacred texts, scientific text criticism, Zionism, the Holocaust.”
In that he did a great job. The book was beautiful and memorable. It teaches history and a few life lessons, but overall, I found it tedious, boring. I continued reading it because the story will last in my mind, and I knew that I could never consider that it was not a great novel.
A rabbi teaches his son, Danny, the Talmud but otherwise never speaks to him. It is the Hasidic way to teach. The silence causes suffering, but it is through this suffering that he is to learn compassionate and how to find his own answers in life. This is true. In my own life the silence from the Jehovah’s Witnesses, the shunning, caused me suffering, but out of that I learned to have compassion for others who suffered and are suffering. Finding my own answers in life, well, maybe there are no real answers, but that is now okay.
Then there is the boy Reuven, whose father is a teacher that studies the Talmud with him, but they are Orthodox Jews. Reuven’s relationship with his father is one of admiration because his father is approachable, warm, and kind towards him; it contrasts with Danny’s own relationship with his dad.
The relationship between the fathers and sons, and between the boys, made this story work somewhat for me. Still, I didn’t want to read a blow by blow account of a baseball game that lasted throughout entire first chapter, nor did I like hospital stories which took up a few more chapters.
I thought after the baseball game, and then the hospital stay that the book would pick up, but then Danny was interested in psychology, mainly Freud. I had lost interest in psychology after 3 college courses, and I continued to lose interest in it when some of the Jewish men that I had dated back then wanted to analyze me. Maybe they became psychologists and don’t have to use dates for their case studies, but I understand that they still can’t stop analyzing their family members. So by now, as I am reading this book, I am irritated with it and an thinking of my women Jewish friends who I knew back then, who, when they would hear something that they didn’t like, said, “Oy vey.” I silently screamed, “Oy vey” over and over again.
So while Danny wanted to become a psychologist, his father wanted him to become a rabbi. He was depressed over this but Freud’s thoughts on the human condition depressed him even more. Psychology can do that, but religion can as well. I considered him stuck between a rock and a hard place.
And so yes, there was religion, the long lessons that each boy had to learn when their fathers taught them the Talmud. They learned it inside and out, and my own mind was screaming inside and out, yet I also knew that this way of learning could be applied to other curriculums. It is just that have grown sick of religion over the years, over my own struggles to find answers in life. I am sick of the shunning that goes on in them, of the righteousness, of believing that your religion is right and all others can go to hell or wherever their lack of faith takes them.
I wanted to read a book about Jewish boys growing up in Brooklyn, N.Y., but I didn’t want to read one that was academic. I thought more along the lines of their playing, not baseball, but in the creeks catching pollywogs. I also thought more along the line of their stealing apples out of a fruit stand that was outside of a store. But then I thought about my own Jewish friends who were in college, and none of us where interested in anything other than college, and well, men. We were past the age of pollywogs, but as I grew older I came back to the pollywogs.
As I read this book I saw how the American Jews reacted to the end of WWII when they learned that 6 million Jews had been murdered with many being gassed and then burned in incinerators. My mind went back to two weeks ago when my husband and I were driving past a funeral home, and the smoke was coming out of the chimney of the crematorium; I cringed, thinking of those gas chambers in Auschwitz. I thought how uncivilized it was and how horrible to have it at the edge of our town. Maybe there is a reason that hell is beneath the earth.
Then I went back to thinking of how Danny’s father reacted to the fact that some of his family was murdered during the holocaust, and how he became depressed and emotionally disturbed, which lead me to thinking of how close Jewish ties were and still are, and I thought of how I didn’t relate to any one race or religion, but that I mourned for the world, but also I feel that doing so has never affected me as much as it did them; it is too scattering, because there isn’t that same sense of loss that you have with a family, with a close knit culture. Yet we must care for everyone and not limit ourselves.
And as the years went by in my own life, as I learned more about humankind, I grew to believe that there is nothing that man cannot and will not do to another human being once he considers him his enemy. I learned how it doesn’t make much to turn a friend, a family member, or even a group of people into the enemy. But both religion and politics divides us like this, and other expectations do as well, and there is probably no way to get around it. Still, I have to hold on to the belief that some men will never change; they will always remain humane.
Now, American politics reminds me of how Hitler came to power, and while I still read non-fiction books, when things get too heavy in regards to the news, I like to pick up a book about childhood memories; it is my own therapy. This book was not therapy.
I think of how Americans, according to an article in the Aarp Magazine, are having health problems due to the news, and those who need therapy don’t talk about their own problems in therapy, they just talk about Trump. But America, outside of the men and women in the military, has not faced war in their homeland since the Civil War, and I know that some Americans fear that this can happen here, or that our world will just be blown up. They don’t know what real fear feels like, yes, they know of the sleepless nights, of the worry, but they don’t understand the suffering. No one does that has not experienced it.