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A review by nothingforpomegranted
The Chosen by Chaim Potok
5.0
As I reflect on the state of the world in July 2020, I can hardly think of a more perfect story to articulate profound tension and uncertainty.
Reuven Malter and Danny Saunders become friends not by chance, but by a series of small, seemingly inconsequential decisions predicated on their inexplicable connection to each other. Fueled by the adrenaline of a competitive baseball game, Reuven and Danny focus only on each other on the field, seething and challenging each other despite never having met before. This drama reaches its zenith in the first chapter when Danny comes up to bat while Reuven is at the pitcher’s mound, making contact with the ball when Reuven expected him to strike out, sending a powerful hit directly towards Reuven, who attempts to catch the ball rather than duck, and winds up in the hospital with a piece of glass from his spectacles in his left eye.
From there, the story both speeds up and slows down. While the baseball game and Reuven’s ensuing week in the hospital are covered in tremendous detail, comprising about a quarter of the book, years pass before the story ends. However, while time passes more quickly from page to page, Potok’s phenomenal storytelling forces the reader to pause and reflect at regular intervals.
Danny and Reuven strike up and unexpected friendship. Despite living only five blocks away from each other, their Jewish communities are so distinct, that they would not have met were it not for this baseball game. Nonetheless, the bond between the two is palpable, connected by their impressive intellects, and their shared love for Judaism and its long history of scholarship. Their differences in perspective and in path seem to bring them together all the more. They listen to each other, reflect on what the other says, and open themselves up to changing their minds. Potok clearly has an opinion about Hasidism (and not such a positive one), but he grants the Hasidim in this story such humanity even in his disagreement.
This is a story about a beautiful friendship.
But this is just as much a story about fathers and sons. The interactions among the four men—Reuven, Danny, and each of their fathers—are complicated and compelling. Perhaps Reuven’s father is the true hero of the story, for he teaches a remarkable lesson in compassion. Though Reuven insists that he hates Reb Saunders, Danny’s father, and the way he raised Danny, refusing to speak to him outside of the context of studying Talmud and testing him publicly in front of the congregation, his father preached patience. He, too, expresses his frustrations and displeasure at the choices and philosophy of Reb Saunders, but honors him as a tzaddik, a righteous, respectable man. That Reb Saunders’ dialogue fills the last several pages of this novel may demonstrate Potok’s own uncertainty about these characters and the communities they represent. Even the most disagreeable character becomes sympathetic when his motives are explained.
I reread this book this year on Tisha B’Av, a day to reflect and mourn thousands of years of persecution of the Jewish people. Often we are taught that this persecution is a consequence of baseless hatred within the Jewish community. This book provides an answer to that. When we take the time to listen to each other and understand, rather that shutting out opinions we disagree with or focusing on our own next argument, we are more successful at reaching understanding; when you understand, it is far more difficult to hate.
However, this Tisha B’Av, with the world in shambles, I am finding it more difficult than ever to accept that persecution and destruction are a consequence for misbehavior. I cannot fathom what we might have done to merit such a response (as the destruction of the Temples, as the Holocaust, as COVID-19 and going on five months of economic and social lockdown), and I strain to accept these realities as deserved punishment. The Chosen responds to this query as well, though it doesn’t reach a neat conclusion. The novel’s approach to Zionism and the early years of the state of Israel after the revelation of the horrors of the Holocaust offer a profound parallel to this very discussion. For some, Reb Saunders’ insistence that this atrocity is God’s will and that we must, therefore, be patient until the Messiah arrived and God’s will appears more favorable to us is satisfactory. There is, of course, a beauty in such unbreakable faith. At this moment, though, I am more drawn to David Malter’s analysis as he insists that we identify our role in the world and how we can accept the yoke of responsibility to fight for change where we see fit. I like the idea of divinity and humanity collaborating, and I love the conversation between faith and doubt (all among faithful and practicing Jews) that Potok presents in this stunner of a novel.
This novel carries lessons for generations. It can be reread countless times and remain ripe for new discoveries, and it is worthwhile in any time, but, perhaps, especially this one.
Reuven Malter and Danny Saunders become friends not by chance, but by a series of small, seemingly inconsequential decisions predicated on their inexplicable connection to each other. Fueled by the adrenaline of a competitive baseball game, Reuven and Danny focus only on each other on the field, seething and challenging each other despite never having met before. This drama reaches its zenith in the first chapter when Danny comes up to bat while Reuven is at the pitcher’s mound, making contact with the ball when Reuven expected him to strike out, sending a powerful hit directly towards Reuven, who attempts to catch the ball rather than duck, and winds up in the hospital with a piece of glass from his spectacles in his left eye.
From there, the story both speeds up and slows down. While the baseball game and Reuven’s ensuing week in the hospital are covered in tremendous detail, comprising about a quarter of the book, years pass before the story ends. However, while time passes more quickly from page to page, Potok’s phenomenal storytelling forces the reader to pause and reflect at regular intervals.
Danny and Reuven strike up and unexpected friendship. Despite living only five blocks away from each other, their Jewish communities are so distinct, that they would not have met were it not for this baseball game. Nonetheless, the bond between the two is palpable, connected by their impressive intellects, and their shared love for Judaism and its long history of scholarship. Their differences in perspective and in path seem to bring them together all the more. They listen to each other, reflect on what the other says, and open themselves up to changing their minds. Potok clearly has an opinion about Hasidism (and not such a positive one), but he grants the Hasidim in this story such humanity even in his disagreement.
This is a story about a beautiful friendship.
But this is just as much a story about fathers and sons. The interactions among the four men—Reuven, Danny, and each of their fathers—are complicated and compelling. Perhaps Reuven’s father is the true hero of the story, for he teaches a remarkable lesson in compassion. Though Reuven insists that he hates Reb Saunders, Danny’s father, and the way he raised Danny, refusing to speak to him outside of the context of studying Talmud and testing him publicly in front of the congregation, his father preached patience. He, too, expresses his frustrations and displeasure at the choices and philosophy of Reb Saunders, but honors him as a tzaddik, a righteous, respectable man. That Reb Saunders’ dialogue fills the last several pages of this novel may demonstrate Potok’s own uncertainty about these characters and the communities they represent. Even the most disagreeable character becomes sympathetic when his motives are explained.
I reread this book this year on Tisha B’Av, a day to reflect and mourn thousands of years of persecution of the Jewish people. Often we are taught that this persecution is a consequence of baseless hatred within the Jewish community. This book provides an answer to that. When we take the time to listen to each other and understand, rather that shutting out opinions we disagree with or focusing on our own next argument, we are more successful at reaching understanding; when you understand, it is far more difficult to hate.
However, this Tisha B’Av, with the world in shambles, I am finding it more difficult than ever to accept that persecution and destruction are a consequence for misbehavior. I cannot fathom what we might have done to merit such a response (as the destruction of the Temples, as the Holocaust, as COVID-19 and going on five months of economic and social lockdown), and I strain to accept these realities as deserved punishment. The Chosen responds to this query as well, though it doesn’t reach a neat conclusion. The novel’s approach to Zionism and the early years of the state of Israel after the revelation of the horrors of the Holocaust offer a profound parallel to this very discussion. For some, Reb Saunders’ insistence that this atrocity is God’s will and that we must, therefore, be patient until the Messiah arrived and God’s will appears more favorable to us is satisfactory. There is, of course, a beauty in such unbreakable faith. At this moment, though, I am more drawn to David Malter’s analysis as he insists that we identify our role in the world and how we can accept the yoke of responsibility to fight for change where we see fit. I like the idea of divinity and humanity collaborating, and I love the conversation between faith and doubt (all among faithful and practicing Jews) that Potok presents in this stunner of a novel.
This novel carries lessons for generations. It can be reread countless times and remain ripe for new discoveries, and it is worthwhile in any time, but, perhaps, especially this one.