From the bookshelf: Chaim Potok The Chosen
Yesterday I went to the bookshop to have a coffee, learn some Spanish and German, and to have a look at what books I would like to read (but will have little time to actually go through them). Instead, I picked up Potok’s The Chosen and stayed in the shop glued to the armchair for hours. I forgot to lunch. Then I remembered that I should eat something but felt that it would be a waste of time to interrupt the story. Halfway through the book, I had to go home, so the magic spell was suspended. Rarely do I find a book that I am so much thankful to, and this is one of them. I like its plain language, first person narrative (Modern Orthodox teenage boy), the brutal honesty of childhood, how and under what conditions hatred turns into friendship (with Hasidic teenage boy, Rebbe’s son), the way Reuven’s father explains why Poland - unlike other nations - welcome the Jews, why it can be a homy feeling to see another sick patient next to you in the hospital playing cards, and how you can miss the mere sight of it once that bed is surrounded by a curtain, how radio connected people like the web around the second world war - I could go on and on, from tiny motifs to big interrelations. Today I will read on. And will do my homework too.