(Spoiler Alert: If you have not read 'The Book of Lights' by Chaim Potok, and think you might at some future date, you may not want to continue reading this post as it does give some plot information that is towards the end of the book.)
Recently I finished reading a book by Chaim Potok, 'The Book of Lights', for the second time. For what reason I do not know, but this second reading invoked in me a strong subconscious emotion akin to empathy that I did not experience the first time I read it.
As to the book itself, like many of Potok's books it deals in part with the struggle between intellectualism and the sacred, a struggle that I have personally experienced, a struggle that is at the heart of many of the political divisions in the West. It is the story of a young Jewish man named Gershon who is searching for something, perhaps akin to 'truth', which is difficult to find. He is a student of Kabbalah - writings of Jewish mystics. In regards to this, at the beginning of the book is a quote from the Zohar:
"See how many hidden causes there are...hidden from the comprehension of human beings. ...There are lights upon lights, one more clear than another, each one dark by comparison with the one above it from which it receives its light. As for the Supreme Cause, all lights are dark in its presence."
Gershon has a friend Arthur Leiden, whose father was a physicist in large part responsible for the development of the atomic bomb, christened the 'death light' by some (a blind girl saw the flash of the first test in New Mexico from over 120 miles away) that destroyed two cities and hundreds of thousands of lives in an instant and ultimately gave into the hands of man the capability of bringing about extinction of life on the planet. Arthur is also searching for something, a redemption of sorts for what his father has brought into the world, which he bears heavily. The two friends both spend time serving as Jewish Chaplains in Korea shortly after the Korean war, although their reasons for going are vastly different. Arthur winds up dying in a plane crash, and near the end of the book Gershon returns to the rooftop of the slum apartment building where he grew up. This sets the stage for the following passage:
He waited. There was someone on the roof with him, in a corner, near a jumble of pipes. He did not turn; instead he sat down slowly on the tar paper and placed his head between his knees. He felt the boniness of his legs against the sides of his face. There he sat a long time, waiting. Yes, there was someone on the roof with him. He sat very still, waiting.
Then he began a slow and determined descent into himself. This he did with the fiercest of concentration, moving with great care past fears and angers, past faces and shadows, deep and deeper still toward the silent, central, secret point of himself. And he sensed as he moved that someone had brushed by him on the roof and had entered him, and now they were together, and it was the whisper of the messenger from the other side, and it said, Good morning, Gershon. Yes, this darkness is morning. You take a strange journey. Have you no concern for me at all? And Gershon moved on toward the center, and the messenger said, Ah, Gershon. What can you find in here that you did not find out there? And Gershon moved on and still on and deeper and deeper still, and at the very deepest within himself he heard a voice, and the voice had a face, and it was the face of Arthur Leiden, and the voice was saying very softly, There must be something we can say or do, dear Gershon. There can't be nothing. And Gershon trembled and heard the silken voice of the messenger say, Ah, there was something. Yes, and what did it get you, dear Arthur? What? And Arthur said again, There must be something we can say or do. Something. And Gershon listened to them, to both of them within the center of himself, and then he heard distant words echoing from somewhere far beyond where he was now, words in Aramaic, and the words made the journey, and he listened, and the words were the words of the Kaddish, the sacred public affirmation of God, and he heard, "Magnified and sanctified be the name of God throughout the world which He hath created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom during the days of your life and during the life of all the house of Israel, speedily, yea, soon; and say ye, Amen."
How you play with words and people's feelings! came the faintly annoyed response. How you dangle your illusions before the eyes of the weak! How -
From somewhere came the voice of Arthur Leiden. "Amen," the voice said.
No, Gershon said. This is for you, Arthur, and others must answer. This is for you, for us, for all the broken ones of our generation and the ones to come, for all who live and will live in the shadows of the giants. To the in-between ones who cling with their fingernails to the shards left by the giants - so we can somehow mend the world or hold it together and then have it broken again in new acts of creation. You must not answer, Arthur. Others must answer.
And Gershon went on. "Exalted and honored be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, whose glory transcends, yea, is beyond all praises, hymns, and blessings that man can render unto Him; and say ye, Amen."
He stopped and waited.
You are playing with me, came the sibilant voice. I am not a simpleton. I am from the other side.
"Amen," said Arthur Leiden quietly, faintly.
And Gershon said, Please, please, another must answer. And he continued, "May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life for us and for all Israel; and say ye, Amen."
He waited. There was no response. He waited. All his years and dreams he now brought to this waiting, and then he himself answered, "Amen."
And concluded, "May He who establisheth peace in the heavens, grant peace unto us and unto all Israel; and say ye, Amen."
And waited. And from the darkness came the halting and agitated response of the silken voice. "Amen."
There was a long, steep, dizzying ascent - and a silence. Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked. The air was stifling.
He got to his feet.
Ah, Gershon, how many more times will you need to be broken?
I don't know.
Although at the end of the book, this struck me as the climax of the story, and something which I cannot identify within myself responded very strongly to it. I tried to put it into words when talking with Kim about it and could not do it.
Recently I finished reading a book by Chaim Potok, 'The Book of Lights', for the second time. For what reason I do not know, but this second reading invoked in me a strong subconscious emotion akin to empathy that I did not experience the first time I read it.
As to the book itself, like many of Potok's books it deals in part with the struggle between intellectualism and the sacred, a struggle that I have personally experienced, a struggle that is at the heart of many of the political divisions in the West. It is the story of a young Jewish man named Gershon who is searching for something, perhaps akin to 'truth', which is difficult to find. He is a student of Kabbalah - writings of Jewish mystics. In regards to this, at the beginning of the book is a quote from the Zohar:
"See how many hidden causes there are...hidden from the comprehension of human beings. ...There are lights upon lights, one more clear than another, each one dark by comparison with the one above it from which it receives its light. As for the Supreme Cause, all lights are dark in its presence."
Gershon has a friend Arthur Leiden, whose father was a physicist in large part responsible for the development of the atomic bomb, christened the 'death light' by some (a blind girl saw the flash of the first test in New Mexico from over 120 miles away) that destroyed two cities and hundreds of thousands of lives in an instant and ultimately gave into the hands of man the capability of bringing about extinction of life on the planet. Arthur is also searching for something, a redemption of sorts for what his father has brought into the world, which he bears heavily. The two friends both spend time serving as Jewish Chaplains in Korea shortly after the Korean war, although their reasons for going are vastly different. Arthur winds up dying in a plane crash, and near the end of the book Gershon returns to the rooftop of the slum apartment building where he grew up. This sets the stage for the following passage:
He waited. There was someone on the roof with him, in a corner, near a jumble of pipes. He did not turn; instead he sat down slowly on the tar paper and placed his head between his knees. He felt the boniness of his legs against the sides of his face. There he sat a long time, waiting. Yes, there was someone on the roof with him. He sat very still, waiting.
Then he began a slow and determined descent into himself. This he did with the fiercest of concentration, moving with great care past fears and angers, past faces and shadows, deep and deeper still toward the silent, central, secret point of himself. And he sensed as he moved that someone had brushed by him on the roof and had entered him, and now they were together, and it was the whisper of the messenger from the other side, and it said, Good morning, Gershon. Yes, this darkness is morning. You take a strange journey. Have you no concern for me at all? And Gershon moved on toward the center, and the messenger said, Ah, Gershon. What can you find in here that you did not find out there? And Gershon moved on and still on and deeper and deeper still, and at the very deepest within himself he heard a voice, and the voice had a face, and it was the face of Arthur Leiden, and the voice was saying very softly, There must be something we can say or do, dear Gershon. There can't be nothing. And Gershon trembled and heard the silken voice of the messenger say, Ah, there was something. Yes, and what did it get you, dear Arthur? What? And Arthur said again, There must be something we can say or do. Something. And Gershon listened to them, to both of them within the center of himself, and then he heard distant words echoing from somewhere far beyond where he was now, words in Aramaic, and the words made the journey, and he listened, and the words were the words of the Kaddish, the sacred public affirmation of God, and he heard, "Magnified and sanctified be the name of God throughout the world which He hath created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom during the days of your life and during the life of all the house of Israel, speedily, yea, soon; and say ye, Amen."
How you play with words and people's feelings! came the faintly annoyed response. How you dangle your illusions before the eyes of the weak! How -
From somewhere came the voice of Arthur Leiden. "Amen," the voice said.
No, Gershon said. This is for you, Arthur, and others must answer. This is for you, for us, for all the broken ones of our generation and the ones to come, for all who live and will live in the shadows of the giants. To the in-between ones who cling with their fingernails to the shards left by the giants - so we can somehow mend the world or hold it together and then have it broken again in new acts of creation. You must not answer, Arthur. Others must answer.
And Gershon went on. "Exalted and honored be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, whose glory transcends, yea, is beyond all praises, hymns, and blessings that man can render unto Him; and say ye, Amen."
He stopped and waited.
You are playing with me, came the sibilant voice. I am not a simpleton. I am from the other side.
"Amen," said Arthur Leiden quietly, faintly.
And Gershon said, Please, please, another must answer. And he continued, "May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life for us and for all Israel; and say ye, Amen."
He waited. There was no response. He waited. All his years and dreams he now brought to this waiting, and then he himself answered, "Amen."
And concluded, "May He who establisheth peace in the heavens, grant peace unto us and unto all Israel; and say ye, Amen."
And waited. And from the darkness came the halting and agitated response of the silken voice. "Amen."
There was a long, steep, dizzying ascent - and a silence. Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked. The air was stifling.
He got to his feet.
Ah, Gershon, how many more times will you need to be broken?
I don't know.
Although at the end of the book, this struck me as the climax of the story, and something which I cannot identify within myself responded very strongly to it. I tried to put it into words when talking with Kim about it and could not do it.
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