I just finished. (I had read it before so I was chiming in anyway)

I think Asher didn't (couldn't?) warn his parents because he wanted them to see his work. Not just the crucifixes, all of it. And not even the acclaim heaped on him at the opening -- he wanted them to see what he was and what he did. In part, I think it was because he had FINALLY seen what his Father had done, and appreciated it in a pretty visceral way -- and he wanted the same in return. He knew if he told them they wouldn't go and they would never see it. Once word of the crucifixes reached them, that would be it. He had this tiny window of them seeing him and his work before he, probably inevitably, broke their hearts.

I was struck how the week to the opening was a long good-bye. I knew what was coming, and it was so hard to watch it unfold.

I was also struck how the Rebbe sends him away but does not cast him out. By the end of the book I could almost understand the community's love and reverence for the man.

I was also struck how the Rebbe sends him away but does not cast him out. By the end of the book I could almost understand the community's love and reverence for the man.

Trudy, I had the same feeling, which surprised me.

And, going back a few days...

Naturally I could relate to the setting a great deal, probably more than most of you, and was actually curious how easy or difficult it was for other people to understand many of the concepts Asher Lev throws out.

This was the one thing that threw me out of the book (although I did really like it). Concepts and vocab were often eventually explained, but I could have used a glossary at the back for when I first reached an unknown word or ritual. Given that this was set in my neighborhood and I am actually in (visual) contact with Hasidim on a daily basis, I wondered how this would read to someone completely unfamiliar with the community. Of course, such a person would probably have the pleasure of not be annoyed by him calling Eastern Parkway "Brooklyn Parkway" or the Brooklyn Museum "Parkway Museum" so I guess it all works out.

That bothered me too, Megan, but I figured it made the locations not only a little more accessable to non-Brooklyn-knowers, but maybe even a little more cloistered for Asher.

Still bugged though.

Oh, and did you notice that Jacob Kahn's subway stop is mine? Gave me tingles.

By the end of the book I could almost understand the community's love and reverence for the man.

I did understand it. I was predisposed to not like him, but as written, the Rebbe seems like a truly holy man to me, part of a tradition, but not bound by it. This does tap into something that is also difficult for me, the idea of "holy people." I can understand regular rabbis or priests or whatever, who have the training, time and inclination to provide guidance. And I see people out there who appear to be "better than" (Mother Theresa, Ghandi), but it's hard for me to square these people and the concept with the world and people I see around me in daily life. Sorry for the incoherance on this, but it's hard for me to write on this, since I haven't figured it out for myself yet.

Re: the Rebbe--I was surprised by him as well. I always got the impression that he knew his people didn't quite get the whole message but he loved them all for working so hard. The fact that the Rebbe knew Jacob so well and that Jacob had great respect for the Rebbe was very telling. The Rebbe transcended boundaries that the less-enlightened couldn't.

I was also predisposed not to like the Rebbe. To me, people should be empowered to make their own decisions in life, not trained to consult with a 'holy man' to figure out what they need to do. In my personal life, if I have a question about Jewish law, I'll ask a Rabbi, but if I have a question about what profession to be in, or where to live, I'll make that decision with my family and nobody else.

That being said, I was also surprised to find myself really liking and respecting the character of the Rebbe. He didn't so much as tell his Hasidim what to do, as advise them. He is certainly a shrewd man, but it also comes across that he loves all his people and really tries to do what's best for them. And he was the only person in the Ladover community (with the possible exception of Asher's uncle) who did not have a knee-jerk reaction to Asher's chosen lifestyle.

Still, for all the support the uncle gave, the room where the art materials were stored was the only one in the house that didn't have the (blanking on proper name) protective emblem on the door jamb.

Mezuzah

I'm picking up The Gift of Asher Lev for the flight home. I read it years ago and am all excited to read it again.

I finished The Gift of Asher Lev last night.

It helped clear up some of the confusion I had regarding the prohibition against Asher's art. It also seemed as though Asher interacted with a lot more people (Jewish and non-Jewish), and, although it was still told through Asher's point of view exclusively, these interactions made the world more tangible and accessible.

Going back to My Name is Asher Lev, I think the reverence for the Rebbe comes from the fact that so many people in the Ladover community feel they owe their lives to the Rebbe and his mission. I think that many of the people in the Ladover community in general are being confronted with freedoms and choices that they are not accustomed to and rely on the Rebbe to help them navigate this new world.

Of course Asher's family has been in the US for a little while, so the situation isn't entirely new to them. Asher's father remains tied to the Rebbe because he believes in the mission, but his uncle, who has built his jewelry stores, doesn't seem as dependent on the Rebbe beyond careful and respectful observence.