Turning the pages of a Chaim Potok novel is like raising to your lips spoonfuls of warm, creamy acorn squash soup on a bitterly cold, solemn day in February—you just can’t stop. When the bowl is suddenly empty, you’re left filled with a wistful mix of emotions—in part due to the melancholic content, but also the cold fact that you’re no longer immersed in the full-bodied flavour of Potok’s world. Aptly described by The New York Times Book Review, his third novel, My Name is Asher Lev (1972), is “A novel of finely articulated tragic power… Little short of a work of genius.”
The book is recounted in the young voice of Asher Lev, born to parents belonging to the fictional Hasicidic sect of Ladover Jews settled in post-war Crown Heights. Asher bears the weight of great expectation as a promising child born from two eminent Jewish lineages—but this fate is challenged by a crucial element of Asher’s being: he carries a tremendous artistic gift.
We are first briefly introduced to an adult Asher, mature in his artform and in his keen sense of positionality between his own community and goyische society. He explains his provocation of both worlds with his magnum opus: a painting depicting a twisted re-imagination of Christ's crucifixion—inspiration for which Potok possibly drew from Marc Chagall’s White Crucifixion. In these first pages we are introduced to Asher’s introspective and spiritually ambivalent point of view. From this perspective, Potok explores a theme consistent throughout his early novels: the conflicting relationship between the demands of deep commitment to community and tradition inherent in Orthodoxy, and conversely, a desire to fulfill personal vocation in secular pursuits.
Potok quickly returns to Asher’s childhood, telling the story of Asher’s developing relationships with family, community, and his artistic gift. Asher is observant of people, streets and the trees that line them. He watches the shifting of light and shadows over the course of a day, and notes the inevitable changing of seasons as time passes by. Potok dutifully recounts the world from Asher's eyes: intimate details of his father’s face in Shabbat candlelight as he sings zemiros in a grandfather’s melody; meticulous descriptions of Eastern Parkway from his family’s apartment window; how rain patters on windows and flows through streets; how water fills his mother’s eyes in climactic moments of visceral emotion. As his observations grow in depth and in emotion, so too does his desire to capture the truth of the world around him.
Potok himself broke from his Orthodox roots and semikha to acquire a doctorate in philosophy and pursue writing, bringing into question the singularity with which religious Judaism proposes how one must live a meaningful life. Potok’s dilemma contrasts two seemingly opposed core identities and how, or if, they can co-exist: one in which meaning is derived through a secular, individualistic life and the other in which meaning is derived from a communal life revolving around Judaism. Asher’s oscillation between loyalty to individual truth and fidelity to tradition makes for a captivating tale. Moreover, the story imparts wisdom and remains relevant for those today in the Jewish community who feel pulled between senses of identity and how to seek meaning.
Potok's seminality in Jewish literature truly shines in this novel. Skillfully, with imagery and eloquence, Potok threads together the themes of community and individuality, obedience and creation, divine faith and exploration of secularism. My Name Is Asher Lev makes for a rare literary encounter that leaves a lasting impression on the reader. From thorough aesthetic descriptions of Asher’s artistic processes, to the rollercoaster of character development, and the rich personalities that contribute to Asher’s journey, Potok does not disappoint.
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