We love the plays, the great characters, the fabulous speeches, the witty repartee even in times of duress. I hope never to be mortally stabbed, but if I am, I'd sure like to have the self-possession, when asked if it's bad, to answer, "No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor as wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve," as Mercutio does in Romeo and Juliet. I mean, to be dying and clever at the same time, how can you not love that? Rather than saying it proves you're well read, I think what happens is that writers quote what they've read or heard, and more of them have Shakespeare stuck in their heads than anything else. Except Bugs Bunny, of course. (This passage is from chapter 6 of How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster.)
I don't know what else to say except that Foster sure knows how to say what he says. He has a great sense of humor - hilarious - and has so many wonderful examples, similes, and explanations, that makes his book interesting enough. It is both educational as well as funny. What more could you ask for? Besides, Everyone would rather learn from someone who makes jokes ever so often, and yet obviously knows what he is talking about, rather than someone who puts them to sleep. Even though there are parts of Foster's book that aren't so funny or enjoyable, the parts that are make up for it. I love it.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Chosen
Then he looked back at me, and his voice was gentle as he spoke. "Reuven, I--I ask you to forgive me... my anger... at your father's Zionism. I read his speech... I--I found my own meaning for my... brother's death... for the death of the six million. I found it in God's will... which I did not presume to understand. I did not--I did not find it in a Jewish state that does not follow God and His Torah. My brother... the others... they could not--they could not have died for such a state. Forgive me... your father... it was too much... too much--"
His voice broke. He held himself tightly. His beard moved faintly with the trembling of his lips.
"Daniel," he said brokenly. "Forgive me... for everything... I have done. A--a wiser father... may have done differently. I am not... wise."
He rose slowly, painfully, to his feet. "Today is the--the Festival of Freedom." There was a soft hint of bitterness in his voice. "Today my Daniel is free..."
(This passage was taken from Chapter 18 of Chaim Potok's The Chosen.)
This passage almost made me cry -- for joy. For Danny's whole life, his father had not talked to him -- except to teach a lesson on the Talmud or to explode -- to teach him a lesson on pain and compassion. I cannot imagine that. It would be so awful -- torturous. Then, after years of silence, for his father to come to him -- just before he leaves for college -- and apologize for all those years of harsh raising, it would be like the breaking of a dam. Both father and son cried for joy for the new found freedom and from the pain from those years of separation. Incredible. Unimaginable. I am so glad I did not have to go through anything like that.
His voice broke. He held himself tightly. His beard moved faintly with the trembling of his lips.
"Daniel," he said brokenly. "Forgive me... for everything... I have done. A--a wiser father... may have done differently. I am not... wise."
He rose slowly, painfully, to his feet. "Today is the--the Festival of Freedom." There was a soft hint of bitterness in his voice. "Today my Daniel is free..."
(This passage was taken from Chapter 18 of Chaim Potok's The Chosen.)
This passage almost made me cry -- for joy. For Danny's whole life, his father had not talked to him -- except to teach a lesson on the Talmud or to explode -- to teach him a lesson on pain and compassion. I cannot imagine that. It would be so awful -- torturous. Then, after years of silence, for his father to come to him -- just before he leaves for college -- and apologize for all those years of harsh raising, it would be like the breaking of a dam. Both father and son cried for joy for the new found freedom and from the pain from those years of separation. Incredible. Unimaginable. I am so glad I did not have to go through anything like that.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Chosen
Both Reb Saunders and my father were quite ill on the day in May when word finally came that the war in Europe was over.
...And then, together with the official report of the signing of the unconditional surrender on May 7, there came the news, at first somewhat guarded, then, a few days later, clear and outspoken, of the German concentration camps. My father, recuperating slowly and looking worn and weary, sat in his bed propped on pillows, and read the newspaper stories of the horrors that had occurred in those camps. His face was grim and ashen. he seemed unable to believe what he was reading.
It was while my father read to me an account of what had happened at Teresienstadt, where the Germans had imprisoned and incinerated European Jews of culture and learning, that I saw him break down and weep like a child.
(This passage was taken from Chaim Potok's The Chosen, page 190.)
This passage, talking about the Holocaust stood out to me. It goes on to talk about how weeks after, as more and more information comes in about the concentration camps, how these two pastors (Reb Saunders and Reuven's father) are suffering for their people -- the six million Jews who had been massacred. How they cry with the slightest upsetting, and one of them even has a stroke. It made me think. This occurrence (the death of millions of innocent people) was so disturbing and had never happened before. It affected so many millions of people... just unbelievable. When I went to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, I was speechless (which seems to be a rare occurrence in itself) and at multiple times almost cried. I walked through hall after hall, where the names of hundreds of thousands of the massacred were imprinted. Just seeing so many names (it would be almost impossible to count them without a machine)... and knowing they were all murdered... left an unexplainable knot in my stomach. There are not words to describe how I felt -- though it was almost as if part of me died.
...And then, together with the official report of the signing of the unconditional surrender on May 7, there came the news, at first somewhat guarded, then, a few days later, clear and outspoken, of the German concentration camps. My father, recuperating slowly and looking worn and weary, sat in his bed propped on pillows, and read the newspaper stories of the horrors that had occurred in those camps. His face was grim and ashen. he seemed unable to believe what he was reading.
It was while my father read to me an account of what had happened at Teresienstadt, where the Germans had imprisoned and incinerated European Jews of culture and learning, that I saw him break down and weep like a child.
(This passage was taken from Chaim Potok's The Chosen, page 190.)
This passage, talking about the Holocaust stood out to me. It goes on to talk about how weeks after, as more and more information comes in about the concentration camps, how these two pastors (Reb Saunders and Reuven's father) are suffering for their people -- the six million Jews who had been massacred. How they cry with the slightest upsetting, and one of them even has a stroke. It made me think. This occurrence (the death of millions of innocent people) was so disturbing and had never happened before. It affected so many millions of people... just unbelievable. When I went to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, I was speechless (which seems to be a rare occurrence in itself) and at multiple times almost cried. I walked through hall after hall, where the names of hundreds of thousands of the massacred were imprinted. Just seeing so many names (it would be almost impossible to count them without a machine)... and knowing they were all murdered... left an unexplainable knot in my stomach. There are not words to describe how I felt -- though it was almost as if part of me died.
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