Zev has a rebellious streak in him. He lives to play handball and he plays in a tournament one Shabbat rather than attending synagogue. Not only that, when he gets hungry, he eats a non-kosher hotdog. He figures he'll get in trouble when he gets home. When he gets home, though, a rabbi is sitting in his living room waiting to tell Zev that his father has been killed by a car while crossing the street. His distraught mother is with friends.
The rabbi has tracked down Zev's sister, Frida (like the artist Frida Kahlo) who used to be called by the Yiddish name, Frayda. She drives from Illinois to New York to attend the funeral. The morning after the funeral as she and Zev are preparing to sit shiva, they make the decision for Zev to accompany her back to Illinois. Right at that moment. Off they go.
Growing up in a Hasidic community in Brooklyn leaves one very isolated. Education is limited to religious instruction and the very bare basics of secular studies. The community is very insular so Zev hasn't had any exposure to non-Hasids. He's never watched TV. He has no understanding of popular culture. It's nearly impossible to find kosher food in Urbana, Illinois. The only synagogue is a reform temple. Zev wonders if these people are even Jewish? When he arrives in Illinois, it's like an alien landing on Earth. There's so much he doesn't know and nothing seems familiar.
Even in his new home, all he wants to do is play handball. That becomes his connection to the larger world. Through everything, though, even though Zev isn't sure what he believes in or doesn't believe in, he's determined to remain a Jew. He continues to wear a yalmulka. His explanation towards the end of the novel really struck home for me. I nodded my head thinking, "Yes. Yes. This is exactly it." (I had a conversation with myself in synagogue a few weeks ago that was remarkably similar.)
This novel isn't for everyone, but I really enjoyed it a lot and recommend it for the right person.
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