Leaving Eastern Parkway

I am always intrigued by the hows and whys of very religious people, mostly Jews, who leave the fold. What was their thinking? Why did they leave? How did they leave? What was their transition like? Matthew Daub's debut novel, Leaving Eastern Parkway, fit the bill. It's the story of Zev, a young teen living as a Hasidic Jew in Brooklyn. Zev's sister has already left the Hasidic community so Zev lives alone with his mother and father.

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.
 

Mazel

Mazel, by Rebecca Goldstein, was a hard copy novel given to me by a fellow book club member that I read at the same time that I was reading Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale on my kindle. It was interesting to be reading two books where Judaism is an important component at the same time. Yet the stories could not be more different. I wonder if reading them at the same time made me like Mazel less than I might have had I read it at a different time.

The novel starts with Phoebe's marriage to a traditional Jew in suburban New Jersey, a lifestyle that neither her grandmother, Sasha, or her mother, Chloe, can understand. Sasha's rejection of traditional Judaism and traditional women's roles is implied and easily comprehended as the story jumps back in time to Sasha's childhood in the shtetl in Poland. Sasha, then Sorel, is the daughter of a rabbi. She's one of six children. She and her two sisters are very close. One of their favorite ways to pass the time was to create stories together.

After tragedy strikes the family, Sorel and her parents move from the shtetl to Warsaw where her life changes when her aunt introduces her to the Yiddish theater. This takes Sorel's storytelling to a new level.

Sorel's mother's guiding force is mazel - or luck - and that becomes Sasha's guiding force as well. I felt that the author talked more about the mazel rather than showing it. I also wish that Sasha's story was shared directly with Phoebe rather than the story jumping back in time without the connection. For me, the story dragged a bit when dealing with he relationships amongst those in Sasha's original Yiddish theater group in Warsaw. For these reasons, this book was just an okay read for me. It would probably lead to a good book club discussion, but I doubt that I will recommend this as a title for my synagogue book club.