something that was beautiful

My boyfriend and I recently went to Cleveland and saw the stage version of My Name is Asher Lev. I don’t know how many of you have read or heard of this novel or its author, Chaim Potok, but if you haven’t yet picked up this book, I recommend you do so (or, hey, head up to Cleveland and watch the play—it’s phenomenal. Also, The Chosen is a wonderful read, too.)

I appreciated a lot of different things about this experience—from the beauty and pain within the story that was told, to the development of the characters, to the scene changes, to the ideas raised about art and life and truth. The play was superbly done, and I was impressed by how much this stage version accurately represented the novel. I was thankful for this moving representation of the text.

There were only three actors in this play, but there were 6 or 7 different characters. The actors had to quickly change both clothes and personas, and at the same time they were continually moving things around on the stage to create the different places in which the story took place. There were no blackouts; there was no intermission. The man who played the main character, Asher Lev, had to show the audience his growth from a young child into a young man. There was no young boy playing the ten year old Asher. For him to able to effectively communicate the nature of a young, precocious child was imperative to the story being told well. The older man who played Asher’s father also played Asher’s mentor and instructor. The two characters were starkly different, but he did a fantastic job of creating two completely different men. There was no overlap between the actions, voices, or nuances of the two characters. The woman who played the mother successfully portrayed a tormented woman, stricken with depression, with love for her son and husband and brother, with an allegiance to her faith and to her family, though her loves and allegiances threatened to tear her apart, though they did break her spirit.

The story that was told and the questions that were raised are ones that are relevant still. Themes of art and religion and the interplay between the two were prevalent. The idea of something coming from good or from evil sources was raised. The place of community, of constraint, of compulsion and of truth were questioned and enacted on the stage. They are beautiful thoughts, sorrowful thoughts, wrought with pain and joy and fear.

Also, for those of us who are not Jewish, it shows us a portrait of life within a different culture and religion. It shows the interior of the social interactions that we often only see from the outside—it gives the historical aspect of Judaism a place in the present and removes the abstraction from the knowledge we may have about Hassidism. At least that is what it did for me. And though Asher’s situation and experience was different than what many of us will have, there were still many fundamental ways in which the story had connections with all humanity.

The play was a beautiful representation of this story.

I don’t want to tell too much about the actual story part because I believe it is much more powerful and relevant when experienced first-hand, but I will say that it is beautiful. Perhaps what I appreciate the most about this novel and this play is that they help to remind me that what is beautiful is not void of sorrow and struggling. What is good and what is beautiful—these are the things which show truth, and that is not often a pleasant experience or a pretty picture.