On the surface, Alvin Rosenfeld has written a "Jewish book" about a Holocaust survivor who is battling the demons of what he witnessed and who he left behind under the ground in Eastern Europe. The book is filled with yiddish expressions and other references to Jewish culture, including the culture that was created by the largest Jewish community in the Western Hemisphere (New York City). Believe me, though, this book should be read by Gentiles as well as Jews. It is not a book about the Jewish world so much as about the human condition and, in particular, about the way people cope with tragedy.
Rosenfeld, a renowned psychiatrist, has conceived a character, in Hyman Schwartz, to whom the reader cannot help but relate. Devastated by the Holocaust and the loss of his beloved wife and son, Schwartz goes through life in New York in a semi-living, semi-loving state. Is such a condition terminal? Rosenfeld gives us hope that the answer is a resounding "No!" but he also shows us that "reenter[ing] the world of vulnerable, suffering humans" after the tragedy of tragedies is easier said than done.
In the end, Rosenfeld's book is a tale of the importance of knowing people who truly care about us. Given such support, the psyche can endure incredible suffering and come out the other end -- scathed, yes, but still ready to engage life emotionally as well as spiritually. But without human affection, without genuine support, what are we left with? Rosenfeld doesn't explicitly tell us, but I'm afraid he doesn't have to.
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