This is the sequel to "My Name is Asher Lev."

Asher, now a married man with children of his own, has achieved success as an artist. However, after a show in Paris where the critics were not overly impressed with his work, he finds himself in a state of recovery.

When his uncle in Brooklyn passes away, he takes his family to New York for the funeral and mourning. His wife, Devorah, who lost her parents as a child, discovers that she enjoys the family and community in Brooklyn.

As a result, their planned 10-day trip is extended much longer than anticipated. Asher once again finds himself torn between his art and his religion. This time, with his family involved, the decisions he has to make become even more complex.

He must navigate the delicate balance between pursuing his artistic passion and remaining true to his religious beliefs, all while considering the needs and feelings of his wife and children.

It is a challenging situation that forces Asher to confront his deepest desires and values, and to make choices that will have a profound impact on his life and the lives of those he loves.

As he grapples with these issues, he begins to question whether it is possible to have both art and religion in his life, or if he must ultimately choose one over the other.

Only time will tell what path Asher will take and how his story will unfold.

My Name Is Asher Lev is a captivating read that offers a fascinating glimpse into the world of the Hasidim and the soul of a visual artist. The two destinies, that of adhering to the religious traditions and that of following the artistic calling, are not easily reconciled.

Asher's family and community, with their personal blindness and intransigence, contrast with their idealism and sense of spiritual mission. They raise Asher in a way that abandons him, subjects him to traumatic loss and grief, and then makes him feel guilty for being himself. They tell him his drawing gift is from the Dark Side and take his son away. Yet, Asher remains committed to his tradition, finding some truth in it that he can't deny. With his creative urge, he manages to live with these opposing polarities, albeit painfully.

I wish there had been a more nuanced exploration of Lev's crucifixion theme in his painting. Instead of simply reacting with shock or excitement based on religious disposition, there could have been a deeper examination of the crucifixion as an archetypal, cosmic theme, rather than just a polarizing religious sign.

In many ways, Asher is the one who is continually crucified. His community wants to create a world of beauty and goodness on their own terms, while he just wants to create, including the painful and uncomfortable parts. He endures vilification and misunderstanding largely in silence, and we, the readers, have to suffer with him and wonder how we would react in such a situation.

It's a pity there wasn't a third book showing Asher's son as the Rebbe. Would he bring change or turn against his father? We'll never know.

The passage about the endless worlds and the harmony between the upper and lower worlds adds a layer of depth to the story, posing difficult questions about the nature of creation and existence.

A truly tragic story unfolds, revealing the overwhelming and crushing weight of tradition, conformity, and fundamentalism. Potok might not have deliberately crafted the novel with the intention of laying bare the evil that religious fundamentalism represents, yet that is indeed one significant layer within this book. When an individual presumes to have the knowledge not only of how others must lead their lives to please God but also of what God Himself thinks and demands, that person, whether intentionally or not, has transformed into a servant of evil, a minion of totalitarianism, and an inhuman and inhumane tyrant. This powerful message serves as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk within the extremes of religious belief and the importance of maintaining a rational and open-minded approach to faith and life.

I just completed this book, and a significant portion of the emotional impact occurs towards the end. It's not a shocking or unexpected revelation, nor is it a wild plot twist. Instead, it's presented in a truly remarkable and moving way that deeply affects readers like me. This makes it somewhat challenging to immediately view the book as a whole.

Potok published this work in 1990, approximately 18 years after "My Name is Asher Lev." The story is set 20 years after the events of the previous book, mainly in 1988. It's possible that in the intervening years, he didn't write anything that could be compared to his early works. Therefore, to me, it's quite remarkable that he managed to pull this off and maintain the same sense within the book that he had created in "My Name is Asher Lev."

I must admit that I don't think this book is as good as "My Name is Asher Lev." However, I still found myself completely immersed in it. Potok devotes a significant amount of the book to creating a vivid experience of the plot. There are countless descriptions, but they effectively set the tone and enhance the reader's experience of the book. It's truly impressive. Within this, he incorporates his sense of cyclic and daily ritual, which he draws from Jewish and Hasidic Jewish traditions, through the repetition of experiences and cycles. For example, the morning descriptions don't provide all the details of a morning, but each one carefully includes Asher Lev telling us that he performed his morning prayers with the same tone, singling it out as something for the reader to notice and reflect upon.

I believe Potok intentionally challenges the reader by introducing the hyper-conservative political aspects of Hasidic Judaism. While they aren't blatantly disturbing here, they do verge on that. In 1988 and 1990, this wasn't yet the enormous problem in Israel that it is today, but it did exist and was uncomfortable. Perhaps Potok had some foresight into where it might lead. In any case, it allows us to sense Asher Lev's ambivalence and discomfort with the black-and-white world of his own Hasidism. Anyway, this is just one part of the book, and I seem to be getting carried away. Once again, for the second time this year, I have thoroughly enjoyed Potok's work.