ABSTRACT
In Chaim Potok’s novel The Book of Lights, a young rabbi from Brooklyn, on leave from his post in Korea during the Korean War, travels for the first time in Japan. One afternoon he stands with a Jewish friend before what is perhaps a Shinto shrine with a clear mirror in the sanctum or perhaps a Buddhist shrine with an image of the Bodhisattva of Compassion. We are not told which, and it really does not matter. The altar is lit by the soft light of a tall lamp. Sunlight streams in the door. The two young men observe with fascination a man standing before the altar, his hands pressed together before him, his eyes closed. He is rocking slightly. He is clearly engaged in what we would call prayer. The rabbi turns to his companion and says,
“Do you think our God is listening to him, John?”
“I don’t know, chappy. I never thought of it.”
“Neither did I until now. If He’s not listening, why not? If He is listening, then – well, what are we all about, John?” 2
