I remember being puzzled by that, too.

Rav Gershenson uses and permits only traditional study methods in his classes, but he evidently understands and privately uses the same critical methods that Reuven’s father uses. (Think of the scene when Reuven is first asked to stay after class and explain to Gershenson how his father would have taught that day’s passage. Gershenson understands and unexpectedly praises Reuven’s explication. Contrast his reaction with that of Reb Saunders, which, based on other similarities between the two rabbis, is what Reuven had expected from Gershenson.)

When Reuven checks the catalog and finds out that Gershenson hasn’t published anything, he decides Gershenson is a coward — Hirsch College condemns the critical method and Reuven thinks Gershenson doesn’t dare go against the traditionalists in power. But Reuven’s father publishes constantly, using the new methods. He would not be allowed to teach at Hirsch because of his integrity, while Gershenson is allowed to teach because of his supposed cowardice.

John and Ardis, thanks for what you wrote. It’s helping me make a bit of headway with this.

It hadn’t occurred to me that Gershenson hadn’t published. I thought he just wasn’t being listed for some reason.

So that provides me some room to work out an understanding.

I still would have some questions.

Is it possible Gershenson was forbidden to publish by the school where he worked? [Or is he just self-censoring?] If the school forbids its teachers to publish – then that would be something that would prevent Reuben’s father from working there.

If he is nor forbidden to publish – why wouldn’t Gershenson have writings that respect the limits that he himself accepts in his classroom? There seems to be plenty of room for him to provide insight and thought without going into the critical methodology that he still seems to understand and appreciate. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to teach.

Since we’re dealing with a fictional character here – it’s a little bit hard to get anywhere. I felt that Chaim Potok failed to provide a necessary transition somehow. He ends the chapter on this sort of solid-sounding line – as if he is making such a powerful point – but we end up having to make up an explanation as it isn’t really clear.

Ardis, I will continue my re-reading then. I have only finished the Chosen.

danithew, this morning I looked for the passage I remembered as having explained the question you had. Found it — in The Promise (p. 345 in my edition). Being careful to avoid spoilers:

Reuven sits for the examination that will determine whether or not he is ordained. His examiners are Gershenson (who is accepting of new methods, within limits), Kalman (who is a die-hard traditionalist who opposes the merest suggestion of textual criticism) and the college’s dean (whose opinions we don’t really know). Risking all he has worked for toward ordination, Reuven uses his father’s new critical methods, with spectacular effect. When he leaves the exam room, it is not at all certain that he will be ordained.

After the decision is made, Reuven discusses it with Gershenson, who says, “Tell me, Reuven, will you write articles on the Gemora using this method?”

“Yes.”

“I am not sure Rav Kalman will like that.”

I did not say anything.

He smiled. “It is hard for an old tree to bend, Reuven. Be careful in your aticles. Be very careful. Do not be afraid to write.” He smiled sadly. Years ago, I had looked up his name in the English and Hebrew catalogues in the school library and discovered he had never published anything. “No,” he said. “You should not be afraid to write. But be careful that you know what you are saying.”

Around 1994, Potok was a visiting professor in my university’s writing seminars program. A public lecture in the evening in a not-large classroom filled by a few dozen people was a delight. I mention this mainly to share vicariously with Danithew and Ardis, but something he said relates to Rav Gershenson.

Potok went on at length about “core-core collisions.” He mentioned taking his collie for a walk in his Brooklyn neighborhood, and passing a Hasidic boy who said in Yiddish, “Look, there’s Lassie.” He wondered how the kid had ever heard of Lassie. A meeting of cultures, but very peripherial. The study of Talmud in The Chosen using philosophies or techniques coming from outside that tradition is one of those core-core collisions, and how people deal with that is what Potok wanted to write about.

John, that whole “core-core collisions” concept will probably be something for me to ponder for a long time to come.

Thanks for sharing that experience.

I’m a newbie/lurker here finally deciding to comment.

I thought a lot about that passage when I read The Chosen earlier this year. I interpreted it to mean that Reb G. has no real passion for the subject matter. While R’s dad, on the other hand, had an unbridled passion, working himself to death teaching and publishing. I think Potok is saying that orthodoxy can stifle sincere religious passion.