All over the map, from medieval Spain to the Israel town of Sefed to 1990s Manhattan, Rabbi Kushner in his first novel dramatically unfolds the message within the binding of a copy of the Kabbalah's text The Zohar. He interweaves narratives from a shy rabbi at Columbia, his elusive love interest, an alluring, fetching astronomer, a mysterious keeper of a Sephardic synagogue in shambles, and a pair of scholars on their train destined for the death camp. Plus whoever's compiling the original text.
It roams about considerably, and for a short narrative, takes detours into neon signs, elevators, and the binding of books. I can't say this potpourri produces a knockout effect as to its blend of disparate ingredients, but it kept me up two nights into the wee hours, so as entertainment with a moral, it at least met my expectations. The magic realism didn't always enchant me, but Kushner is imaginative.
The problem is that the big reveal of the supposedly cryptic message didn't appear to me that dazzling or profound. I couldn't grasp why experts in the field would be that perplexed, or that bowled over, by its contents. Perhaps readers more susceptible to the rather New Age tone may find this successfully imagines the moral at its core. From my perspective, if not the author, isn't this body of knowledge one to be approached through Torah, observance, and care, given the risks it exposes the unwise to?