"My Name is Asher Lev" is a beautiful, compelling novel. I feel a stronger conviction to be honest about my life, about who I am and about
how I need to express that.
I was captivated with the chapters when Asher lived
in Paris and produced his first masterpiece. He knew the first Brooklyn Crucifixion was
incomplete, and frankly, a lie. But when he really got in touch with himself he
was able to paint the Brooklyn Crucifixion II. And he knew it would devastate his family to see it. And yet, to not paint it, to censor it, to pretend he didn't feel it, would have
been death
I experience this daily. I'm not always on the verge of a masterpiece but I am daily trying to navigate my own neurotic mind. There are days that I know something powerful is brewing deep down in my subconscious, but am I brave enough to paint it? Can I see it in full-color? Can I look it in the eye? Most days, no. Most days I'm quite content denying it's even there, and like Asher's mama, content to paint "pretty pictures" of my life.
I can't be too hard on myself for this tendency to lie, it is the human condition after all. What's beautiful is when we manage to momentarily suspend our "human-ness" and remember that we are spiritual beings with powerful things to say and do.
The weeks and days before Asher's art show he was mourning the effect that his art would inevitably have on his parents. But did that stop him? He was very tempted to take his masterpiece down, but he couldn't do it. The canvas would tell it all, the betrayal, the pain, the blasphemy. But that was his masterpiece. Why should he pretend it was any other way? He couldn't hold back his greatest self-discovery simply because he knew it might hurt people. What courage. Healing is definitely not for the faint-of-heart.
Let's face it, every one of us has some serious issues that we inherited from our childhood and, don't you know it, from our parents. I know of no exception to that statement. I've come to terms with the concept that all parenting, good or bad, is brainwashing. It's indoctrination. And when an adult realizes that they were brainwashed or indoctrinated as a child, well, they're pissed off! And we think to ourselves, "There's no way in Hell I'm going to put my children through what I went through!" So we swing from one end of the pendulum to the next. If religion was crammed down your throat, you become atheist. If atheism was crammed down your throat, you become religious. In truth, it's not always apparent to ourselves that we have swung to the other end of the pendulum. It's not always so black and white as religion versus atheism. It's most of the time very subtle. But it's like we're over correcting an out of control vehicle. We can't seem to think in the moment that we're driving off the cliff, "Now, let's see, if I just slightly turn the wheel a few degrees this way I'll avoid this tremendous and forthcoming accident." We typically think, "Ahhhhh!" and violently turn the wheel the opposite direction as hard as we can. It's natural, really it is. The tragic irony is that as far left or right that we crank the wheel we never stop to notice the car we're driving. That part we inherited from our folks even if the driving skills can be relearned.
I know, I know, it's the whole nature versus nurture argument. In case I've mislead you I'm a staunch believer that it's entirely both. Yes, genetics are a major contributor in shaping who we are. But equally profound is the effect of our surroundings, environments and...well, our agency. So long as we're clear on that point, I'll move forward in wrapping up my thoughts.
If all parenting is indoctrination it's inevitable that a child is indoctrinated with both truths and lies. Children can't be spared every evil of the world, even if their parents are the best to be found. This makes for some messed up adults. Isn't it true that we spend most of our adult-life recovering from our childhoods? No parent ought to be surprised if their child has to temporarily curse them, rebel against them, or as in Asher's case, blaspheme them. And I frankly feel that this is all in harmony with the Christian commandment to "honor thy father and thy mother". To get to the honoring phase we have to first get through the raging, ranting, bleeding, hurting, broken, disgusted, fill-in-the-blank phase. Or better yet, maybe all of those things are honoring them. The greatest way I can think of to honor my parents is to make something of myself. What does it take for me to do that? Asher knew the answer to that question for his own life.
In truth, it wasn't until becoming a mother myself that I finally came to understand this commandment. No, that's not quite true. I can't claim to fully understand it yet, but it was motherhood that inspired me to want to understand this commandment. Could I endure my very own daughter or son turning their back on me? Don't they know that they are my very own flesh and blood? Don't they know that I would willingly die for them? Don't they know what I have given up for them? It was motherhood that forced upon me the thought "Is it possible that my parents love me as much as I love my children?" That's when it dawned. That's when I wanted to explore this concept of what it means to honor my father and mother. I'm sorry to admit that it took my own selfish interests--namely, not wanting to lose my children--in order for me to give my parents a well-deserved second look.
We all have a childhood, some bad, some not so bad, and the few really great ones. But growing up requires you to face up to that childhood somewhere along the way. Asher is a new found hero of mine for doing just that and for honoring his parents in the most necessary way--by turning his back on them.
