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| The power of Christ compels you! |
Philip Roth is one of those towering 20th-century American authors who, despite his reputation, has never quite worked for me. I have made several earnest attempts at his novels, only to abandon ship each time out of sheer frustration. There’s something about his bloated, self-indulgent prose that irks me. I hoped that dipping into his short stories might finally change my mind. I wouldn’t say it hasn’t helped, but I’m also not fully converted just yet.
Which brings me to The Conversion of the Jews. Is this story supposed to be funny? Perhaps the humor sailed right over my head, but I didn’t laugh once. Not a chuckle. Not even a polite internal “hmph.”
Beneath the supposed satire, the story reads more like a coming-of-age tale in disguise. Ozzie Freedman isn’t rebelling just to be difficult; he’s a kid genuinely trying to reconcile what he’s being taught with what actually makes sense to him. His questions about God, Jesus, and immaculate conception aren’t acts of defiance so much as early signs of intellectual independence. That pivotal moment when childhood acceptance gives way to adolescent skepticism.
Exploring Jewish identity has always been integral to Roth's work and his most effective move here is treating faith and doubt as inseparable. Ozzie’s so-called “heresy” isn’t a rejection of Jewish religious belief but evidence that belief is alive, unsettled, and worth wrestling with. The adults cling to rigid answers (in this case, the Rabbi and Mother), while Ozzie’s uncertainty feels honest, curious, and deeply human. Ironically, the child is the only one taking faith seriously enough to interrogate it.
So no, I didn’t laugh. But I did recognize that uncomfortable moment when you realize the world isn’t obligated to give you neat, satisfying answers. In that sense, the story captures a key rite of passage: the first time you ask the wrong questions very loudly and are promptly told by people in authority that you really, really shouldn’t.
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