The Chosen

Danny is a dynamic character—in other words, he features an array of traits. At first, Danny comes across as the antagonist. The baseball game symbolizes war, and Danny and Reuven are on opposing teams: They're enemies. As Danny tells Reuven, “I told my team we’re going to kill you apikorsim this afternoon” (30). Danny’s adversarial role advances when he hits Reuven with the ball and sends him to the hospital, where Reuven tells his dad, “I hate that Danny Saunders for this” (71).

The hate turns into a keen friendship, and Danny goes from an antagonist to something of a hero. After Danny reveals his Talmudic knowledge and robust secular reading, Reuven says, “I’m impressed. I have to sweat to memorize a page of Talmud” (98). Danny’s genius generates the story's central conflict: His dad doesn’t know how to speak to him. The silence perplexes and anguishes Danny. When Reuven pushes Danny to try and talk to him, Danny screams, “I can’t! Don’t you listen to what I’m saying? I just can’t!” (231).

Though Danny’s brilliance makes him appear larger-than-life, he has flaws—he’s human. He can be emotional and snap at his best friend. He can also be stubborn, refusing to accept critiques of Freud. Like Freud, Danny has a stark outlook on people. In Civilization and Its Discontents (1930), Freud depicts humans as naturally cruel and exploitative. In The Chosen, speaking about humans, Danny tells Reuven, “Sometimes I get the feeling that’s all we are—ants” (112).

Danny’s troubling thoughts tie into the motif of looks being deceptive. He dresses and looks like a Hasid, but as Reuven tells him, “You don’t sound like a Hasid” (115). Danny wants to remain an observant Jew, but he doesn’t want to replace his dad as tzaddik. He tells Reuven, “I’m a little trapped. I’ll work it out, though” (116). With help from Reuven and his dad, Danny works it out and goes to Columbia to be a psychologist.

Danny is privileged and doesn’t have to worry about food, shelter, or money. He has an unnamed mom, an unnamed sister, and a younger brother, Levi. He admits he’s not close with Levi and only cares about his health because he needs Levi to live and take over the tzaddik. As the presumed next tzaddik, Danny gets special treatment. The followers outside his house move out of the way for him, and Reuven compares it to “the parting of the Red Sea” (168). Yet Danny’s exalted status is a part of his problem: He doesn’t want to be a worshiped Jewish leader.

Like his son, Reb Saunders is a dynamic character, and the other characters have a range of opinions about him. Reuven thinks he “sounds like a tyrant,” but Danny ensures Reuven that his dad is “a great man” (160). Malter adds to Danny’s praise when he tells Reuven, “Reb Saunders is a great Talmudist and a great tzaddik. He has a reputation for brilliance and compassion” (149). Yet Reuven remains unpersuaded. About the Talmud public quizzing, Reuven says, “[I]t just seemed so cruel to me” (201). After Reuven attends Danny’s sister’s arranged marriage, he starts “to find everything connected with Reb Saunders and Hasidism distasteful” (353).

As Reuven is the narrator—and a thoughtful, not unreliable narrator—he can have a decided impact on the reader, and the reader might take up Reuven’s view and think that Reb Saunders is a harsh person. The silent treatment he gives his son arguably qualifies as abuse, and the “public quizzing” can come across as a form of gaslighting or trickery. Forcing his daughter and Danny (if Danny becomes a tzaddik) to marry a person he picked adds to the case that Reb Saunders is an unsavory character.

At the same time, Danny and Malter are perceptive characters, and the reader shouldn’t erase their favorable portrayal. Danny, though, subverts his positive representation. He tells Reuven that he feels trapped. As the Zionist movement gains momentum, Danny’s father gives him “either explosions or silence” (363). Danny doesn’t say it, but he creates the picture of an oppressive, angry father. He doesn’t want Danny to be a psychologist, nor will he speak to Danny about it, but he will rant about Israel.

As Reb Saunders prefers silence, no one knows what going on in his head. About Reb Saunders’s silence, Reuven’s dad admits, “I cannot explain it. I do not understand it completely myself” (361). Another viewpoint: Reb Saunders isn’t good or bad, but a mystery until the final chapter, where he explains why he chose not to talk to Danny. His emphasis on empathy and the soul disarm the reader. He’s heartfelt and vulnerable, admitting, “A—a wiser father…may have done differently. I am not…wise” (384). Reb Saunders wanted to raise a son with a spirit as sharp as his mind. He was trying to be a good dad.

David Malter is Reuven’s dad, but he's also a mentor and friend. Like a good friend, there is little Reuven doesn’t talk to him about, and he listens attentively and explains things to Reuven. When Reuven asks about Danny and his family, Malter provides him with a mini-lecture on the history of Hasidism. Worried about how Zionism impacts his dad’s health, Malter explains, “If I could not do these things, my life would have no value. Merely to live, merely to exist—what sense is there to it? A fly also lives” (292). Whereas Danny’s dad is silent, Reuven’s dad is voluble. He is articulate and constantly communicates with his son. Malter becomes a foil for Reb Saunders—he has traits Danny’s dad lacks.

Though the dads have antithetical characters, they remain respectful. Malter thinks Reb Saunders is a great tzaddik. About the trickier issue of Reb Saunders and Danny, he withholds judgment, admitting that he doesn’t understand it. While Reb Saunders is skeptical of Malter’s “[s]cientific criticism,” he tells Reuven, “[Y]our father is an observer of the Commandments, and you have his head, and so I am happy you [and Danny] are friends” (194). Like Reuven, Danny, and Danny’s dad, Reuven’s dad has a keen intellect.

Malter is devoted to his work. Aside from teaching, he writes articles and works tirelessly for the Zionist movement. Malter generally comes across as pragmatic and balanced, but his pro-Israel activities give him a zealous edge. His workaholic style puts his health in jeopardy, and, reversing roles, Reuven feels like he cares for his dad, pushing him to see the doctor for a check-up. Their relationship has tension, but it’s nowhere near as rocky or mysterious as Danny’s relationship with his dad. The reader shouldn’t have a trying time claiming that David Malter is a good dad and a thoughtful, empathetic person.