Once a man named Chaim Potok wrote a story called The Chosen. It was a good story and he told it skillfully. It was deeply evocative and called forth from the marrow of the heart certain memories of its own which still haunted the city streets of childhood. It was a story about Jews and the Jewishness of the characters, their embodiment of encounter and conflict between two ancient factions, gave to the tale an exquisite flavor of vinegar and honey; but its life and meaning derived from their humanity, which was something much deeper. It was, above all, a story which cracked barriers so that we were made to look each other full in the face and see—not stereotypes and shadow but flesh and blood.

Caroline Salvatore, in her review of "The Chosen," in Book World—Chicago Tribune (© 1968 Postrib Corp.; reprinted by permission of Chicago Tribune...