Someday the Rabbi Will Leave (20 page)

“He's the Republican nominee for state senator from this district.”

“But, that's—”

“John Scofield,” Magnuson supplied.

It came to the rabbi that this was why Lanigan expected Jews to be pushing for Scofield. But quietly all he said was, “I didn't realize he was Jewish.”

“He's not.”

“Ah, I see. He's planning to convert.”

“I'm afraid not, Rabbi. Conversion is out of the question.”

The rabbi was silent for a moment. “Then you're planning a civil ceremony?” he asked quietly.

“Laura insists on having the ceremony performed by a rabbi. I realize you can't do it in the temple,” he went on hurriedly, “but as a matter of fact, from the beginning we planned on having it in the house, or in our garden if the weather is right.”

“It can't be done at all,” said the rabbi flatly.

“You mean—”

“I mean that if it's a religious wedding, then it has to be between two Jews. If one of the principals is not Jewish, then you can no more have a religious wedding, a Jewish religious wedding, than if both were non-Jews. It's a contradiction in terms.”

“But—but—look here, Rabbi, I know it's religion and religion is important. But when a couple comes to see you about getting married, do you question them about their beliefs and practices, or do you say, ‘Ah, congratulations, Mr. Goldstein and Miss Cohen. When do you plan to have the wedding? Will you be using the vestry?' And yet they might both be out-and-out atheists.”

“True.”

“Then—”

The rabbi sighed. “It's most unfortunate that outsiders, especially our worst enemies, seem to have a better understanding of the situation than do many Jews. At least they realize that it is a matter of ethnicity; that a Jew is a Jew, even if he never sets foot in a synagogue. We are a tribe, a family, if you will, the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In some primitive tribes, marriage is always with someone outside the tribe. Exogamy, the anthropologists call it. Among other tribes, the practice is to marry only within the tribe. Endogamy. Well, we are endogamous. That is the tradition, the practice, the law of our tribe. Because we believe that we—as a tribe, mind you—entered into a compact with God. The requirement of this contract on our side is that we practice Judaism, our religion. When one of us marries an outsider, we require not only that he undertake to join with us in keeping our part of the bargain, but also that he become one of us—by adoption into the tribe.

“Judaism is a system of morals and ethics as well as of ceremonials, rituals, and liturgical practices, which are intended primarily to fortify us in the practice of our ethical code. The basis of this ethical code is the commandments given us by God, the result of our compact with Him at Sinai. Some Jews obey these commandments to the letter”—he smiled—“religiously, you might say. And some obey some of them and some pay no attention to them at all. But the obligation is there.

“There are also some Gentiles who obey them, but that does not make them Jews. They come by them in a different way. Perhaps they have worked them out as leading to a good life, or because they consider them sensible. But because they have worked them out on their own, they can also change them. We can't because we have made a contract with God, and these are the terms that we accepted. When you make a business contract with someone and he fails to carry out all the terms of the contract, that doesn't mean that the contract is nullified, only that he is in default. And when it is with a group, a corporation, rather than an individual, it isn't abrogated when one member of the group leaves.

“A Catholic who does not believe in the tenets of his church and does not practice them, is not a Catholic. But a Jew who does not obey the commandments and never enters a synagogue, is still a Jew. And he might marry the daughter of the Chief Rabbi of Israel. The rabbi wouldn't like it, perhaps. He might try to prevent it. He might even disown his daughter, but he would not mourn her as dead, as he would if she were to marry a Gentile.”

Magnuson shook his head. “I don't understand you, Rabbi. You'd rather have her undergo a civil marriage—”

“I'd rather have her marry a Jew.”

“I know, but in the context of the present situation, does it have to be a civil marriage? And the children, I presume, would be—according to Jewish law—bastards?”

“Oh no.” The rabbi was shocked. “The children would be Jews, since they would be the children of a Jewish mother. Not if it were the other way around, you understand. That is, not if the father were Jewish and the mother Gentile. Then they would be Gentile, even if they were brought up as Jews and were most observant. As a matter of fact, even if there were no marriage at all, they wouldn't be bastards, according to Jewish law. Only the issue of adultery or incest are.”

“Well, in my case, it's out of the question. Laura is determined to be married by a rabbi. I don't understand you. Isn't half a loaf better than none?”

“Your half a loaf is like being a little bit pregnant,” said the rabbi. “I could not participate in the wedding ceremony.”

“I suspect that not all rabbis feel as you do,” said Magnuson.

“No Orthodox or Conservative rabbi would perform the ceremony. I've heard that some Reform rabbis do, but none that I know of around here.”

“I'm sure that I can find one who will,” said Magnuson grimly, “even if I have to bring him here from some distance. What else can I do?”

“You can resign,” said the rabbi quietly.

“Resign?”

“As president of the synagogue,” said the rabbi firmly.

“Why should I resign?” He was angry and he had reddened.

“Because it would be the honorable thing to do,” said the rabbi. “As president of the temple, you are in effect the leader of the Conservative Jewish community, and you are planning to do something that is contrary to Conservative Judaism. If your daughter were to go off to New Hampshire or Vermont, or wherever this compliant rabbi lives, and get married there, I would sympathize with you and I would understand. One cannot always control the behavior of one's children. But you are planning to bring another rabbi here to Barnard's Crossing, into my area, and into your area, I might add, to do something I consider wrong. That action I cannot pass over, not when it's done by the president of the temple. I must forbid it.” He had not intended to go so far, but had been led on by his own rhetoric.

As for Magnuson, he suddenly felt at ease. In a sense, he was on familiar ground. On more than one occasion he had taken over a company and found that the previous owner, who had retained stock in the company, or the manager or some of the older employees disapproved of changes he had introduced. Sometimes it had involved a fight in the Board of Directors. He flattered himself he knew his way around in boardroom politics. He rose and reached for the doorknob. “No, Rabbi,
I
am not going to resign.” He started to open the door when he had another thought. “And under the circumstances, I'd rather you didn't come to the board meetings from now on.”

34

“You going to call the D.A.?” asked Lieutenant Eban Jennings lugubriously when Lanigan had finished telling him about Fran Kimball. He was tall and spare, with watery blue eyes and a prominent Adam's apple that bobbled in his neck when he was excited.

“Well, let's just think about it. How do I know she's telling the truth?”

“A girl wouldn't lie about a thing like that, Hugh. No girl is going to admit she spent the night with some guy unless she's forced to, let alone volunteer it.”

“Pshaw, Eban, things have changed since you were chasing girls. It don't mean a thing to them since the pill. Women's Lib. They even lie about it the same way as men do. Take a guy who's a big shot, a movie actor, say, or a rock singer or an important pol. Well, a girl might claim she slept with him when she hadn't, just to improve her status.”

“I didn't get the impression that this Paul Kramer was a big shot.”

“Maybe not. But I can imagine this Kimball girl being willing to do him a favor. She said he was a brain. And he seemed like a bright kid. All right, so suppose he promises to help her with her schoolwork in exchange for her coming to see me and giving me a song and dance of having been with him all night. Remember, we can't check on her story. We can't ask her ma. She'll say she was with her friend”—he glanced at his notes—“Beth McAllister. And if we ask this McAllister, all she can tell us is that she was given a phone number to call, which, mind you, she didn't have occasion to use.”

“Well, you could ask her mother.”

“Ask her what?”

“You could just ask her if her daughter spent the night at home that Wednesday.”

Lanigan shook his head. “Chances are she didn't. I'm sure she would have thought of that. All right, so then I see the McAllister girl. And the chances are she won't squeal unless we put some pressure on her. Then suppose she admits she covered for her friend Kimball. ‘She gave me a telephone number to call.' ‘What's the number?' ‘I don't remember. I wrote it down someplace, but I didn't bother to save it.'”

“But suppose it's true.”

“That means that the driver of that car had to continue on Glen Lane, stop at the corner, get out of his car, go over to where Kramer's car was parked, smash the headlight, and then gather up the shards, bring them back to his car, turn around, go back to where the body is lying, drop the glass, and then run off. Now, why would anyone do a fool thing like that for?”

“Well, he might have hated Kramer.”

“He'd have to have hated him an awful lot. Think of the chance he was taking. And Kramer is new in town. He's been here just since school started. Probably doesn't even know anyone around here.”

Jennings wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, pushing his glasses up on his forehead to do so. “It's not that much of a chance. He drives back up Glen Lane and he stops. Well, if anyone sees him, he says he's seen the body in the road. So then if he squats down to put the glass near the body, and somebody comes along just then, well, it's only natural to squat down to see if the guy is alive.” He replaced the handkerchief, rolling in his chair to reach his back pocket. “I'll admit it's a bit unusual, but—” He stopped suddenly as an idea occurred to him. His Adam's apple bobbled nervously. “Look, Hugh, what if it was the girl that the guy, the driver, I mean, was sore at? Suppose he had a thing for the girl. He's jealous, get it?”

“So why would he want to take it out on Kramer?”

“Well, you know, you see a guy with your girl and—”

“And how would he know that she was with Kramer?”

“Maybe this McAllister girl mentioned it, or maybe he saw her going into the house.”

“Possible,” said Lanigan.

The two sat in silence. Then Jennings said, “Hey, do you realize that if the girl's story is true, we'll have to start from the beginning again.”

Lanigan nodded gloomily. “And we don't even have a lead.”

“There's Morris Halperin,” suggested Jennings.

“The town counsel? Go on. What have we got on him?”

“Well, he was there. He's the one who reported it,” said Jennings stubbornly. Then, excitedly, “That night I was at the selectmen's meeting, and he was there. He looked pretty rocky. Had a bad cold. Then afterwards, you know, the selectmen and some of the town officials go on to the Ship's Galley for a beer, and I went along. And they were kind of laughing about Halperin. Seems that Tom Bradshaw gave him a good stiff shot of whiskey for his cold, and some of them thought he acted kind of tiddly at the meeting.”

“So?”

“So, maybe that one drink got to him. Maybe he was a little drunk.”

“What? One drink?”

“Sure, if it was a big one, and if he wasn't used to it, and if he wasn't feeling so good, and maybe had taken some pills. Or maybe he stopped off somewhere and had another. He didn't go right home, that's for sure, because what was he doing in Glen Lane if he was headed home? That's out of his way. So, let's say, he's a little drunk and he runs into this guy, not expecting to see anyone in the middle of the road in Glen Lane, especially at that hour.”

“Yeah, but why would he want to break somebody's headlight and put the blame on him?”

“Because a thing like that could kill his career.”

“Anyone can have an accident. It's my guess if Halperin had one, he'd report it to the police.”

“But if he were driving under the influence—or thought he was …”

“Well … But he did report it to the police. He told the men in the cruising car.”

“Sure, because he saw them and thought maybe they saw him. But he didn't get out of his car or anything. He just said there was a body on the road. And naturally they went right off to take a look.”

“Hm.” Lanigan chewed on his lower lip. “It won't do any harm to check it out. But I can't just confront him, not the town counsel. We'll have to set it up. I could call him in for a statement. Then while his car is in the parking lot, you could give it a good lookover.”

Jennings grinned. “If I happened to be there when he drives in, and if there are a lot of cars in the lot, I could invite him to park right in the garage.”

“All right, let's try to work it that way. In the meantime I've got to call the D.A. and tell him about this Kimball girl.”

“And what will he do?”

“Well, he's supposed to notify defense counsel who can then do what he pleases.”

35

“I must admit,” said Howard Magnuson solemnly when Morris Halperin had taken his seat, “that I misjudged Rabbi Small. I thought he was a gentleman. I was mistaken.”

“Oh?”

Magnuson nodded. “I assumed that he'd make an effort to work something out for me. But no, he was adamant. I admitted that I was in a bit of a pickle, but the man wasn't the least bit concerned. When I asked him what I could do, do you know what his answer was? He told me to resign.”