Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home (13 page)

“For a while it looked good. And then we sold out to a big outfit, one of the giants, and I was working for a big corporation again. So now, when I’m forty-five. I’m a section head, which means I’m middle management. And that’s what I’ll probably be until I retire. I admit that when I first threw myself into temple politics, it was because I felt I could do a better job. I still think that’s part of it. But I don’t kid myself. I know that a good part of it is just to be somebody, to have an influence on the people around me.”

“Aren’t you being overcynical and missing the main point, as cynicism usually does?” the rabbi asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you say that some do it by building big houses or other kinds of ostentation, while still others do it by contributing to good causes. That’s the major difference between people, isn’t it? Nowadays we’re all amateur psychologists and psychiatrists. We all presume to know the motives of men. But do we? In the last analysis, the only way you can judge by is results, and the man who uses his wealth for worthy causes, even ostentatiously, is better than the man who uses it only for ostentation. Yours is a very cynical view of the temple, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Gorfinkle. But cynicism is only disappointed idealism. We Jews speak of ourselves as a nation of priests, and it would follow that if we were completely true to our ideal, we would spend all our time in the temple in study and worship. We even tried it. In the small ghetto towns of Poland and Russia, there were those who did just that. But someone had to work, and it was usually the wives. I don’t think I care for that. It’s one of my objections to the monastery and the convent. I don’t think the best way to live in the world is to avoid it. Ours is a practical religion, in which parnossah, making a living, is as important as prayer, and the world as important as the temple.”

If he says something that you can show is similar to your position, point it out to him, even if you have to twist his words a little to make it fit. The psychology of that is that he’s anxious to get off the hook, and you’re giving him a face-saving out.

“Then why/ Gorfinkle interposed swiftly, “have you consistently objected to our program. Rabbi? It’s what we want, that the membership realize the temple is part of the world and has a role to play in the world.”

“I don’t object to your program as a program, although I think each individual should decide these things for himself. What concerns me is that it tends to antagonize the other party to the point where there is danger that they will actually leave the temple organization. I have seen signs of it for some time at the board meetings. In all fairness, the other side has been equally intemperate. There has been little or no discussion on the merits of issues these last few months. Rather, what your side has proposed the others have opposed, and when they made suggestions, they were similarly treated by your group and for the same reason. No organization can survive that kind of feuding. In the last few days, however, you have discarded what little propriety you have up till now maintained. Mr. Brennerman’s sermon –”

“What about his sermon?”

“He had no right to abuse the privilege of the pulpit in that way.”

“Just a minute, Rabbi. I heard that speech, and you didn’t. Taking it as a whole. I approved of it.” Gorfinkle’s lips turned up in his humorless smile.

“Then you are equally guilty, Mr. Gorfinkle.”

“You forget that I am the president –”

“Of the temple organization. Mr. Gorfinkle. The pulpit belongs to the rabbi.”

“I didn’t know that, Rabbi,” said Gorfinkle mildly. “Is that Jewish law?”

“It is the law of common courtesy! As rabbi. I am superintendent of the religious school. Would I presume to take over a class from one of the teachers without first asking his permission?”

It is sometimes worthwhile to yield a minor point.

“Well maybe Ted did get a little out of line. He’s enthusiastic and gets carried away.”

“And yesterday at the board meeting, you nominated Roger Epstein as chairman of the Ritual Committee.”

“What’s wrong with Roger Epstein?” Gorfinkle demanded indignantly.

“Nothing as a person. But he has had no temple background whatsoever and never attended one until coming here. The chairman of the Ritual Committee approves the order of the services. Under the circumstances. Mr. Paff s group, which tends toward Conservatism, might consider it a deliberate affront.”

“Now hold on. Rabbi. I picked Roger because the Ritual Committee is the most important and he’s my best friend. I’m not worried about his ignorance of the order of the service. I figure you and the cantor between you pretty much arrange that. But the chairman of the Ritual Committee distributes the honors on the holidays. Our people set great store by these honors and rightly so. I notice all the time Meyer Paff was chairman of the Ritual Committee he made political hay out of it. But while we’re speaking of impropriety. Rabbi, how about the impropriety of getting a bunch of kids together, including my own son, and lecturing them on these matters from the opposition point of view? Isn’t that abusing your privilege?”

“Kids? We accept the thirteen-year-old as a member of a minyan. He can be called to the reading of the Torah, which is instruction to the congregation. He can even lead the services. Can we say that bright young college people of eighteen and nineteen are too immature to understand what is going on in their temple community?”

“Look, Rabbi, I don’t want any of your Talmudic runaround. I consider that politics, and I’m telling you I want it stopped.”

The rabbi smiled. “You mean, you want me to stop talking to the young people?”

“I mean that you are not to talk to them about temple affairs. And I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you.”

“You can’t, /am the rabbi here, and it is for me to decide what I shall say to the members of the Jewish community.”

There comes a point in your discussion when you realize there’s no chance of an agreement or reconciliation. When you reach that point, don’t pussyfoot. Lower the boom and lower it all the way.

Gorfinkle nodded. “You’ve said enough, Rabbi, to prove to me that you’re part and parcel of Paff s apparatus. I’m not surprised. I suspected as much, as did the members of my group. We had a meeting last night, and I remind you that we represent a clear majority of the board. It was agreed that I was to talk to you and point out to you the impropriety of your behavior in the hope of bringing about a change. That’s what this little conference is all about. But when I give them the gist of this conversation, along with your cavalier attitude toward religion in general, which has just recently come to my attention. I am sure they will vote to terminate your association with us.

“Of course, you can fight it, but you’re a smart man, and I’m sure you realize that for a rabbi to fight for his job and lose is to jeopardize his chances of getting another. I can tell you now that you will lose and that after that meeting you won’t be rabbi any longer.” He rose to his feet in sign that the conference was over.

“I did not get my smicha from you.” said the rabbi, also rising, “and you can’t withdraw it. I am the rabbi of the Jewish community of Barnard’s Crossing. The temple pays me, but I am not the creature of the temple, and I do not need a temple or synagogue to fulfill my function.”

Outside there was the loud and persistent sound of an automobile horn.

Gorfinkle shrugged. “I’m sorry. Rabbi.” he said smoothly. “That’s Stu now, and I have to go.”

Wilcox, his collar unbuttoned, his tie unknotted, the ends hanging loose, sat back in his armchair, his legs resting on a hassock, at peace with the world. He could tell from the way it started that this was going to be one of those all-the-time-in-the-world trips, where time slowed down to a deep, throbbing rhythm. He could hear the slow, steady movement of the gears inside his watch. And then, as if in accompaniment, he heard the pealing of the doorbell, a deep, insistent throbbing. He rose to his feet to answer. It was no simple motion, but a whole series of adventures in which each part of his body, each member, played some significant role, like a complicated army maneuver, or like a ballet in which his arms and legs, his hands, his fingers all had separate roles. All had to move at their appointed time. And although it seemed that the act of opening the door and admitting his visitor and then going back to his easy chair was a matter of hours, he had no feeling of exhaustion from this tremendous effort. The figure in the chair before him grew larger and larger, like an inflating balloon. And then smaller and smaller and then once again larger. And yet this shifting of outline was not alarming in any way. Amusing, rather, especially when he realized it was only the man’s normal respiration he was watching. Thinking about it quite objectively he came to the conclusion that the man must have run up the stairs, because he seemed to be breathing heavily; there were beads of perspiration on his forehead that he could see individually course down from the hairline until they fell into and filled and overflowed a furrow on the man’s brow and then spilled over to the next furrow, and the next, until finally they were dissipated in the hairy jungle of the man’s eyebrow. The man was saying something that he could understand perfectly, but it seemed too utterly ridiculous to merit his attention. Something about having to park his car around the corner. Silly man. Why should that be of interest? And his difficulty in finding the apartment bell. Something about asking a woman which bell it was. What significance was there whether a woman knew which apartment it was or not. The man had a grievance. He understood it. He could understand it not merely in his mind, but it registered as waves of resentment on his very skin. And it was unpleasant. And he wanted an end to it. He spoke from a great distance, explaining for the silly creature. And it seemed that the other understood, for he rose from his chair. Not a bright person certainly. Not with man’s intelligence. No. Nor the intelligence of a dog even. Or even of a much lower animal. Not even the intelligence of a worm. Perhaps a microbe, because instead of going toward the door as he was told he was coming toward him. Ah, he understood at last. The other was taking his leave formally. Should he rise? Should he offer his hand? But the man was reaching forward and taking not his hand, but both ends of his tie. Was this the wav to take one’s leave? Was this a new ceremony? And then he felt the stricture on his neck and then pain and pressure and pressure and pain.

And nothing.

Mr. Carter looked around the table slowly, and his eye came to rest on the empty place on his right. His wife at the foot of the table and his children ranged on either side, the two young boys on his right and the two girls on his left, all sat straight, their hands folded and resting on the edge of the table, waiting for him to say Grace.

“And where is Moses?” he asked.

“He hasn’t come home yet.” said his wife. “He went into Boston to apply for a job, and he may have stopped for a bite. He said he might be late.”

“And didn’t you tell him that I want him here for the evening meal? Doesn’t he know it himself? And if he were detained, couldn’t he call and tell us? Have we no telephone in the house?”

“Oh, Pa.” said his wife, “what’s the sense of fussing at the boy all the time. He might not have been handy to a telephone. Or he might have called and the line was busy. The way the girls use the phone, it’s a wonder anyone can ever get through.”

“I don’t hold with members of a family coming in at any and all hours. This is a family, and it’s going to stay a family. That’s morality. When everyone flies off to wherever, and anyone eats anytime they’ve a mind to and wherever they happen to be, the family starts breaking up. The meal is a sacrament, and everyone who is part of this family is going to take part in it.”

“He might have got caught in the storm.” his wife suggested, “and waited until it ended. Most likely he saw he was going to be late and grabbed a bite somewhere and then went directly to the bowling alley. Come to think of it. I believe Moose said something about their wanting him to come in a little earlier Mondays.”

“Enough.” said her husband. “I will not wait any longer. I will now say Grace. If he comes in after, then he will not eat. I will not allow any member of my family to eat here who has not heard a decent benediction pronounced.”

He looked around the table and saw that all heads were bowed. Then his hands clenched convulsively, and his eyes squeezed shut. For a full minute he was silent, his mind reaching out, out. Then he put his head back, directing his voice to the ceiling. “Dear Lord, we thank Thee for Thy mercy in giving us sustenance to strengthen our bodies so that we may do Thy work, We have observed Your commandments, and on our board there is no creature’s flesh but only the fruits of Thy good earth. If we have sinned in Your eyes, it is because we are weak and lacking in understanding. Forgive us. O Lord, and deal kindly with us.” Then he nodded and said. “I thank Thee, Lord. I am your servant, and I will obey.”

He opened his eyes and looked around him. “Now we may eat.”

The family ate in silence. No one wanted to hazard a remark that might set Mr. Carter off, and all were anxious to get away from the table as soon as possible. Mr. Carter himself sat in moody silence, his eyes focused on his plate. And when the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, the young people eased out of the dining room quickly.

Mr. Carter continued to sit at his place at the dining room table while he was aware of the noises from the kitchen as his wife and the girls worked at washing the dishes. His wife came into the room.

“It’s still raining pretty hard. Pa.” she said. “I was wondering if Michael were to take the car and ride downtown and see if Moose is around – n

He looked at her, and she found it hard to meet his gaze. “I’ll go out looking for him.” he said.

“Oh, I’m just a worrying old woman. There’s no need for anyone to go. He’ll be along pretty soon –”

The phone rang, and Sharon hurried to answer it. “That’s Moose now.” said Mrs. Carter.