by Ragen, Naomi
“What do you mean?”
“He’s very pro-Israel, right? But during the Intifada, when Israeli tourism was suffering, he canceled the synagogue’s yearly trip and privately told people to keep their kids home from Israel-year programs.”
“It was a difficult time, Abigail.”
“The Evangelicals didn’t cancel their trips. They increased them. It was a test, and he failed.”
He shook his head, ready to take up the rabbi’s defense once again, but stopped. There were people sitting in front of their house on their porch chairs. Strangers who jumped up when they approached, brushing wet leaves from their raincoats.
“Mr. and Mrs. Samuels? We’re from WBGL Channel Four. We’re wondering if we could ask you a few questions?” She was a startlingly pretty black woman holding a microphone. The man had a camera hoisted on his shoulder.
Abigail stretched out a clawlike hand, sheltering her face. “NO! Please. We have nothing to say! Now leave us alone. This is our Sabbath day . . .”
But instead of retreating, the woman moved in closer, blocking their way.
“Our viewers are interested in knowing if, as devout Jews, you have any guilt feelings about funding terror which might be used not only on American soldiers but on Jews in Israel and Jewish institutions all over the world . . . ?”
“Oh, my God, please leave us alone! We haven’t done anything,” Adam begged.
“Isn’t it true that the money transfers were in the millions of dollars? And isn’t it true that A. J. Hurling was an innocent victim of your scheme?”
“Do you know the damages they can ask for in a civil suit for invasion of privacy?” a familiar voice suddenly interrupted. “Not to mention libel. I know, because I’m a Harvard-trained lawyer.”
“Seth!” Abigail cried, surprised and relieved.
The reporter and cameraman exchanged looks, hesitated, then reluctantly stepped out of their way.
“Come in, Seth!” Adam held the door open, patting him on the back.
“It’s so good to see you!” Abigail hugged him. “What are you doing here?”
“I should have come over right away. I’m so sorry. It was all so confusing.”
“Seth, this isn’t your fault or your problem,” Abigail said.
“Yes, don’t worry about it, son.”
“Join us for lunch?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks, Abigail. I’d like that.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this has touched your lives, tainted your happiness . . .” Adam said, gripping his hand.
“Don’t worry about me! I’m going to be fine. But I am worried about your daughter.”
“Did you quarrel?” Abigail asked, biting her lip.
Seth hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve never seen her like that. She was furious. I’ll tell you the truth, it frightens me.”
“You don’t really think she’d do something reckless, hurt herself?”
Seth shrugged. “I have no idea, Adam, what she is capable of doing in her present state.”
“You’re exaggerating, Seth. I saw her three days ago. She was fine,” Abigail protested.
“Did she say anything about me, about the engagement party?”
Abigail thought for a moment; to her surprise, she realized Kayla had not said a single word about either. Only now, thinking back, did she realize how strange that was.
“Then you don’t know that she’s insisting on having the engagement party on time or not having it at all? That she’s insisting on publishing an engagement announcement in the papers?”
Abigail shook her head, shocked. “She didn’t mention a word to us about any of this.”
“I understand your mother . . . your parents . . . have a different opinion?” Adam said tactfully. “And what about you?”
He shrugged with unconvincing nonchalance. “I don’t care one way or the other. I don’t care about parties. All I want is for Kayla to be happy. I’ll do anything you all think would be best. But I will say this: I don’t understand why we have to steer directly into the iceberg.”
“Have you told her this?”
“She won’t listen to reason, Mrs. Samuels. She thinks postponing it will be viewed as a slap, a judgment call about your husband’s innocence. She is adamant. And my parents are just as adamant. I don’t know what to do . . .” His eyes glistened. “Please, I didn’t mean to cause you more worries. You have enough on your plate. Can I help, by the way?”
“Thank you, Seth. But we are up to our ears in legal advice.” Adam shrugged.
“I understand that Marvin Cahill is representing you?”
Adam nodded. “Our family lawyer recommended him.”
“He has an excellent reputation, but I would be careful that he takes into consideration certain recent decisions about terror funding that have set some important precedents. Sometimes lawyers are lazy, even the best of them. I would also recommend going over the ruling made in the State of New York Supreme Court, Appellate Division, just this past year that had to do with money transfers . . . Has Marvin mentioned this to you? If not, I’d be happy to call him and point this out to him . . .”
“That’s very kind of you, Seth, but let’s get back to Kayla. Where is she now?” Abigail asked.
“Back at the dorms, I think.”
“You think?”
He lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
“Seth?”
“She isn’t talking to me at all.” He swallowed hard, as if he’d bitten off a large piece of food that was preventing him from speaking until he disposed of it. “Look, I said some things . . . things I didn’t mean. She took it very hard.”
“What,” Adam said slowly, examining Seth carefully, “kind of things?”
“Okay,” Seth finally blurted out, realizing all his verbal skills were inadequate to the task of finessing what had to be said next. “I told her I thought we needed to distance ourselves from your problems, or it could ruin our careers.”
Adam sat down heavily.
“I’m sorry, Adam. Really. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t care anymore. You see that I’m here. I let the reporters photograph me. I was just a little hysterical, I guess, and my parents didn’t help.” He stopped, gulping down a big breath. “I really love Kayla. And I do care about all of you.”
Abigail put her arms around him. “Of course you do, Seth. It’s all so awful. For everyone.”
“I should have come here with her. I should have been there for her.”
Adam nodded. “That’s true,” he said pointedly, less forgiving than his wife. Kayla was his princess. “But it’s not too late, Seth. Remember, we’re just at the beginning of all this.”
“Which is why you both have to talk to her. She’s got important follow-up interviews scheduled for next week with some top law firms. She shouldn’t cancel. It’s both our futures on the line.”
“Of course she shouldn’t cancel. Do you think she will?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Samuels. I don’t know anything. Would you call her now, speak to her?” he begged.
Adam’s eyebrows rose. “You went to yeshiva. We don’t use the phone on the Sabbath.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. It’s just that I’m not practicing anymore, even though I believe.”
“Something new?” Abigail asked, surprised.
“It’s the pressures of law school. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“I once had a friend who said he was a nonpracticing vegetarian. He ate steak every night,” Adam said dryly.
“Yes, well. I just wanted to see you both, to offer my help. If you need me to go over files or anything . . .”
“Thank you, Seth. Offer noted.” Adam nodded gratefully.
“Come, sit down, have something to eat.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Samuels. But on second thought, I’ve really got to get back. I’ve got a ton of reading to catch up on.”
Abigail felt a sense of relief. She was already
rethinking the hug, wondering about his behavior and what it meant for the long haul. She wanted him gone.
“Don’t work too hard. Remember, the Sabbath is a day of rest,” Adam said.
“Maybe after I finish law school.” He smiled, backing away toward the door, then stopped. “Is there a back way out of here?”
“Go out through the garage, then hop over the neighbors’ fence. They won’t mind.”
Seth wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. “Okay. Sorry. Thanks.”
They waited for him to go. “I’ll get the wine,” Abigail said. “And then we can eat.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Adam whispered.
Rabbi Moshe Prinzak was a distinguished man. Tall and slightly underweight, with the face of an ascetic made more worldly by an immaculately trimmed white beard and gold-framed glasses, he looked like central casting’s idea of a spiritual leader, Abigail thought cynically. His suits were dark and impeccable, his silver hair shiny and well cut, his black leather shoes always hand polished to a mirror finish. His rabbinical degree and doctoral degree, both from distinguished institutions, hung on the wall of his synagogue study in laminated perfection among thousands of learned volumes in Hebrew, English, German, and Yiddish.
He was a man who disliked controversy, unless he could forcefully cite an opinion that most people would be eager to agree with. He was a man constantly looking over his shoulder to see if his sermons, his written halachic opinions, sown in the ground of the modern Orthodox movement, had borne any bitter fruit that would poison his reputation among his far-right-leaning brethren who had sewed up control of Israeli religious institutions. Some thought he was exactly what a rabbi should be: a peacemaker and hater of divisiveness. While others called him a moral coward, unwilling and unable to stand up to the religious establishment. Abigail leaned toward the latter.
For example, he took a strong stance on premarital agreements for brides and grooms but refused to sanction annulments for women married to drug addicts, homosexuals, and wife beaters who couldn’t get a divorce the normal way because their husbands wanted to blackmail them. And he had never expressed any opinion at all about cases of rabbinic sexual misconduct.
On the plus side, as Adam always liked to point out, he knew how to give an inspiring sermon, and he was sincerely interested in helping the ill or unfortunate members of his congregation, generously dispensing synagogue funds to those in need. Adam and Abigail had always contributed generously to those funds, as well as to other synagogue needs. Rabbi Prinzak had never been turned away from their generous home.
“Rabbi, an honor and a pleasure, please come in out of the cold.” Adam smiled, taking his wet umbrella. “We are so grateful you’ve made the effort to come out in this weather to visit us personally. It is very kind of you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. Of course, my place is here with you. We have shared so many wonderful dinners and simchas in your lovely home. It is only right that I come now.”
“Can I take your coat?” Abigail asked politely.
“Thank you, thank you.” He slid his arms out of the silk-lined sleeves and handed it to her, then rubbed his hands together. “I guess winter has arrived. It’s a shame. I was hoping we’d have at least another week or two. Especially since this week started off so mildly.”
“That’s true. Only last Tuesday when I was doing my shopping in Coolidge Corner, I kept staring at people in shorts.”
Could that be true? Was it possible that joyous, carefree walk had been less than a week ago? She looked out of the window at the falling snow now blanketing the lawn. A few days and a new universe ago, she thought, startled, turning her attention back to the rabbi.
“Can I get you something? A hot drink? Coffee, tea?”
“Straight scotch, if you’ve got it.”
She tried not to show her surprise. “Of course. Adam, why don’t you take the rabbi into the library. I’ll join you both in a moment.”
She poured the drink. Then she sat the glass in her palm, holding it up to the light, studying the clear amber liquid. Impulsively, she threw back her head, gulping it down. She gasped and choked, her throat burning indignantly. Then she poured two more, carrying them carefully into the library. “Here, Rabbi. And here’s one for you, Adam. Rabbi’s orders.” She felt light-headed, almost gay. The two men laughed.
“L’Chaim!” they said, in unison, draining their glasses. The rabbi’s face turned a pale pink. Adam coughed.
Cradling the empty glass, the rabbi began: “Needless to say, Adam, we are all deeply saddened by what has happened. We share your heartache, and hope you will feel that we are family, and will be there for you. Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh la Zeh. Every Jew is responsible for every other Jew. We are still a tribe in the desert surrounded by hostile forces. We survive only because we stand together against them.”
“Rabbi, I am touched. Thank you.” Adam’s eyes shone.
“Yes, it means a lot to us to know that you feel this way,” Abigail smiled, touched.
“Such a difficult, complicated business. And the media . . . How they blow things up, twist everything around! Yes, that’s the world we live in. And most people see the headlines, and become judge and jury. They blindly judge, with no facts . . .”
“Rabbi, I can’t tell you how comforting it is to hear you say these things! That is the truth. Exactly that.”
“I know, Adam. I know. And once they spread these terrible stories, there is no taking them back. That is why our sages were so stringent in forbidding slander and gossip. Like feathers let loose into the wind, lies and evil talk about a person can never be retrieved because we cannot know where the wind will take them. That is the society we live in. A society that relies on slander and gossip to sell newspapers and magazines. A multibillion-dollar business. Such an unjust world.” He shook his head mournfully.
“Yes.” Adam nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down. “Well, it means a lot to us that you’ve come personally,” Adam repeated, at a loss at what to say next.
“There was no question that I needed to come.” The rabbi waved his hand dismissively, obviously in no rush to get to the point of his visit, if there was one.
“Can I get you another drink, Rabbi?” Abigail inquired.
“No. I am sure you are both very weary with all that is going on, so I don’t want to keep you.” He exhaled. “There is something very important I need to discuss with you both.”
Adam and Abigail caught each other’s eyes.
“Please, go on.”
“Yes, well let me start by telling you an old Chassidic tale my rebbe used to tell. Once there was a king who was very wealthy and lived in a large castle at the edge of the forest. The king had everything: gold and silver, fertile fields, mines for iron and copper and rare jewels. Only one thing was lacking: He had no children. One day, an old peasant came to the king’s castle. He said he was from a faraway place and begged for food. The king’s servants were unkind, mocking him and turning him away. But the king was on his balcony and overheard. He came down by himself and apologized to the stranger. He ordered his servants to feed him and give him clothing and a purse of gold coins to make up for his ill treatment. He asked for the stranger’s blessing. The stranger asked what kind of blessing the king wanted. ‘I am childless,’ the king informed him.
“ ‘And, so, what is it you wish?’ the peasant persisted. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ the king answered in surprise. ‘A child.’ ‘Most noble King, I will do as you ask,’ said the stranger, ‘but God does everything for a reason. Are you certain you wish to ask for something He has withheld from you?’ The king nodded. ‘Like Abraham, I too ask for a child.’
“ ‘So be it,’ said the stranger, offering his blessing. He quickly disappeared. And the following year, to everyone’s great joy, the queen had a child, a son.
“You can imagine how precious the child was to his parents and to the kingdom. He was pampered
and spoiled. He learned to be cruel to the servants and mocked his parents and teachers. He was extravagant in his spending, and wasteful of the kingdom’s riches. The old king was heartbroken, fearing what would happen to his prosperous and happy kingdom when the young, wastrel prince took over. But, still, his love for his only child did not alter. One day, the old king took ill. He called in his servants and told them to take the prince for a journey to a far kingdom, telling him that he was to meet his future bride there. ‘But when you cross over the mountains into the far country, strip the boy of his crown and fine clothes, give him sturdy workman’s garments and a bag of coins, and send him on his way. Only in this way will my kingdom be saved, and my son learn to be a man. And when I die, choose the wisest and best man in the realm to take my place.’ The courtiers were amazed: ‘This goes against all human feeling! How can you make such a sacrifice?’ And the king answered: ‘I am king. Shall I behave no better than a frog? For the frogs of Egypt were willing to jump into the Egyptians’ ovens to accomplish God’s will, sacrificing to help the nation of Israel be free and prosperous. I can do no less than the frogs.’ ”
Abigail and Adam, who had been listening with ever-growing perplexity, said nothing.
“Do you understand?”
“No, Rabbi. I’m afraid I don’t,” Adam said, shaking his head. “It’s been a long week.”
“Adam, you are a treasured member of our congregation. You and Abigail and the children are our family. But sometimes, even in families who love each other, decisions have to be made for the good of the family as a whole. Difficult decisions.”
“Difficult for whom, Rabbi?” Adam said, suddenly wary.
“There is a wave of anti-Semitism sweeping over the world. I mean, right here in America, that anti-Semitic black preacher and his hate sermons were broadcast all over America.”
“He was roundly denounced, Rabbi. By everyone,” Abigail pointed out.
“Yes. All positive signs. And in time, we all hope, anti-Semitism will once again be ridiculed and abhorred. But right now, that is not the case. There is suspicion and bad blood. There are some who want to view your situation as one more instance of a greedy Jew destroying America. We have been getting some vicious e-mails—all the synagogues in Boston have. Horrible threats.”