Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

by Harry Kemelman

  “Don’t you believe him, Irving,” said Dr. Edelstein. He was a round man with a perpetual smile (“A natural bedside manner,” his patients would say). “Normal tactics–drive out the buttonhole makers.”

  “You ended up ahead, didn’t you?” demanded Paff.

  Kallen evened off the little columns of chips in front of him. “Nope. Let’s see, I’m down thirty-two, no, thirty-seven cents. You’re the big winner tonight–as usual.”

  Paff gathered in the chips to put away in the box.

  “Luck,” said Kallen.

  “Don’t you believe it, Irv. You’ve got to know how to play,” said Paff.

  “Maybe you’re right, Meyer. My game is bridge.”

  “If you got card sense,” Kermit Arons offered, “you can play any card game.”

  “Well, last night, I was playing bridge over at Nelson Shaffer’s house–”

  “That explains it,” said Paff with finality. “You go playing cards on the Sabbath instead of going to the temple, and the next time you play, you’re going to lose.”

  “Well, for thirty-two, no, thirty-seven cents, I figure I wasn’t punished too bad. Taking the two nights together, I’m still wa-ay ahead of the game. And from what I heard,” he added maliciously, “I’ll bet you wish you hadn’t gone last night.”

  Paff shrugged his shoulders.

  “What Brennerman pulled on Meyer was pretty raw,” said Arons, “but actually it was directed against all of us here.”

  “You mean the business of the seating?” asked Dr. Edelstein. “As far as I’m concerned, I’d just as soon sit in the back row. With the public address system, you can hear just as good, and to tell the truth I kind of like the idea of being near the door so I can go out for a breather every now and then without everybody noticing.”

  “How about if you find yourself downstairs in the vestry?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last year we had to have two services, one in the vestry. Right?”

  “Yes, but the new members were assigned seats downstairs; the old members–”

  “Sure, but the whole idea now is to make the seating democratic. If there are no reserved seats, it means that if you come in a little late, you go down to the vestry because all the seats in the sanctuary are full.”

  “I don’t think I’d care for that.”

  “Well,” said Kallen, “I don’t like to sit in the back. What’s more, my old man considers our seats in the first row a kind of honor.”

  “And how about the money we paid for those seats?” demanded Arons. “I plunked down a thousand bucks to the Building Fund–not a pledge, but hard cash–back when Becker was president. And it was supposed to reserve my seat for me each year, the same seat, mind you, until the last day of the ticket selling. Well now, I regard that as a contract that I entered into with the temple, and if anybody should live up to their contract, it seems to me it should be an organization like a temple.”

  “You’re one hundred percent right, Kerm,” said Kallen. “That’s how I feel. If you can’t trust the word of a temple, who can you trust?”

  “All right, what can you do about it?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can do about it, Meyer,” said Kallen, his tone determined. “I’m still a member of the board of directors. I could place it before the board and demand that they take action.”

  “So what would that get you? They’d take action, all right. They’d put it to a vote, and they’d vote Gorfinkle’s way. Remember, they’ve got a clear majority.”

  “Well, if the board should repudiate their solemn promises, I’d pick up my marbles and get out.”

  “And where would you go, Irv? To Lynn? To Salem? Where nobody knows you?”

  “I’ll tell you what I would do,” Edelstein asserted. “I’d stay, but they’d whistle before they got a dime out of me.”

  Paff shook his head. “It wouldn’t work, Doc. It might work in a church, but not in a temple. Our people don’t ask for it; they demand it. It’s part of the tradition. You know the old joke: The only thing two Jews can agree on is what a third should contribute to the support of the temple. No, if you were to give less than you gave last year, at the best everybody would think you had a bad year, that your practice was off. As for not giving at all–forget it. They just wouldn’t let you get away with it; they’d bother you and pester you until you came across.”

  “Meyer’s right,” said Arons. “And you know what it means? It means that from here on in, we’ll be putting up the big money, we and our friends, and Gorfinkle and his gang will be spending it. They won’t even do us the courtesy of consulting us about it.”

  “That’s right,” said Paff. “You don’t think this new seating plan was brought up before the board, do you?”

  “You mean it was just Ted Brennerman’s idea? Dammit, they can’t do that. A change like that has to be brought up before the board,” said Kallen.

  Paff shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, they’ll bring it up at the meeting, just to make it legal, and they’ll let us talk on it for a while, and then one of them will move the previous question and–zip–it’ll go through like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And that’s how it’s going to be from here on in. Make up your mind to it.”

  “And that’s how they’ll work this Social Action Fund. They’ll appropriate all kinds of money, and they’ll disburse it any way they want to. We’ll give it, and they’ll spend it.”

  “Aw, come on,” said Kallen. “How much of a fund will they set up? Five hundred? A grand? So what? I remember my old man told me that years ago, in all the shuls, they had a fund that the president used to control and to disburse when, say, some poor guy would come to town and didn’t have a place to sleep or needed a meal–”

  “But that was charity,” said Paff. “This money is to be used for politics. And it isn’t the amount; it’s the principle of the thing.”

  “All right, they won this election, and they’re in power. So next year we work a little harder, and we take it away from them.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” said Paff. “They’re in, and they’re in to stay. They got a different attitude toward this whole business than we have. They look at the temple organization as a corporation–which it is, of course, legally. When Wasserman was president and Becker and even Mort Schwarz, they put men on the board because they were either doing a lot of work for the temple or they hoped they would. The idea was to get the best men. But Gorfinkle’s crowd–most of them work for large corporations, administrators, executives–and they look at it like a business corporation where if you get the majority of the stock, you take over all the top jobs and you fill the board of directors with your own men. So from here on in, their nominating committee won’t nominate anyone unless they’re sure he’ll see things their way.”

  “Well, I think the least we could do is make the most God-awful stink tomorrow at the board meeting.” said Arons, “and hope that we’ll rouse enough people to rally to our support–”

  “We can’t,” said Paff in his deep bass rumble.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t have anything for people to rally to. What are we going to do? Ask them to support our right to retain our front seats? Be practical.”

  “Well–”

  “Then maybe what’ll happen tomorrow will give us a better reason,” said Kallen.

  “And what’s going to happen tomorrow?” asked Paff.

  “Well, like I said, I was over at Nel Shaffer’s last night. Nel and I are good friends, but mostly he hangs around with guys that are close to Gorfinkle, like Bill Jacobs and Hymie Stern. I got the impression from things Nel let drop that Gorfinkle was planning to announce the new committees tomorrow, and some of his appointments might be pretty raw from our point of view and from the point of view of a lot of members of the congregation.”

  “Like what?” demanded Edelstein.

  “Like making Roger Epstein chairman of the Ritual Committee for openers,
” said Kallen.

  “He wouldn’t dare!” said Edelstein.

  “Why wouldn’t he dare? He’s his best friend. The two families are so close they’re–”

  “But the Ritual Committee,” insisted Edelstein. “The man doesn’t know a word of Hebrew. If the rabbi didn’t announce the page, he wouldn’t know what prayer to say next. He’d never been in a temple before he came here. His folks were radicals, free thinkers. And his wife–she’s Gentile.”

  “When she was converted, she became Jewish,” Paff reminded him. “That’s the law. But that’s a can of worms we don’t have to open. If Gorfinkle appoints Epstein, it’s still a raw deal against the congregation. And I’m not saying that because it’s me he’s going to replace.”

  “All right,” said Arons, “so as soon as he announces it, we make a stink.”

  “No.” Paff was emphatic. “I got an idea. When Gorfinkle announces his committees at the meeting tomorrow, we don’t say a damn word. We sit tight.”

  Everyone looked at him. “And what does that get us?”

  “Just trust me. I tell you I got an idea. Sorry, boys, but I can’t give it to you now. Let’s just see what happens tomorrow and follow my lead. If I don’t say anything, don’t you say anything.” He looked around the table. “Have I ever let you down?”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  But why the Ritual Committee?” asked Roger Epstein. The Gorfinkles made a point of seeing their good friends, the Epsteins, at least once a week, usually on Saturday night. They would go to a movie together or have an evening of bridge or sometimes merely sit around and talk, as on this Saturday night. Roger Epstein had waited until the women had gone into the kitchen before speaking.

  “What’s the problem, Roger?” asked Ben Gorfinkle.

  “Well, you know my background. What if the rabbi should raise an objection?”

  Gorfinkle chuckled. “How can he when he won’t even be at the meeting tomorrow?”

  Epstein was a short, pudgy man, balding but with a tuft of hair in front, which he had a habit of pulling when disturbed. He pulled at it now. “So what? So he’ll question it when he gets back. And he’ll be right.”

  “He’ll be wrong,” said Gorfinkle flatly. “Appointment of committees and committee chairmen is purely an administrative function of the president.”

  “But this is the Ritual Committee. They supervise the order of the services. That makes it a concern of the rabbi, I would think. And what do I know about ritual? Besides, there’s Samantha–”

  “Look, Roger, you think you’re required to be some sort of expert? You think Paff when he had the job was a specialist of the ritual? That’s what the rabbi is there for. They way I see it, the Ritual Committee stands in relation to the congregation the way the School Committee here in town does to the citizens. You don’t have to be a teacher or an educator to serve on the School Committee. We’ve got a superintendent of schools and principals and teachers for that. What you want on the School Committee is just somebody with common sense who has the welfare of all of us first and foremost in mind. Well, it’s the same way with the Ritual Committee. There is a set order of prayers and it’s shown in the prayer book. In case of any special question, there’s the rabbi. As for the rest, I’d say that describes you to a T.”

  Epstein was still not convinced. “But why me?”

  “Well, for one thing, the Ritual Committee parcels out the honors for the services, and especially for the holidays–that can be mighty important–and I want a man I can trust to head it up. For another thing, you’re an artist–”

  “Commercial artist,” said Epstein with a deprecatory wave of the hand.

  “An artist,” his friend insisted. “There’s a certain pageantry involved in religious services, and it takes an artist to sense it and bring it out.”

  “Well–”

  From the kitchen, Samantha called out, “Coffee will be ready in a minute, boys.” She came to the door. “How about some English muffins?” She was a good two inches taller than her husband; blonde and blue-eyed, with wide cheekbones, she looked like the daughter of a Viking.

  “Just coffee for me, Sam,” said her husband. “Too many calories.”

  “Aw c’mon, lover. You can indulge tonight. You’ve been a good boy all week.”

  “Well, all right. You twisted my arm.”

  “You’ll have some, Ben, won’t you?”

  “You bet.”

  From upstairs, their daughter, Didi, called down. “You making coffee, Mum?”

  A moment later she entered the room and waved to her parents’ guests. She was a slim, elfin girl, whose hair was parted in the middle in two braids.

  “You been here all evening?” asked Gorfinkle. “What have you been doing?”

  “Telephoning, of course,” her mother answered for her.

  “Oh, Mummy,” she protested, then turned to the Gorfinkles. “We’re getting up a cookout on the beach for Monday evening. When’s Stu coming home?”

  “Probably around noon Sunday,” said Gorfinkle.

  “Gee, I hope he hasn’t made any plans. We’re having all the kids who’ll be coming home from school. I guess whoever is coming will be home by tomorrow. That’s why we figured on Monday.”

  “Where are you having it, dear?” asked her mother.

  “Over on Tarlow’s Point.”

  “Monday–that doesn’t give you much time to prepare. Have you called everybody?”

  “Some. Bill Jacobs, Sue Arons, Adam Sussman. But, then, a lot won’t be in until late tonight or sometime tomorrow. The chances are I’ll see most of them over at the rabbi’s house tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Why?” asked Gorfinkle. “Is he holding some kind of a meeting?”

  “Oh, all the kids from the post-confirmation class sort of drop in the first Sunday they get back for vacation. You know, it’s like an open house. They just talk, tell how things are going at school.”

  “Hm–that’s interesting.” Gorfinkle was interested. “How come? I mean, how did this–this tradition start?”

  “No tradition. Just that sometimes he held the confirmation class at his house, and we kind of got into the habit of going there–you know, every now and then.”

  “And he’s popular with you kids? You all like him?”

  She considered. The question struck her as requiring thought, not because she was unsure of her feelings, but because they were hard to frame in words. “He’s not fun, exactly,” she said tentatively, “and he doesn’t try to be pally or even friendly. He doesn’t try to be anything, I don’t think, but–”

  “Yes?”

  “An equal, I guess,” she said, finally finding the words. “When you’re with him, you don’t feel like a kid.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  The rabbi phoned Wasserman as soon as he arrived home Sunday. He caught him just returning from the board meeting.

  “Mr. Wasserman? Rabbi Small. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get back in time. They had arranged for a party for me at the college for Saturday night. I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Nu, it happens. If the party was for you, you had to go.”

  “Tell me, did anything happen at the meeting? Anything special?”

  “Well, Gorfinkle announced the new committees, like I thought.”

  “Yes? And how are they?”

  “Well, if he appointed they should do a job, I guess it’s all right. After all, he didn’t appoint idiots. But if what he wanted is to start a fight, the appointments are good for that, too.”

  “That bad, eh? And what did Paff say? Was he there?”

  “Oh, he was there. And that’s the only nice part of it, because he didn’t say a word, not Paff, not Edelstein, not Kallen, none of them. So I guess they’re giving in, and for a while we’ll have a little peace. But how long it will keep up?”

  But the rabbi was disturbed. “What do you mean, they didn’t say a word? Did they have a chance to? Was th
ere time for discussion?”

  “Oh, time, there was plenty, but no objections, no discussion, not one word, I tell you.”

  The rabbi waited for Wasserman to say more, but nothing was forthcoming. “I don’t like it,” he said at last.

  “Why not?” said Wasserman. “You remember I told you it was like a marriage. If an open break doesn’t develop, it can be fixed up.”

  “Yes, but if they don’t talk at all, if the husband insults the wife and she doesn’t even bother to answer, then it can mean that she’s already made up her mind and it doesn’t make any difference anymore. It seems to me Paff should have reacted. And I don’t like the fact the others remained silent too.”

  “You think they decided something already? Well, maybe. It’s possible. After what happened Friday night at the Brotherhood service …”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  All right, Meyer,” said Dr. Edelstein as Paff wove his way through the traffic. “We sat tight like you asked us to, and Gorfinkle went ahead and nominated Roger Epstein as chairman of the Ritual Committee and Ted Brennerman as Chairman of the Seating Committee. After his talk Friday night, that was really rubbing it in. So what’s the big plan already?”

  Right after the board meeting Paff had insisted he, Edelstein, Kallen, and Arons go for a ride in his car. “I promise to bring you back in half an hour, so you’ll have plenty of time to drive on home for lunch. I got something to show you boys.”

  He put his foot on the brake and brought the car to a halt opposite Hillson House. All through the ride he had kept silent, refusing to be drawn, his only response to their questions a self-satisfied smirk. Now he said, “This is it, boys.”

  They looked at one another questioningly and then at him. “This is what, Meyer? Have you gone crazy or something?”

  He looked at Edelstein and then turned to the back, where Kallen and Arons were sitting. “What you’re looking at, gentlemen, is the site for the new temple. Prime shore front property. You said you’d pull out, Irving, and I told you there was no place else to go. Okay”–his hand swept out to encompass all before them–“here’s a place.”