Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

by Harry Kemelman

  “Why? Because he ticked off the rabbi? You think he’s so popular?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know how popular the rabbi is. I know he doesn’t have a special following. And some of those parents may feel sore at him for getting the kids to tell the police what they knew.”

  “You think so?”

  She nodded. “I felt that way myself when I first heard of it, but then I realized it was bound to come out sooner or later. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of a murderer running around loose and–”

  “What’s that got to do with Ben Gorfinkle?” said her husband patiently.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Simply that a lot of the girls feel that this fight in the congregation he started is not such a good idea.”

  “Yes, but the girls don’t vote.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but a lot of them can influence those who do vote, and in Reform congregations they do vote, and I think it’s a good idea. Anyway, a lot of the women I talked to, they don’t like the idea of building an organization like this and then breaking it in two over a silly business of who is to sit where.”

  “Look, Pearl, I hope you don’t talk that way ouside. We weren’t trying to split the organization. And it isn’t over the seating business; that’s just incidental. We have a program and a damn good program, and at every step of the way we were blocked by Paff and his group. Since we can’t get them to agree, wouldn’t it be better if the two views, the two philosophies, should each have their own machinery for doing what they consider important, instead of each preventing the other from doing anything?”

  “Isn’t that just like a man?” She shook her head. “You say we don’t want to split; we just want to do the things that cause a split. And that satisfies your conscience. Well, let me tell you that women are a lot more realistic. You’re like a bunch of kids who think if you don’t give it a name, it doesn’t exist. But you know what a split does? It isn’t just that you get two temples where you only had one before. It means that you get two groups that tend to keep away from each other. The people of one temple tend to stay away from the people of the other temple. It doesn’t make so much difference to the men–they’re away all day, and most evenings they’re too tired to do anything. But the women are around here all day long. Take me and Marjie Arons; we’re both in Women’s League. And we’re close. All right, the temple splits, and I’m in one temple and Marjie is in the other. Don’t you think that will put up a wall between us?”

  “But we don’t see them socially, anyway,” he protested.

  “We don’t as a couple see them as a couple because you don’t like him, and I’m not crazy about him either. But Marjie and I see each other. And how about the kids?”

  “What about them?” he asked.

  “Well, if there are two temples, there will be different affairs, and the kids from one temple will feel funny about going to affairs from the other place. Here’s Bill out in this dinky little college in a town in Minnesota that nobody has ever heard of. From what he tells me, there are less than a dozen Jewish families in the whole town and practically no eligible Jewish girls. Do you think that doesn’t worry me? But at least when he comes home for his vacations here, there are plenty of Jewish girls. He can play the field. And you now want to cut off half of them. Do you want your son to marry a Gentile, God forbid?”

  “Come on, Pearl, you’re making a big deal–do you think if Bill wants to take a girl out, he’s going to bother about what temple her folks go to?”

  “No,” she said, “but he’ll have less chance of meeting them.”

  “Well, a temple is not a matrimonial bureau.”

  “There are lots worse things that it could be, especially in a Yankee town like Barnard’s Crossing. Why do you suppose the Sisterhood works so hard to make a go of it? You think it’s so that you men can go there two or three times a year to mumble your prayers? We put on bazaars, and we put on shows. We have luncheons and brunches and whatnot. We have a big educational program. And at the end of the year, we hand the temple organization a whopping big check. We do it, I suppose, because some of it is fun and keeps us busy. But Marjie Arons does it partly to increase the chances of her Sue marrying a Jewish boy, and I do it to help insure that Bill marries a Jewish girl.”

  “The rabbi–”

  “He doesn’t know any more about it than you do. He’s a man, too. I’ll bet the rebbitzin understands though.”

  “I see,” Jacobs said with a laugh. “And how long have you girls been plotting? When do you plan to take over?”

  “Who needs it? You men want to run things? Go ahead. Big shots! You’re like kids with a toy. You play with it, and then you get tired of it and leave it lying around or break it. You go ahead and plan and appoint committees, take votes, pass resolutions, make–what did Ben Gorfinkle call it?–‘an active voice for social reform in the community’ or what the rabbi is always talking about, ‘a house of study and prayer’–but don’t break it. Because it isn’t only for you; it’s for us–and for the kids.”

  “I see, so the kids are in on it, too?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t run down the kids. Sometimes they show more sense than their parents. Our Bill is no fool. He was talking to me about it. He was concerned that the rabbi might leave. Now the kids like him and respect him. That’s why Bill told the police–because the rabbi said he ought to, and Bill trusted him.”

  “Does Mrs. Paff think the way you do?”

  “She has no children, so she doesn’t feel about these things the way I do, I suppose. But Paff himself–if I were in his business that depends so much on kids, I wouldn’t go out of my way to antagonize them.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SIX

  Well, what do you think?” asked Lanigan.

  “I don’t think you learned too much, did you?” the rabbi countered. “Still, there were a number of points brought out that I thought interesting. They seemed quite unanimously agreed that it was the Carter boy who first suggested that they invade Hillson House and who assured them that they would not be seen.”

  Lanigan grinned. “Sure, it was safe to blame him; he can’t answer back.”

  “There is that, of course–”

  “I found that little dig by the Epstein girl about the Marks girl having dated Moose quite a bit last year interesting.”

  “You attribute any significance to that? You didn’t pursue it at the time.”

  “I thought it would be more profitable to inquire about it later on.”

  “Really? I regarded it as normal female cattiness,” observed the rabbi. “About the only other bit of evidence I found worthwhile was the matter of the front door.”

  “What was that?”

  “Bill Jacobs saying that he remembered fixing the latch on the front door so that they could come back and get Moose.”

  “Oh yes,” said Lanigan. “Why do you regard that as especially important?”

  “Because it means that after they left, anyone could have got in.”

  “If they had known,” Lanigan interjected swiftly. “But it wouldn’t have made any difference to someone with a key.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like a man named Paff. Know him? He’s a member of your temple.”

  “Meyer Paff?”

  “That’s right. He had a key to the place and was around there that night at about the right time.”

  Rabbi Small did not answer immediately. “Look here,” he said at last, “obviously there’s much about this case I don’t know. There’s no reason for me to know it. It’s police business. But if it concerns members of my congregation and you want me to cooperate–”

  “Keep your shirt on, Rabbi. I was planning to give it all to you.” He went to the hall closet and returned with an attaché case. “Here’s a copy of Paff’s statement.”

  The rabbi read it through and then looked up and said mildly, “It seems straightforward enough.”

  “Oh, it is,” said Lanig
an hastily. “And yet, there are some interesting aspects to the very fact that he was there. For one thing, he knew the boy. Moose worked for him.”

  “Mr. Paff is an active member of the Boosters Club here in town and knows most of the high school athletes. He would certainly know Moose Carter.”

  “It’s just a little detail. Here’s another. The Lynn bowling alley has been under the surveillance of the Lynn police. They suspect it of being a distribution point for pot. Paff owns it, and that was where Moose used to work evenings as an assistant manager.”

  “Are you suggesting that Moose did the distributing and that Paff killed him for it?”

  “That’s a possibility,” said Lanigan judiciously.

  “Almost anything is,” said the rabbi with a shrug. “But I doubt if you’re really serious about Mr. Paff–”

  “No, and why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t think you would have gone to the trouble of rounding up these youngsters and questioning them all evening.”

  “That’s for sure.” he grinned. “But unlike you, Rabbi, I found this meeting with the kids very enlightening.”

  “Indeed!”

  “In fact, it practically proved what I’ve suspected all along, but I had to have this meeting to confirm it. A definite pattern developed–and it all points unmistakably to Jenkins.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, it started when Moose first joined the group. He began to ride Jenkins, and there is no doubt from what the kids said that the colored fellow was burning about it. They were all in agreement on that.”

  “But Jenkins didn’t do anything about it. None of them reported him as saying anything,” the rabbi observed.

  “No, and he didn’t come out swinging at any time either. Maybe it would have been better if he had. That kind of thing builds up. He doesn’t say anything until Moose is being wrapped up in the sheet. Then he cracks they ought to put it over his head. The Jacobs boy said he was joking, but you know that a lot of jokes–things that just pop out–are meant seriously.”

  “Go on.”

  “Next point: Jacobs leaves the door off the latch. Now who knows that? Why, only Jacobs. You remember I questioned him on that rather closely. He was the last one out, and he set the latch. Now later, when they were in the Epstein house and were planning to go back for Moose, Gorfinkle asked how they were going to get in and it was then that Jacobs told the others that he had set the latch so that it wouldn’t lock. It’s the usual front-door lock with two buttons. One releases the latch, and the other locks it. And notice, that’s when Jenkins said he had to be getting right home because he was setting out for New York the next morning early.”

  “And you think he rode off and on the way to Boston stopped off at Hillson House.”

  “I’m damn sure of it. He had the opportunity; that is, he had transportation–his motorbike. And he had the motive. He’s the only one we know definitely had a motive.”

  “Because young Carter made fun of him? Did it ever occur to you that Jenkins might be used to this kind of embarrassment? That this incident probably was merely another of a long series of similar incidents he has had to suffer all his life?”

  “You mean you can get used to it. Sure, but it can also build up. And this could have been the last straw. You can argue these things either way. I should think you’d be happy over the turn of events.”

  “Happy? Happy that a young man who has visited in my house however briefly is suspected of murder?”

  “Come on, Rabbi. Let’s be practical. Moose Carter was murdered, and that means that somebody murdered him. Now who are the suspects? Well, up till now it has been the kids from your congregation and Meyer Paff, another of your people. I should think that you’d be happy that it’s not them, that it’s not somebody you’re closely associated with, that it’s somebody from out of town, a stranger.”

  “Ah, the stranger. Thank God for the stranger.”

  The rabbi rose from his chair and began striding back and forth across the room. “We Jews celebrate the Passover in a couple of days. In many respects it’s a most unique holiday, and we clebrate it in a unique way. We begin by cleaning the house of all foods and even all utensils that we use during the year, and during the week of the festival we not only buy special foods, but prepare them in special utensils and eat them from special dishes with special silverware that are used for just that week. Then on the eve of the holiday we have a feast, which is repeated the following night. And in each case the feast is preceded by an elaborate ritual in which the youngest person present asks the meaning of the feast, of the unusual foods that we eat, and the unusual manner of eating them. And then we, the rest of the company, explain how we were slaves in Egypt and were oppressed and how God responded to our suffering by bringing us forth with a mighty hand from our slavery and oppression.”

  “Yes, Rabbi, I know the reason for the holiday. But what’s the point?”

  “The point is that Passover is not merely a holiday of thanksgiving or rejoicing. We have several such holidays, but this is the only one that has a very elaborate and specific ritual and involves the use of a special set of instructions, the Haggadah, to make sure we follow it exactly right. Why?”

  “Tell me.”

  “To engrave the lessons it teaches on our minds,” said the rabbi. “It’s a mnemonic, a string around the finger, a way of forcing on our consciousness and memory what people would rather not think of or would easily forget.”

  “Once a year the Pope washes and kisses the feet of beggars,” Lanigan said.

  “Precisely. And no doubt he profits by the lesson in humility that it teaches him,” said the rabbi primly. Then he added as an afterthought, “It’s a pity it isn’t required of all members of your faith.”

  Lanigan laughed. “All right, Rabbi. Now what is it that your holiday teaches?”

  “It is associated with a specific commandment that is central in our law: ‘And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not do him wrong… he shall be as the homeborn among you; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.’”

  “You saying that I’m being unfair to Jenkins because he’s colored and from out of town?”

  “Do you have him in custody, and has he confessed?”

  “We haven’t got him yet, Rabbi, but we’ll get him. It’s that motorbike of his–it’s not like a car. You can wheel one of those over the sidewalk into a hallway or even a cellar, and how is it to be found? But I have alerted the New York police, and they’ll find him.”

  “But you don’t have any real evidence against him–only what you consider his motive and the opportunity.”

  “Oh, we’ve got the evidence, all right,” said Lanigan. “We had it that first night, which is why I let your young people go home. As soon as the youngsters told us what they found and we knew it was murder, I sent some of my men scouring around Hillson House to see what they could pick up. And right off the bat, we got it. There’s a tall, thick hedge in front of the house, and behind it, in the soft earth where it would be hidden from the street, we found a perfect motorbike tire mark.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The carpenter entered diffidently, awkwardly doffed his old-fashioned, wide-brimmed felt hat, and in response to the rabbi’s invitation, sat down on the edge of the chair. “My wife thought I ought to change,” he said in explanation of the black suit he was wearing, the highly polished black shoes, the white shut, its collar uncomfortably tight, the wide florid necktie. “Out of respect, you know.”

  The rabbi nodded, not because he understood, but as a sign for him to go on.

  “Lanigan called me this morning to tell me to come down to make arrangements for the burial. He said they had decided that they didn’t need an autopsy.”

  “I see.”

  “So after I made the arrangements, I thought I’d stop off and thank you.”

  “I did nothing, Mr. Carter. Nothing.”

  “Well,
I figure if you hadn’t gone down Monday night–”

  “No, Mr. Carter,” said the rabbi firmly, “that really had nothing to do with it. Chief Lanigan quite properly refused to release the body then because he had doubts about the cause of death. Quite rightly, as it turned out. When he discovered that the death was by asphyxiation, he consulted with the Medical Examiner, who told him that an autopsy was unnecessary and that they would learn nothing by it. As I understand it, acute alcohol poisoning results in a paralysis of the nerve that controls breathing, so that the effect on the organs is the same as asphyxiation.”

  “I still think that if you hadn’t gone down there they might have gone through with it anyway. Doctors have been known to do it, you know, just for practice,” he added darkly.

  “You’ve made plans for the funeral?” asked the rabbi to get him off the subject.

  Carter nodded. “We’re having a private affair–just the family. We didn’t want a crowd, so it’s just the family and a preacher friend of mine that I worked with on the fluoridation campaign. He’ll say a few words.”

  “I think that’s best.”

  “You know, Rabbi, I might have saved that boy.” Carter clenched his fists. “I wouldn’t say it to my wife, but I’m telling you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I didn’t listen, Rabbi. The Lord spoke to me, and I didn’t listen.”

  The rabbi looked up with interest. “Oh?”

  “I went out looking for him that night. I looked downtown and looked in the taverns, because that’s where I thought I might find him. And when he wasn’t there, I just rode around, up one street and down the other, aimless-like. I rode up by Tarlow’s Point. Now why did I go up there if the Lord wasn’t directing me? I even slowed down as I passed Hillson House. Was the Lord directing my footsteps or wasn’t He?” he demanded. “But I was angry with the lad, and it blocked out the voice of the Lord. If I had been receptive, He would have spoken to me and told me where to look. But my mind was blocked, Rabbi, and the voice couldn’t come through.”