“How can you go wrong with Beatles humour?” he protested, winking at me. “It’s the right generation for it. No, I’m kidding,” he said. “The proposed name is Beth Aaron, after Aaron Lopez, not the first Jew in Boston, but the first allowed to live openly without renouncing his religion.”
“Mr. McConnell helping out again?”
“From your mouth to God’s ear. There are always funds to be raised, and zoning issues to be sorted out.”
“Does he know David Fine?”
“The congressman? I couldn’t see how. David isn’t part of that fundraising committee or anything. He isn’t a joiner. Although I believe he’ll join the new shul. When he comes back.”
“David was trying to contact him before he vanished.”
“The congressman? Why?”
“I have no idea. I’m going to ask him tomorrow.”
“Marc is seeing you?”
“He’s appearing at some museum event, where Jenn and I will happen to be. Rabbi, have you thought about what I asked you at lunch?”
“About breaking confidentiality? I thought about it a great deal. Tell you what, let’s take our wine to the study.”
There was a dark green leather couch against the wall opposite his work area. He pointed me there and settled into the black chair behind the desk. “Tell me a little about your work, Jonah. What you do and how you do it.”
“People come to us with problems they haven’t been able to solve by traditional means. The justice system has failed them. The police have reached a dead end.”
“Give me an example.”
“Is this a test?”
“I don’t need to test you, Jonah, I think I already know the kind of man you are. But Jews love specifics, we love to delve. So humour me.”
“All right. Last fall, a woman lost her daughter to suicide and didn’t know why. The police and coroner had closed the case. We reopened it and found out she had been murdered.”
“As well as who did it?”
“Yes.”
“And the girl’s mother found peace in that?”
“More than she’d had before.”
“I see. Is your work ever violent?”
“It can be.”
“Can be or has been?”
“Has been.”
“You feel justified in whatever part you played.”
“Yes.”
“Said without hesitation. Can I ask something that might be deeply personal, Jonah?”
“Yes.” I knew what it was going to be; I just waited for it.
“Have you ever taken a life?”
Bingo.
“I have, Rabbi. Three times.”
His bushy eyebrows lowered over his eyes, whose warm twinkle seemed to dim. “Three is more than I imagined. Are you willing to provide details?”
I regretted all three deaths but I wasn’t ashamed of any of them. “The first one, I was in my twenties. I was in the Israeli army and my sergeant was attacked in an alley. A man was stabbing him and I shot him.”
“With intent to kill or disarm?”
“I had an M-16 and I fired three-round bursts into him until he dropped. So I’d say I had intent to kill.”
“And the sergeant?”
“He died anyway.”
“I’m sorry. For both your sergeant and the man who attacked him. What about the other two?”
“One was straight self-defence. The other … if there is such a thing as pre-emptive self-defence, then that’s what that was.”
“How so?”
“A man tried to kill me and failed and ended up critically injured. I knew he’d have me killed if he survived so I made sure he didn’t.”
“If you hadn’t, would he have died anyway?”
“I don’t know. Probably. But I couldn’t take that chance.”
“This one bothers you more than the other two.”
It did. I even dreamed about it sometimes, always in weird watery settings totally unlike the shallow, rocky part of the Don River where Stefano di Pietra died. I’d be diving in great reefs teeming with fish and he’d swim past in his fine grey suit, or I’d be canoeing through a calm Muskoka lake and my paddle would hit his head. He’d turn up in a restaurant aquarium, next to lobsters whose claws were pegged shut.
“Do you know the story of Abner?” Rabbi Ed asked. “From the Book of Samuel?”
“No.”
“When King Saul died, David was anointed King of Judea in Hebron. But a second faction formed under Abner, whose father was Saul’s general. Abner installed one of Saul’s sons in Gilead and called him king of a separate territory called Israel.”
“Two Jews, two factions,” I said. “Go figure.”
“Hey, it could have been three. So a skirmish broke out between Judeans, led by Joab, and Israelites, led by Abner. Abner’s men were routed and fled. Joab’s brother Asahel followed him and wouldn’t give up the pursuit, even though Abner kept stopping to turn and warn him off. But Asahel was single-minded. Samuel says he would look neither left nor right, veer neither left nor right, he’d only keep straight after Abner. Fast. When Abner saw that Asahel wouldn’t give up, they fought and Abner slew him. What follows is actually a pivotal point in our history, Jonah. Because now Joab and his men chase after Abner but when they catch him, Abner convinces Joab to spare his life. He explains-get this-that Asahel left him no choice by refusing to break off his pursuit. The first known case of justifiable homicide. A crucial legal precedent. But there’s more: Despite his anger over Asahel’s death, Joab not only spared Abner but declared peace with Israel. In your mind, Jonah, would this man in the river have continued to pursue you like Asahel, veering neither left nor right?”
“Yes. He’d had at least six people killed by the time he died, including his own brothers and two innocent civilians.”
“A very evil man then. So some homicides, we know, are justifiable, Jonah. Which means?”
“Yes?”
He smiled and said, “It means enough about you. We can talk about David now.”
If his questions had been a test, had I passed?
“Some things that he and I talked about can be shared.”
“Great.”
“He came to me last year, while I was still at Adath Israel, to enlist my support on a project. As you know, there is a great shortage of organs for transplant in the United States. I don’t know how it is in Canada, but very few people here sign their donor cards.”
“I don’t think it’s much better at home.”
“It’s even more true among the Jewish community, sadly, especially the Orthodox. There is great doubt and debate among them as to whether it falls within Halacha, the Jewish way, because we believe we are not supposed to change in any way the body Hashem gave us. It’s why the Orthodox oppose autopsies, and why their women wear clip-ons instead of piercing their ears. It’s why we don’t get tattoos. So if you won’t pierce an ear, or get a little tattoo on your tuchus, how can you cut open a body and take out its organs? How can you take the corneas? What if sight is needed in the afterlife? And on it goes. David saw first-hand how acute the shortage was and it bothered him. He wanted to drum up rabbinical support for donation. He knew how connected I am in that community so he came to me for help.”
“What kind?”
“We held a series of discussions with all the Orthodox rabbis in New England, one of them on Skype, if you want a laugh. We decided that to save a life was, if you’re old enough to remember the first Star Trek, the prime directive. It came above all other considerations and was therefore within Halacha.”
“That’s great. Has it helped?”
“It’s early days. Too early to tell if we’re having any statistical impact. But we had these made up and we’re giving them out at our shuls. In my case, my former shul. And I’ll promote it from my future pulpit.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet thick with currency, receipts, credit cards and more. He slid from one pocket a laminated blue card that said, “Halachic Orthodox Organ Donors.” Under that was his signature and a paragraph saying he was donating any and all organs needed and that it was within the Jewish tradition and endorsed by the Rabbinical Council of New England.