"Here or there?"
"Oh, that's good." She pulled at her husband's arm.
"I just asked Rabbi Small if he were worried about the bombings, dear, and he said, 'Here or there?'"
Her husband looked at her expectantly.
"You know"— a hint of impatience in her voice—"the bombings on the campuses here."
"Haw-haw, of course. Very good. Rabbi. And a proper commentary on our society. A very good title for a sermon, too. Do you mind if I use it?"
Rabbi Small grinned. "With my compliments. Rabbi."
Rabbi Deutch offered his hand again. "Well, go in peace and come home in peace." he said in Hebrew. He chuckled. "Here or there. Very good."
As they drove home. Miriam asked. "Well, what do you think of them?"
"They seem to be all right. I didn't get much chance to talk to them."
"They're pros. David."
"Pros?"
"Professionals. I'll bet they won't have any trouble with the congregation or with the board. They know just what to say at all times and how to say it. They'll have the congregation eating out of their hand— and liking it."
Later, much later, for they had gone to the Raymonds for a bite of supper, when they were back in their hotel room and getting ready for bed. Betty Deutch asked. "Did you get the feeling, dear, that the Smalls might be having some trouble with their congregation or at least with some of the board members?"
Hugo Deutch neatly placed his jacket on a hanger. "I've been getting hints to that effect from the president and that close friend of his— what's his name? Drexler— ever since we’ve met. It's too bad. There's a technique to handling a congregation, and Rabbi Small hasn't learned it yet, I'm afraid. I'm not sure that he ever will." He unlaced his shoes and put on his house slippers. "He's a scholar, you know. He published a paper on Maimonides a few years back— I never read it, but I heard some complimentary remarks about it. Well, that kind frequently are not very good at leading a congregation. They're in the wrong business, and sometimes they realize it early enough and switch to their proper work— teaching, research— and sometimes they hang on. draining their energy doing something they cannot do well and probably don't even enjoy."
His wife smiled. "Perhaps he'll realize it after he's been in Israel away from it all for a few months."
Chapter Ten
As Rov Stedman scrubbed his face dry with a towel, his friend Abdul walked around examining the large wall posters that were the principal decorations of the small room: the pig in a policeman's uniform standing on his hind trotters; the nun raising her skirt to her thigh to reach her purse concealed in her stocking; the nude couple facing each other, holding each other's sex organs, like two people gravely shaking hands on being introduced.
Over his shoulder. Abdul said. "The girls, when they see this, they do not object, they do not get angry?"
"No one's ever objected." said Roy with a leer. He didn't mention that so far he had not succeeded in persuading any girls to visit his room. "Maybe it gives them the right ideas."
"That's very clever. And if your papa, how do you say it, your daddy, comes to visit you, you will leave these in place?"
"Sure, why not?" Roy tossed the towel on a hook and then began to comb his long hair.
"He is rich, your daddy?"
"Rich? I wouldn't say he was rich. Comfortable. I guess, but I wouldn't call him rich."
"If he stays at the King David, he must be rich." said Abdul positively.
"Oh, yeah? Is it that expensive? Couple of times I was there, it didn't look so great."
"Believe me." said Abdul, "it is expensive. For one night, or for a week, maybe not; but to live there on a permanent basis..."
"Well, he might get reduced rates being a TV personality. Or maybe he won't be staying there long. In his letter he said he'd be touring the country, that he'd rent or buy a car and move around— you know, a few days here, a few days there. This book he's writing will take him all over."
"And you will go with him on some of these trips?"
"If he's going somewhere I want to go."
"And the car, you will perhaps get to use it sometime on your own?"
Roy smiled. "Look, if my old man gets a car. I bet I'll use it more than he does."
"Then you won't have any time for Abdul. All the girls, how do you call them— chicks?— you’ll have any you want."
"Nan." But Roy was obviously pleased at the idea. "The broads around here, they're like icicles."
"Icicles?"
"Yeah, you know, like cold."
"Ah. I see." Abdul nodded in wise understanding. Then he smiled. "Maybe I have you meet some different kind girls. Not cold. Hot ones."
"You mean the Arab girls around here? They're even worse than the Jewish ones. They're like on a rope and their old man's got a good grip on the other end."
"Ah, but there are other kinds— those who know how to act with a man. They know what a man wants. They make your blood boil." He patted his young friend on the shoulder. "You get a car and we get a couple of girls and we drive to a place that one of my relatives has for a couple of days, a weekend. I'll guarantee you a good time."
"Yeah? How about having me meet some right now?"
"You mean tonight?"
"No, not tonight, but you know...Why do we have to
take them to your relative's place? I mean what's wrong with right here?"
"Well, maybe. I'll think about it." He deliberately changed the subject. "He's a Zionist, your daddy?"
"Gosh, I don't know. I never talked to him about it."
"All Americans are Zionist." Abdul could not prevent some hint of indignation from showing in his voice.
"I'm an American, and I'm not a Zionist," said Roy mildly.
"I mean all American Jews."
"Well?"
"But you told me once that your mother was not Jewish. So even by the law of the Jewish rabbi, you are not Jewish."
"I don't know about that." said Roy. "I always thought of myself as Jewish, and that's how my friends thought of me. As a matter of fact, up until the time I went to college, all my friends were Jewish."
"And here."
Roy laughed. "That's right. In college and here, but this is college, too."
"That's right." Abdul glanced at his watch. "You're going to meet your father at eight; you don't have much time. You'd better get dressed."
Roy looked at his friend in surprise. "Why do I have to get dressed up to meet my own fattier? What's the matter with the way I'm dressed now?"
Abdul, who was twenty-six to Roy's eighteen, shook his head indulgently. Roy was dressed in a blue denim Eisenhower jacket and in faded blue jeans, frayed at the bottoms. His sockless feet were encased in open sandals.
Abdul could not understand why the American students chose to dress like poor workingmen. like fellahin, when they had the money to buy proper clothes. He had a smug satisfaction in the knowledge that he was properly dressed, even well dressed, in a tight-fitting suit of shiny black worsted with a shirt with a long, pointed collar and a wide colorful tie. Sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. he rotated his shoes on their heels and surveyed them approvingly. They were Italian with large brass buckles and brilliantly shined.
"You don't understand, Roy. You will come into the King David where the women walk around the lobby in mink stoles even on hot days. Your daddy is probably planning to take you to the Grill for dinner. I'm not even sure that they will seat you without a tie, without socks. The hair, they will not like, but they can do nothing about it. But the jacket and no tie—"
"Well, this is the way I dress." retorted Rov, "and if they don't like it, they can lump it. As far as my father is concerned, is it me he wants to see or a suit of clothes? And as for the headwaiter. a man can't let himself be pushed around by those types. I'll tell you something. Abdul, a man has to be himself. That's the main thing."