"It's funny." Miriam said softly.
"What's funny?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, remembering always to watch the road.
"That you should come to the Holy Land and find that all the holy things aren't really holy."
"I see what you mean." He smiled. "But it could be like my friend Bill Abbot who doesn't feel like a Jew because he's among Jews. Maybe holy things are out of place in the Holy Land. I don't think I'd be very comfortable if it were a holy land in the strict sense of the phrase. You remember how shocked you were when you read your first Israeli newspaper and saw stories of burglaries, and thieves and prostitutes. It didn't seem right that there should be theft and prostitution in the Holy Land."
"It wasn't so much that." she said, "so much as it was that the prostitute was named Rachel and the thief Baruch."
"And yet, if there weren't a prostitute named Rachel and a thief named Baruch, it would not be a society that had been established here but rather a museum like Colonial Williamsburg where people are paid to parade around in Colonial costumes. Like a museum, it's all right for a brief visit, but you couldn't live there. Now. here it is just the opposite. I don't think I'd care to come here for a brief visit, but I think I might like to live here."
"You're really thinking seriously of it then?"
"Yes, I am."
"And the rabbinate?" she asked quietly. "Are you thinking of giving that up?"
He did not answer immediately, and they rode for some little while in silence. Then he said, "I'm not afraid to face up to the possibility that I might have made a mistake."
Chapter Twenty-One
Regularly, every Sunday afternoon when the weather and road conditions made it at all possible. Al Becker stopped by at the home of his old friend Jacob Wasserman to take him for a drive. Wasserman was the first president of the temple, indeed its founder, and Becker had backed him during the trying period when the organization was aborning and had then succeeded him in the presidency. They used to meet at the Sunday board meetings, but since neither of them now attended, the drive was by way of substitute. They talked of temple affairs largely; it was the one interest they had in common.
It was a mild day, the occasional mild day in March that was a forerunner of the lovely spring weather that sometimes comes to New England, and Wasserman was already in his overcoat, waiting on the porch when Becker drove up.
"I got a card from the rabbi." Becker greeted him.
"Me too."
"What did yours say?" Becker was a short, stocky man with a deep, gravelly voice that always carried a note of belligerence, an effect heightened by his tendency to twist his face forward when he spoke, as if to challenge the listener.
"What you say on a picture postcard. It was a picture of the Wall. On the back it said he was having a nice time. To tell the truth. I think it was the rebbitzin that wrote it and he signed it."
"Same here. You know, sometimes I don't understand the rabbi. Jacob. Now we're his strongest backers in the temple, and we've gone to bat for him I don't know how many times, and vet all he can think to send us is a lousy postcard which his wife wrote at that."
"So? When you go on vacation, do you write letters?" Wasserman's English was not so much accented as it showed a special effort to pronounce each word correctly.
"That's different."
"You send postcards, like when you went to California last summer. And it was Mrs. Becker that wrote them. Am I right?"
"Sure, but this is different. With me. it was just a matter of friendship. But with him. it's business. He goes away for three months, which in itself is not such a good idea, not when you’ve got a board and a bunch of officers that are trying to screw you. When you're in that position, you should stick around so you can fight back. Then he goes away without any contract. Now that ain't smart, especially when you see them putting in a real hotshot as your replacement. Of course, we only got Marty Drexler's say-so that that was what he wanted. I wouldn't put it past that little bastard to maneuver the rabbi into a position where to save his self-respect he had to refuse a contract. And having agreed, he'd be too proud to come to us and tell us that Drexler had played him for a Mickey. So you'd think he'd be writing to us, to the guys who’ve been backing him. asking questions— what's going on? What's happening? Making suggestions on strategy. At least letting us know when he's coming back so we can make preparations."
"Ah. Becker, you're a smart man, but not smart enough to understand the rabbi." He rose slowly to his feet, and Becker held out a hand to help him down the stairs. "You've never understood him. The rabbi never plays tricks, and usually he says just what he means. He said he wanted a leave of absence; he was tired and wanted a rest.
So that's what it was— like a vacation. For people like us, when we take a vacation, what does it mean? It means if it's the winter, we go to Florida to get a little sunshine. If it's the summer, we go to the mountains maybe to get away from the heat. We see new people. We get away from business maybe. The wife doesn't have to do any housekeeping or bother with meals. It's a little rest. But with a man like the rabbi, it's something more. A rest like me and you need, he don't need. When he stops working, it's because he wants to take stock."
"Take stock? What kind of stock has he got?"
"You're thinking like in a warehouse? No. Or maybe yes. His stock is himself. So when he takes stock, he is asking himself how much of himself he's used up. Did he get a good price for it? How much he's got it left? And should he go on peddling it like before, or should he change his method of operation?"
Becker, helping the older man to the car. stopped and faced him. "Honest to God. Jacob. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"No? Tell me. would you want to be a rabbi?"
"A rabbi? Hell, no."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Well, for one thing I like to be in business for myself. From the time I was a kid peddling papers. I been working for myself. I don't want to have to take any crap from some boss. And if it had to be from some of the guys we’ve had on the board, and yes. as president, there ain't enough money in Fort Knox to pay me."
"And for the money we pay Rabbi Small?"
Becker, his hand under the other's arm. urged him forward again. "You'd have to tie me hand and foot."
"So you think you’re smarter than the rabbi? In the old country, it used to be different. There the rabbi was the biggest man in town. In the shut there was a president, but the rabbi was like president of the whole community. In some places he was rich; in some places he could barely make a living. But it didn't make any difference; he was the headman. If the rabbi made a decision, who would dare go against him? Not even the richest man in town." Wasserman eased himself onto the car seat. "So here's a young man, and he feels capable he should run the operation. So he goes into the rabbinate. But here it's different. Here, a rabbi is not such an important person. Here, he has a bunch of bosses like Marty Drexler or Stanley Agranat or Bert Raymond. He sees right away it's not like what he thought, but he keeps on because he keeps thinking maybe it's improving a little, maybe he's beginning to get control. Comes a time when he thinks maybe it's always going to be this way— one year a little better maybe, the next year a little worse. Then he's got to decide what to do. Of course, it he's a rabbi like Rabbi Deutch—"