The rabbi smiled. "I get your point, Mr. Markevitch."
Markevitch's voice suddenly changed to a hoarse whisper not a decibel lower than his normal speaking voice.
"There's even talk around that maybe we're big enough now to have two rabbis and that maybe Rabbi Deutch might be willing to stay on. What do you think of that?" He sat back in his chair and looked quizzically at the rabbi.
"Well, I can see some problems that—"
"Sure, that's what Markevitch said when he first heard about it. Didn't he. Katz?" He leaned forward again and went on confidentially. "Rabbi Deutch is the older and more experienced man. so he couldn't be assistant to Rabbi Small. On the other hand. Rabbi Small had the job first, so he's not going to like the idea of stepping down to play second fiddle to Rabbi Deutch no matter how old and experienced he is."
Katz winced. He touched his partner. "Please. Markevitch."
Markevitch turned and stared. "Whatsamatter. Katz?" Then he turned to the rabbi again. "What I say is. why can't there be like two associate rabbis, both equal, especially where it looks like we're going to have to run two services, one upstairs and one downstairs in the vestry? And the way I see it where our holidays all run two days, they could take turns conducting the service upstairs, which it will no doubt be the more important one. And they could toss a coin for who gets first whacks. What do you think. Rabbi?"
Rabbi Small pursed his lips. "It's an interesting speculation."
Markevitch poked his partner with his elbow. "See. Katz, you don't ask, you don't find out. Rabbi Small is interested. You think about it. Rabbi. Now. how's about seeing the town?"
"I suppose you'd like to see the Wall first?"
"Yeah, we'd like to see the Wall. We got a special reason." He smiled and winked at his partner.
They took a cab, and all through the short ride. Markevitch, who sat in the middle, kept turning from side to side so as not to miss any sight they passed. "Look at that, Katz, out there it's past now. It was a— What's
that. Rabbi? Oh, look at that old Jew with the whiskers. Hey, that's an Arab, isn't it? I mean when they wear those checkered shmattes around their heads, then they're Arabs. Right? Hey, that must be some kind of a church " He kept it up until they were deposited at Jaffa Gate, asking questions and not waiting for answers, pointing out whatever he thought unusual— people, buildings, signs.
"I thought we'd go this way, so you'd get a chance to see the Old City," the rabbi explained.
They crossed the plaza beyond the gate and approached the tunnellike street.
Katz drew back. "You mean we go through there? Is it safe?"
"Sure. Katz. Look at those two old geezers with the beards. If they can go through, I guess it's safe for us."
They entered. Markevitch commented, his words expressing not so much wonder as incredulity. "Imagine. Katz, this is a street. This is by them a regular street. Imagine—look at those women with the veils. What are they afraid of? How can people live like this?... Look, there's a shoe store. Better not stop, Katz. or you'll maybe have to buy this junk who buys it? How can they make a living...Look, there's a guy selling halvah. When was the last time you ate halvah, Katz? This is what they call a butcher shop, I suppose.... Look, everything open I guess they never heard of sanitation."
At last they came to the Wall. They surveyed the plaza in front of it, and Markevitch said. "Now this is something like. I guess you come here practically every day, huh. Rabbi?"
"Well, I’ve been here a few times."
"Gee. I'd think you'd be here every day. praying. I mean."
"No, Mr. Markevitch. I don't feel it's necessary. Prayers are no stronger for being made in front of the Wall."
"Can we go right up to it?" asked Katz. "Or do we have to buy a ticket, or make a contribution— that guy at the desk there—"
"He's just distributing paper yarmulkes for those who don't have head coverings. No, you can go right on up. There's no charge."
"Imagine, Katz, no charge. Not even a silver collection. Look, Rabbi"— for the first time Markevitch dropped his voice—"we were wondering if you could say a prayer for us. What we had in mind was some special kind of prayer maybe where you could ask for the success of our enterprise—"
"Especially the financing." said Katz.
"That's right, especially the financing, but I was thinking of the whole shmeer."
The rabbi shook his head. "With us it's every man for himself. Mr. Markevitch. We Jews have no intermediary between man and God. You can stand right up close to the Wall if you feel that will be especially efficacious, and you can say what you have in your mind and heart."
"But I don't know any Hebrew except maybe some of the prayers, you know, like the blessings for bread or wine—"
"I'm sure God will understand if you speak in English or even if you just think it."
"You don't think He'd mind where it's a matter of business? After all, it's for the good of the country."
The rabbi smiled. "People ask for all kinds of favors. Some who come here even write little notes and stick them between the stones. See?"
"Yeah." Markevitch looked around and. seeing that he was unobserved, pried loose several of the rolled-up bits of paper. He unrolled one and. as it was in Hebrew, passed it to the rabbi. "What's it say?"
The rabbi read: "I have six daughters and my wife is heavy with a seventh child. Grant. Dear God. that it should be a male so he can say the Kaddish for me and my wife after we are gone."
Markevitch unrolled another, and the rabbi read and translated: "My wife is sick. She is a burden to herself and to me. Dear God. either take her to your bosom or make her well."
Markevitch shook his head and made little clucking noises of pity. He felt constrained to justify his intrusion on another's grief. "It's not that Markevitch is nosy, rabbi. It's just he wants to get the general picture." He unrolled the third. "Oh, this one is in English. This is more like it." and he read aloud to them: "American Telephone— 52, IBM— 354, Chrysler— 48, General Motors— 81.1 ask not for riches, just for enough of a rise, dear God, so I can bail out."
He folded the bits of paper carefully and reinserted them in a crevice in the wall. "It's worth a try, Katz. Give me a pencil and piece of paper."
The rabbi waited while they wrote out their petition and insinuated it in a crack between two stones. They stood in front of the Wall, muttering what scraps of Hebrew they knew. Even though he was standing at a little distance, he could not help hearing the voice of V. S. Markevitch reciting the blessing for wine, the blessing for bread, and then after a pause, the four questions that the youngest child at the Seder asks on Passover. Then for a couple of minutes Markevitch stood silent, his eyes shut tight, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Finally, he said, "It's V. S. Markevitch that's asking, dear God," and stepped back.
People continued to arrive, and just as they turned to go, they saw a group of Americans, prosperous middle-aged people like themselves, under the leadership of one of their number whose black hat and more sober costume suggested that he might be the rabbi who was conducting their tour. "Just spread out and stand right along the Wall," he ordered. "Don't be afraid. Don't be bashful. You’ve got just as much right here as anyone else. Now, if you'll all turn to page sixty-one..."
Markevitch looked significantly at his partner and nodded in the direction of the praying Americans.
They left the Wall and took a cab to Zion Square. They strolled along Ben Yehuda Street and Jaffa Road, the business area of the new city. They were obviously disappointed in the narrow streets and the small, poorly decorated shops.