He dismissed the idea as melodramatic, completely absurd. And vet what did he know of Dan Stedman? They had had some pleasant talks, to be sure, but he had never confided in him. Except that he had been a TV journalist. he knew nothing of his past. And this sudden decision to go to Haifa, could that have some significance? It was certainly strange. The normal thing would have been to want to discuss the tragedy that had followed their visit.
He tried to put the thought out of his mind, and yet…
His mind turned to Roy and he realized the son was a more likely source of information to the police. If Memavet had made a note, he probably would have listed only the name. Stedman, and a routine police check would have come up with Roy's name. And then in routine questioning they would have learned that Roy had accompanied his father and his father's friend. David Small. Roy would have no reason to conceal the information. But then why hadn't Rov called to alert him that the police might be making inquiries? The answer was simple— the thoughtlessness and inconsiderateness of the young— and from what he had heard from Dan. quite characteristic.
He called Roy as soon as he got home. There was no answer. He called again later, and the next day. with no better luck. And then the rabbi put the matter out of his mind. Roy was coming to dinner Friday night, and he would see him then. And even if Roy had to beg off for some reason, common courtesy would require him to call.
By Friday as the rabbi waited for his guests to arrive, he decided not to bring up the subject. It was the Sabbath, a day of peace and rest. Of course, if either of the Stedmans were to bring up the matter, he could not refuse to discuss it. But he would not bring it up himself.
Both Stedmans came separately but at almost the same time. He had no sooner opened the door to welcome one than the other arrived. And because it was late, they went immediately to the table, then stood while the rabbi recited the kiddush, the prayer for wine that began the Sabbath observance.
The dinner was the customary Sabbath meal of chicken soup, gefilte fish and chicken. To Roy who had been eating in restaurants and the university cafeteria, it was a treat. He raved over each course to Miriam, and agreed when she urged him to have another helping. "I don't often get this kind of food." he said by way of explanation, "at least not this kind of cooking."
Gradually, mellowed by the food and wine, he dropped his original reserve and relaxed. The atmosphere at the table and in the house, perhaps because of the presence of little Jonathan or because Rabbi Small and his wife were relatively young, was pleasantly informal, very different from the occasional Sabbath meal he had had at his Uncle Hugo's. There, in spite of Aunt Betty's attempts at lightheartedness, the solemn emphasis on the holiness of the day tended to dampen its joyousness.
As they sipped their tea afterward, the conversation focused on him and his life at the university. Completely at ease now. Roy told them of his difficulties there. "My Hebrew is not so hot, and that doesn't help matters, I suppose. But mostly it's the Israeli students. They're so cliquey. And the American is shut out. My closest friends are Arabs." He said it defiantly, but his father refused to pick up the challenge.
Instead he said with jovial heartiness, "Why, I think that's fine. Roy. I want you to see all sides." Curiously. Roy did not feel grateful. He looked at the rabbi, who had remained silent.
"I guess the rabbi doesn't agree," he said.
Rabbi Small shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think I do. If there was dissension between me and my neighbors, the Rosens, and a guest of mine, newly arrived, took their side and showed a preference for them, I think I'd have a right to feel resentful."
"Well, let me tell you. Rabbi, there are plenty of Israeli students who are friendly with the Arabs."
"I am glad to hear it."
"But I thought you just said?"
The rabbi nodded. "The quarrel is between them, and it is a good thing if one or the other or both parties to the dispute make overtures, just as it would be if Mrs. Small were to make overtures and try to become friendly with Mrs. Rosen. But the case for the guest is different."
"That's the old way of thinking— my side, your side. It's what's made for all these wars and things." Roy sat forward. "My generation, we don't think that way. We don't care whose side we were born on. It's which side that's right that's important. Look at our attitude. I mean the attitude of Americans of my generation, toward Vietnam. Your generation tells us they are the enemy, but we refuse to go along. Your generation's thinking has given us wars, pollution, hunger, disease. My generation is changing all that."
"He's got a point there. Rabbi." said Dan. "I guess we have made a mess of things, and they're the ones that are trying to clean it up."
"No." The rabbi shook his head vigorously. "It's not our generation that caused whatever is wrong with the world. It's all the generations of mankind. The same generations of mankind that are responsible for all the good things, too. It's a world we live in. not a Garden of Eden. And it is the older generation that is doing the cleaning up. too. simply because the new one has not as yet acquired the necessary skills. It will be a dozen veers at least before your generation. Roy. gets a chance to try its hand. And if it is your generation that transcends national boundaries, why do you call the Israeli students at the university cliquey? They're your generation. For that matter, why don't the Arabs of your generation try to make peace in this little part of the world instead of trying to terrorize the civilian population? Most of the terrorists are of your generation, you know. If there were peace, they could begin to make inroads into poverty and disease in their own countries—"
"Why don't the Israelis do it in their country?"
"Don't they?" asked the rabbi.
"How about the Sephardim who live in slums and don't have a chance for a decent life?"
"The Israeli government is trying to help them," Dan Stedman pointed out.
"Well, they could do a lot more." Roy said, returning to the rabbi.
"Every country could do a lot more for its unfortunates than it is doing." he said mildly. "Name one that is doing all it can."
"But this is supposed to be a nation of idealists." Roy protested.
"Is it? I certainly hope not." said the rabbi.
"You do?" Roy was startled. "That's a funny thing for a rabbi to say. Don't you want the country to be idealistic?"
"No. I don't. The whole thrust of our religion is toward a practical ethics rather than an absolute idealism. That's how Judaism differs from Christianity, as a matter of fact. We don't ask of our people that they be superhuman, only human. As Hillel said. 'If I am not for myself, who will be for me?' Traditionally, we have always felt that parnossah, the making of a living, was necessary for a good life. We have no tradition of an idealistic asceticism, or superhuman dedication as in monasticism or self-imposed poverty."
"What's wrong with idealism?" asked Roy.
"It's the worship of an idea, and the idea comes to count for more than people. Sometimes people are cruel because— well, because they're people. But it's self-limiting. If someone's normal, his act of cruelty is apt to be followed by a bad attack of conscience. But if he's an idealist, then any kind of wickedness can be justified in its name. The Germans killed millions in pursuit of the idea of racial purity. In Russia thousands were slaughtered for the quite human weakness of hoarding a bit of food against the winter. I might add that right now some of your fellow students in America are perpetrating all kinds of wickedness in the name of peace or social equality or academic responsibility or any other ideal that someone happens to think up."