As in all his sermons, the tone and style was instructional and informal, like a college lecture. He himself thought of his sermons as theses in which he attempted to explain seeming contradictions in the Law, rather than as exhortations. He knew some members of the congregation, including the president, grew restive during his discourse, and would have preferred a more oratorical, hortative style, but he felt his type of sermon was more in keeping with his basic function of teacher, implicit in the word “rabbi.”
The service continued, the day wore on; people came and left, some to go home for a nap or perhaps even a hurried snack, while outside, boys and girls stood about in their new clothes, laughing and flirting. The very young played on the temple grounds, their high shrill voices sometimes disturbing the decorum inside, requiring one of the ushers to go out and lecture them for making noise while the service was in progress.
At four o’clock, it became apparent that they were proceeding too rapidly and the service was in danger of ending before sunset. The rabbi approached the reading desk, “We’re running ahead of time, Cantor Zimbler. Can you slow it down?”
The cantor shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want me to do, Rabbi, hold the notes longer?”
The rabbi smiled. Then: “I guess we’d better have a recess.” He announced that the congregation was praying with such fervor that they were outrunning the sun. “So we’ll have a half-hour break.”
There was a murmur of grateful laughter from the congregation but only a few left since those present at that hour represented the hard core of worshipers who came with the intention of remaining through the day. But they appreciated the respite and engaged their neighbors in a few minutes’ conversation before returning to the concluding portion which ended with the blowing of the shofar.
The president stretched on his thronelike chair and turned to the rabbi. “You know, apropos of your sermon, it occurs to me I made a sacrifice of my own. This is the first year in a long time that I have fasted, and I feel fine, just fine. Other years, I didn’t exactly eat, I mean, I didn’t have a regular meal. I’d have some juice in the morning, and then around noon I might go home for a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but this year I felt, being president, I ought to go the distance. And though I feel a little weak, otherwise I’m just fine.”
“Mr. Goralsky told me he had been doing it for seventy-five years, and it doesn’t appear to have hurt him any.”
“Gosh, I forgot all about the old man. Have you heard how he is? I haven’t seen Ben around.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t been here or I would have seen him.”
“That sounds bad, Rabbi. The old man must be very sick-Ben would have come for Yizkor at least, with his mother dead only recently, within the year.”
“Not necessarily. They’re quite Orthodox and according to custom those recently bereaved, who are still in the year of mourning, do not attend the Yizkor service.”
“That so? Then, maybe that’s it. I certainly hope so.”
The rabbi regarded him curiously. “Are you really so sure of getting a large contribution from Mr. Goralsky?”
“I’ve talked to the old man-informally, you know,” Schwarz said smugly. “No definite promise, of course, but I can tell he’s receptive to the idea.”
“And how big a contribution do you hope for?”
Schwarz looked at him in some surprise. “I told you about it last night, Rabbi. A memorial chapel.”
“You mentioned it, but I thought it was just by way of example. You mean he really is interested in building a Goralsky Memorial Chapel? What kind of money would be involved?”
“Oh, a hundred thousand dollars-to a hundred and a half.”
The rabbi pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “They’re in electronics?”
“That’s right, electronics and transistors. They’ve got a big new plant on Route 128. They’re loaded. Right now, I understand, they’re planning to merge with some big outfit out West, and their stock has been going up like a sky-rocket. It’s doubled in the last couple of weeks. And they started in the poultry business.”
“The poultry business?”
“The absolute truth. My grandmother used to buy fresh-killed chickens from their store in Chelsea, and the old man himself used to wait on her in a blood-smeared white apron and a straw hat. Then they got a little ahead of themselves and began to gamble in futures and made quite a bit of money. So they had spare money when a chance came to invest in a transistor company and they were on their way. They bought out their partner, the man who started the business, and after that they really began to expand. They were lucky enough to go public right at the boom, and the rest is financial history. Maybe you saw the write-up on Ben Goralsky in Time magazine?”
The rabbi shook his head.
“A column and a half plus picture. I tried to put him on the Board, but he said he was too busy.” He sounded gloomy.
“And do you think if you got him on the Board he might be inclined to favor a chapel over a chemistry lab?”
“At least it would get him interested in our organization and its problems.”
“But do we need a chapel? It seems to me we have plenty of room right now-”
Schwarz looked at him. “Rabbi, a growing organization never has plenty of room. If it’s enough for today, then it’s not enough for tomorrow. Besides, next to the high school, our sanctuary is the biggest auditorium in town. Once or twice in the past we’ve been asked for the loan of our facilities by outside organizations. Now, how does it sit with you to have a secular organization like Kiwanis, say, transacting their business right here in front of the Holy Ark?”
“Well-”
“But suppose we had a small chapel built right onto the wall behind us, a small jewel of a chapel that you could tell was a chapel and not a barracks or a light and power company office building?”
“You don’t like this building?”
Schwarz smiled condescendingly. “Remember, Rabbi, I’m an architect by profession. Look, are you and Miriam coming over tonight after you break your fast? Ethel is expecting you.”
“If Miriam is up to it.”
“Good. I’ll show you something that will knock your eye out.”
From where she was sitting, Miriam signaled her husband with a nod. He left the pulpit and joined her as she made her way out of the sanctuary.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“I feel a little done in. I guess I’ve got used to napping in the afternoon. Alice Fine is going home, and I thought I’d get a ride with her.”
“You’ll make yourself some tea, won’t you? Or perhaps a glass of warm milk would be even better. I think you should eat something. You sure you’re all right?”
“Believe me, David, I feel fine.”
“Anything wrong?” asked Schwarz when the rabbi returned to the pulpit. He told him Miriam felt a little tired.
“Well, it’s understandable. I hope she’s not fasting.”