“Three years ago.” said Doc Edelstein. “But he didn’t die in the sanctuary. We took him to the hospital, and I pronounced him dead there.”
“It doesn’t make any difference. The point is that he just died. Here, you had a murder. It wouldn’t make any difference if the entire Board of Rabbis pronounced it okay. For years to come that house will be known as the place where somebody was murdered. Who’ll you get to join that kind of a temple? To tell the truth. I’d feel funny myself, wondering if my seat was where the kid got it.”
“So where does it leave us?” asked Paff.
“I guess right back where we started from.” said Kallen. He brightened. “You know, you didn’t plan it that way. Meyer. I mean that we should sit tight at the last meeting, but when you come right down to it, it was a smart move. If we had actually kicked up a fuss when Gorfinkle announced the new committees, we’d have to eat crow now.”
“I don’t see that there’s any real problem.” Edelstein offered. “Irv is right. We’re right back where we started from. We never made any official announcement about any new temple; we didn’t walk out when the new committees were announced. We sat tight, and we can continue to sit tight.”
“That’s right.”
“What the hell—”
“You want I should sit by and let those guys do just as they please?” demanded Paff.
“We’ll still be able to oppose them on the board.” said Edelstein.
“Yeah, fat lot of good that will do us where they’ve got a clear majority.”
“You mean they’re going to go ahead with calling for the rabbi’s resignation at the next meeting?” asked Edelstein. “Frankly, I think that’s pretty rotten after all the work he did for the kids, and—”
“What work?” asked Arons. “He got young Gorfinkle and young Jacobs to give their story to the cops. I personally think it was the right thing to do, but a lot of the parents of the other kids were pretty sore about it. I certainly don’t think Gorfinkle or Jacobs were too pleased. Fortunately, they got this colored guy, but if it hadn’t been for that—”
“Then you think they will go ahead with the resignation?” asked Edelstein.
“No-o.” said Arons. “I’m inclined to think they’ll let it rest for the time being. You see, where the case isn’t settled yet and the rabbi is such good friends with the police chief, it would be kind of foolish to let him go. My guess is that they’ll just wait until his contract runs out and then won’t renew.”
“By God, we’ll make them renew!” said Paff.
“Since when are you so keen on the rabbi?” asked Arons.
“I’m not.” snapped Paff. “Never was and never will be. But you’re missing the point.”
“What point? They’re going to drop him.”
“They’re going to try to drop him, you mean.” Paff amended.
“But they got a clear majority on the board.”
“Yes,” said Paff, “and there we can’t beat them. But the question of dropping a rabbi who has served the congregation for six years already, who has the respect of the Gentile community—that doesn’t have to be kept a strictly board matter. That’s something that the whole membership is interested in. Now. I don’t know how popular the rabbi is, but I know it’s a lot harder to fire somebody than it is to let him stay on. Nobody likes to fire.”
“So?”
“So that gives us an issue that we got a chance to win on. And if we win and the rabbi remains, we’ve evened up the odds, because when we oppose them, they just outvote us, but when he opposes them, he usually makes it a matter of ritual law or Jewish principle, and he sticks to it until they knuckle under.”
Edelstein smiled. Kallen considered the proposition and then nodded his agreement. Arons said, “It’s an idea, Meyer; it’s an idea.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
All week long the Small household had been busy with the cleaning and scrubbing and lining of shelves and cupboards that were normal preparation for the Passover week. The rabbi helped as much as possible, bringing up the rickety ladder from the basement and handing down to Miriam the stacks of Passover dishes and utensils that were kept on the topmost shelf of the cupboard for use only during the Passover week. The brunt of the work naturally fell on Miriam, and this year it was even more difficult, because Jonathan was old enough to follow her around and get in the way and continually demand attention. But finally, Saturday night, they had finished. While Miriam luxuriated on the living room couch the rabbi, followed step by step by his young son, had gone about the ritual symbolic search for the chometz, the crumbs of leaven left lying around on purpose to be found by candlelight, and with a feather swept onto a wooden spoon, which would be burned the next morning.
“Do you want me to take Jonathan off your hands. David?” Miriam called to him, with no real thought her offer would be accepted.
“Oh no. I always helped my father search for the chometz when I was a youngster. Kids like it. Do you remember where I put the candle and the—never mind. I’ve got them.” He recited the benediction. “Blessed art Thou. O Lord… Who commanded us to remove the leaven.” and then as his small son watched wide—eyed, by the flickering light of his candle he swept the leaven from the shelf where it had been previously placed and wrapped it in a bit of cloth and put it aside. He recited the ancient formula: “All manner of leaven that is in my possession which I have not seen or removed shall be null and accounted as the dust of the earth.”
“Tomorrow.” he said to Jonathan, “you can watch us burn it” And he called to his wife and asked her to get him ready for bed. Mr. Epstein was due any moment.
The rabbi shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Epstein. I know you mean well, but I think you’re making a serious mistake—”
“I don’t understand. Rabbi. We’ve got to help Alan Jenkins the best way we can. We’re involved. My Didi invited him, and all the kids there were our kids.”
“Then why don’t you force the jail?”
“That’s ridiculous, Rabbi.”
“Precisely. And yet that would really help him. What I’m saying is that not all well-meaning actions necessarily result in the greatest good. You tell me that you have engaged this Donohue to act for him. I’ve heard of him, who hasn’t? And now you tell me he’s going to demand a change of venue on the grounds that the young man can’t get a fair trial in this community? Well. I don’t want the Jewish community to go on record as doubting the good faith of the town. We have been here for some years now, and there has never been anything to suggest that. But I’ll tell you what your action does suggest. It suggests that you’re pretty sure that Jenkins is guilty. If he is, he should be convicted, but until all the evidence is in, I for one intend to keep an open mind.”
“But this change of venue—that’s just a standard tactic.”
“Yes, but what you consider a standard tactic someone else might regard as an unfair tactic. That’s what’s wrong with your whole social action concept, if I may say so. You’re not satisfied with doing what you can; you must have everyone else in the temple doing it, too. Our religion has an ethical code, a guideline for conduct, Mr. Epstein, but it is the individual who implements it according to the dictates of his conscience and his own intelligence. One person may join a picket line and another no less interested in the same cause may feel better results are to be gained through the courts or private negotiations or by making contributions. It is a matter for the individual to decide. Even in our services we pray as individuals rather than in a chorus. You can mount a campaign and make a plea for funds, but so long as a single member of the congregation opposes, you have no right to make it in the name of the temple, regardless of how big a majority you can muster on the board of directors.”