"Then you mean you'd be opposed to any change at all?"
"No, I'm not opposed to change as such. But I'm opposed to unnecessary changes. It seems to me that this particular change is part of the present ferment of the Women's Lib movement, and as happens in the initial stages of any movement, you get all kinds of exaggerated reactions, a men's club must admit women, or it's sexist. You mustn't say 'Chairman.' you now have to say 'Chairperson.' I was present at a lecture when the speaker used the phrase 'every man for himself.' He was challenged by a woman in the audience and had to say 'every man or woman for himself or herself.' Ridiculous! Look here, we are an institution going back several thousand years, are we to change because there has been a sudden shift in fashion? Would you have us change the traditional Kol Nidre chant because the musical fashion is rock and roll?"
"But there have been changes. Rabbi."
"Sure, when it was practical and necessary, the prosbul of Hillel changed the laws of the sabbatic year when it was necessary to carry on the commerce that had developed at the time. Rabbi Gershom changed the marriage and divorce laws. Not to mention the many laws we changed when they became moot with the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Our own Conservative Movement was launched and developed to meet the challenge of the American experience. Changes were made when needed. But only when needed."
The rabbi paused and when Maltzman didn't respond, began again, his voice rising, "They want to be part of the minyan? Why? The minyan is for the purpose of public prayer. It requires a minimum often adult males. If any others want to join, men or women, they are more than welcome. But we just barely make our ten every morning, and it is Kaplan and his group of Orthodox whom we count on. No matter services, they've got rabbis, too, so I suppose there are arguments. I mean rabbinic arguments, on the other side."
"It's a matter of where you want to put the emphasis," Rabbi Small agreed affably.
"Well, with me, the emphasis is on membership," said Maltzman. "I see a lot of our people in the community and they are not members of the temple. This could be just the gimmick that would get some of them to join."
"Would more join than we'd lose if the Orthodox pulled out?" demanded the rabbi.
"It's a consideration." Maltzman admitted.
Miriam came in with the tea, and as she handed Maltzman his cup, she said. "Did you hear what happened at the selectmen's meeting last night' Was it reported to you"
He listened intently as the rabbi told of Lanigan's visit.
"Oh, that sonofabitch, that dirty anti-Semitic sonofabitch—I'm sorry, Mrs. Small, but—"
"You mean, Megrim, the selectman?" asked Rabbi Small.
"Oh no. Megrim is all right. I was referring to Ellsworth Jordon."
"Why do you call him anti-Semitic?" asked the rabbi. Maltzman glared. "What other reason is there for him to oppose the traffic light? He's against it because we're for it. Let me tell you something about Jordon, Rabbi, he owns land all over town and I'm in the real estate business, so I have some sort of contact with him, and not once have I been able to deal with him, he owns land under various titles—Jordon Realty. Ellsworth Estates, E. J. Land Corporation—"
"E. J. Land Corporation?" Miriam echoed.
Maltzman nodded. "That's right, the company that owns the land near the temple, that we've wanted to buy for the new religious school. I wrote E. J. Land Corporation, asking the price of the lot, and I got no answer, no answer at all. So after a while. I asked my good friend Larry Gore at the Barnard's Crossing Trust, because you write to E. J. Land Corporation care of the bank. I asked him what gives, and he tells me the land is not for sale. So what is it for? Jordon is crazy about paying taxes? He's planning to farm it?"
"Maybe he's planning to build," the rabbi suggested mildly.
"Practically next door to the temple? Nah, he's crazy but not that crazy. Besides, he hasn't built in twenty years. Back then he put up some houses—he's an architect or an engineer of some kind —and sold them at just the right time, then he bought up a lot of land, planning to build lots of houses, big housing projects. But he got sick and didn't go ahead with it, well, just about then, land values began to climb, they'd built the bridge and the tunnel, so getting into Boston was a matter of thirty or forty minutes, and the town became suitable for all year round living instead of just a summer vacation place for the rich. Land values climbed, and he had acres of it. Some of it could be sold for more than ten times what he paid for it, he's a crackpot and a nut but—"
"That doesn't sound like a nut." Miriam observed.
"Oh, I guess he's shrewd enough in money matters. But he's still a nut." He began to laugh. "Last year I was collecting for the United Appeal and I drew his name, he lives in this old ark of a house all boarded up—"
"On a hill?" asked Miriam.
"That's right. It's a great big lot of land with an iron fence all around."
"The children called it the haunted house." said Miriam. "Remember. David, when we drove by there? But it's all boarded up. I didn't think anybody lived there."
Maltzman nodded. "That's because of the trees, but as you come up a long driveway, you see that it's only the top two floors that are boarded up. I drove up and rang the bell. From inside somebody shouted. 'Come in, come in.' So I pushed the door open and found myself in this big room lit by one ceiling light with maybe a twenty-five-watt bulb, then I hear a voice that says. 'What is it, young man? What do you want? Speak up, young man. State your business.' Well, I look around and don't see anyone, and for a minute I thought the voice was coming through a loudspeaker, like in one of those spy films, then. I saw a couple of feet waving in the air, and it was him, he was standing on his head in a corner of the room! Now, is he a nut, or isn't he?"
"Lives alone, does he?" asked the rabbi.
"Uh-huh, maybe has a day woman come in to cook and clean for him."
"And he has no family?"
Maltzman shook his head. "So I understand."
"Then that accounts for it." said the rabbi. "He doesn't hava anyone he's responsible to so he doesn't have to worry about embarrassing anybody, he can say anything he likes, or wear any kind of clothes, stand on his head when he feels like it. Poor devil. I feel sorry for him."
"But if he's an anti-Semite. David." said Miriam.
"What's this," sneered Maltzman, "turning the other cheek?"
"Not at all." said the rabbi. "If it is anti-Semitism, it's irrational, and sometimes an irrationality can take hold of a man's mind if there's no one to oppose him or contradict him or that he has to explain to and then it's like being possessed by devils, a man shouldn't be entirely alone. Yes. I'd say he was to be pitied."
"You mean, if he had a wife or kids, then he'd have to behave himself? Maybe. But it's been my experience that an anti-Semite is an anti-Semite is an anti-Semite, the only difference is that the one with a family and kids is apt to infect them, too, Right now, the question is the traffic lights."
"Maybe if I went to see this Jordon." the rabbi began.
"No! I'll take care of Jordon and that's an order."
The rabbi colored at the peremptory tone, and Miriam lowered her eyes in sympathetic embarrassment. Maltzman noticed and promptly sought to make amends. "What I mean is that a man like Jordon takes a man like me to handle. I mean, it's a political matter and it takes political experience. Besides. I'm president of the temple, so it's my baby."
When Maltzman left. Miriam said, "I don't think he likes you, David."
"Really? You mean you think he dislikes me?" She nodded.